FAILURE

by ardavenport


Part 1

Ben Kenobi played a dangerous game.

Uranth, an older Twi'lek woman sitting across from him scowled at the cards she had been dealt, her faded purple hands rapidly reordering them to suit her. Her expression meant nothing; everyone else at the table did the same thing, a universal habit of small-time gamblers to visibly downplay their own hands, no matter what they had. Ben Kenobi's had a very reasonable hand, three pair and the makings of a run.

"I don't know," The Humanoid spacer, a Bolosar, continued the conversation that had paused while the new hand was dealt. She disinterestedly sorted her new hand. "I've never had any problem with Zeplah's gang; ship gets fueled and checked just fine." She crewed on a bulk freighter that carried rather pedestrian and legal cargo to and from Tatooine. "As good as any at the Empire ports." She casually laid her cards down, but the attentive antennapalps on her head betrayed her intense interest in the game. Kenobi had never seen her before and wondered if she was aware of what a terrible bluffer she was. But her travels to the Empire made her a source of unfiltered information, though she had so far not spoken of anything that could not be gained from other sources.

The furry Yakora on Kenobi's left muttered that her captain must have connections; his captain had to pay bribes to get any work done on time from Zeplah the Hutt's work crews. He named two Empire ports where the problem was worse.

She gave him a tart reply about ships that made trouble for themselves, just inviting gangsters to take advantage of them and their illegal profits. It was true that the Yakora's ship was reputed to skirt the law and Imperial import taxes with smuggled goods, but they did not carry any cargos of illegal items. He growled back, but did not respond to his fellow spacer's criticism; no one at the table had consumed enough intoxicants for such loose talk. He drew a card, sniffed at it and did not play any cards from his hand.

Kenobi drew a card. He now had one threesome and a pair, not quite enough to lay his qualifying cards down, but almost.

Nerwa, a young Twi'lek woman with pale green skin and dark eyes on Kenobi's right took the next card from the deck. Unlike Uranth, her jowls sagging and forehead bulging with age, Nerwa wore heavy gray straps wrapped around her head and over her brow to maintain the smooth and youthful profile that so many Twi'leks prized. She was a local; Obi-Wan had seen her at the card games and other gambling venues; she worked at a Mos Eisley café that served mediocre food.

Grell squawked from behind his Acqualish tusks that the Empire was as bad as the Hutts as he took his card. They would move in with a small security force to 'keep the peace' and before you knew it, there was a whole garrison of stromtroopers in your spaceport and then more Imperials would move in to collect taxes and trade duties to pay for it all.

The Bolosar spacer commented that her ship had never been molested by pirates since the Empire started keeping the peace in the lawless spaces. She liked the predictability and security that the Empire brought.

"And when the Empire comes to you with a new tax bill, be sure to say 'thank you very much' when you bend over and take it." The Dug sitting next to Grell lipped his fleshy mustaches in disgust as he took his card with a dexterous foot. She did not answer as Uranth took her turn, the last of the seven players to take their first card. She did not lay any cards down on the table and the Bolosar spacer took a card from the face-down deck on the gray tabletop next to the faded yellow glow-light in the center.

Normally, talk of what the Galactic Empire was up to was exactly what Kenobi wanted from the gamblers, but tonight he had a distraction to deal with. Someone was watching him. Someone behind him, somewhere in the room was very interested in him.

He had become aware of this unknown person's interest during the last hand. And though he had the hood of his brown robe up around his face, his senses told him that this was a particularly dangerous kind of attention.

Someone had recognized him.

When he first sensed it, he had debated leaving the game and luring his observer outside, but he had no information about them, or how well prepared they might be. A bounty-hunter might have heavily armed friends waiting outside. So, he stayed at the table, risking that they would not call in troops from Mos Eisley's Imperial outpost. A bounty hunter would certainly not do that, to ensure that they got the credit, and the reward, for bringing in a Jedi. Kenobi was not sure what the current price on his head was; a hundred thousand Imperial credits? More?

As he continued playing, no stormtroopers appeared. The sense of being watched continued, but it did not have the predatory, greedy feel of a bounty hunter. Was it possibly a friend? Someone who knew him who would not turn him in? It was not another Jedi, Kenobi was certain of that; the Force did not flow through this person any differently than the other gamblers and transient spacers around them.

Friend or foe, Kenobi would conceal his exile on Tatooine from them. Mos Eisley was a busy enough spaceport; he would be a fugitive only stopping by and on-the-run to whoever it was. He could not even afford allies who could be just as dangerous as enemies if they knew too much.

After their third draw around table Nerwa laid her qualifying cards down first. She threw down the minimum starting bet and each of them matched it. Kenobi and two others also laid down qualifying cards in their turns, also putting down the minimum chips. No one was ready to start any serious betting yet. Kenobi's awareness that he was actively being watched distracted him from the game like a persistent itch that could not be scratched. The game was not important anyway; he already had what he needed for his supplies, discretely won in little bits in different gambling dens.

Kenobi had planned to buy his provisions in the morning and leave on a transport back to Anchorhead. He had only come to the evening gambling tables for the information about the Empire's activities that might be gleaned from the spaceship crew members who came to drink and play. But the night had become more complicated. He bailed out of the hand early, even though he had a good hand so he could concentrate on his observer. The gambling den was two-thirds full of low murmurs and multi-species body odors kept to a minimum with a good ventilators. The Hutt who owned it did not like replacing broken furniture or fixing blaster damage, so the security presence was heavy, but discrete. Spacers who did not want to get into trouble ashore knew this place was safe . . . at least relative to the rest of Mos Eisley. And among that crowd Kenobi sensed one person moving closer.

The Dug won the hand and he snickered as he drew his winnings to him with his prehensile feet. The Balosar spacer lost badly and she pushed her chair back from the table.

A new person immediately slid down into the empty seat. Kenobi scowled at the Dug's leer at the new arrival, but in his side vision, he glimpsed the eyes that had been watching him so avidly. She was a Devaronian with pale, beige fur, faded and dusty-looking, almost matted under the collar of her blue cloak and brown tunic. Her long pointed ears twitched, her slanted eyes nervously flicking in his direction. The Dug rumbled a throaty laugh. The other players at the table appraised the new arrival. Was she richer than she looked? Was her jitteriness just an act? There was no truth among gamblers, only pretense.

Kenobi had no idea who she was. Most importantly, he had no idea how she would know who he was. He wondered, as she fearfully took up her cards, if she even knew how to play the game.

She folded early on her first hand, losing only a little. Kenobi folded right after her. Disappointed, the others played on. The Yakora next to him grumbled on the quality of the gambling in Mos Eisley.

"It's worse on the Imperial worlds," Nerwa took a card. "In Fuskot Spaceport they've banned gaming completely. Troopers shut anything down that starts up. Officers take any kitty lying around. If you're lucky, that's the worse that happens."

Guess that's why they call it gambling, the Yakora commented. That got a mutual laugh from most of the table.

"The Imperials take everything." The light mood died in the hopelessness in Devaronian's voice. Her eyes cast downward to the cards clutched tightly in her clawed hands, she spoke to herself more than the other players. "They take what they want. They cast whoever they wish to interstellar dust. Whenever they want. The Emperor has no loyalty."

No one replied. It was far too revealing and personal a comment for this group. When her turn came around, the Devaronian woman took a card and rearranged her hand around it. Apparently she did know how to play after all.

Kenobi did not recognize her voice. Her spiteful introspection about Emperor Palpatine distracted her for a time, but eventually her eyes flicked back up toward him again. The Dug laid his cards down first, then Grell, Nerwa and the Yakora. The betting started.

Kenobi laid his qualifying cards down before the Devaronian. He bet large.

The Dug cursed and Nerwa glared at him like he had just broken wind. They both threw their cards down, not even adding to the bets on the now larger pile on the table. The Yakora growled a low warning about overconfidence and that more luck might reside in the other cards around the table. The Devaronian woman pushed her matching bet slowly into the pile, her eyes fixed on him, but he gave her only the briefest glance of acknowledgment. They continued drawing cards three times around the table, the pot in the middle getting bigger. Grell and the Yakora dropped out. Nerwa scowled matched the last bet and then rashly challenged his hand.

Kenobi laid his cards down. He had three pairs and a foursome, easily beating the other hands. Uranth and the Dug laughed while the others grumbled and growled. It had been too good a hand not to play. And he wanted to see what the Devaronian woman would do.

She stared with an expression of mixed shock and panic as he pulled the chits toward him. The money was important to her.

"You play well," she challenged.

She wanted him to talk. He minimally gestured back with his shoulders. He already had a reputation for being a player of few words and he did not want his voice to add to her suspicions about his identity. Nerwa collected all the cards and started shuffling.

"Don't I get to know the name of the being taking my money?" the Devaronian persisted.

The temperature among the other players at the table dropped appreciably.

"Not if you lose. Not if you know what's good for you in this town," the Dug snarled. Anonymous gambling and vices were a specialty of Mos Eisley. People who asked a lot of questions were shunned.

The Devaronian seemed to realize her mistake. Grabbing her remaining chits, she pushed away from the table and left.

Kenobi sighed as if he was bored. "I'm quitting while I'm ahead." He started tucking his winnings into pouch on his belt. Nerva glared at him crossly and swept back the partially dealt hands and started shuffling again. Kenobi did not care about the money but he would be too conspicuous if he left it on the table.

Getting up, he went to the shadows at the outer edge of the room, circling around toward the entrance. The Devaronian woman had stopped to exchange her house chits for real currency, marking her as an outworlder and one unfamiliar with Tatooine. Any local would know that the chits at most of the gambling dens were as good as money in town.

Collecting her money, she glanced back toward their table and appeared to startle when she did not see him there. Her eyes darted around the room, but she did not spot him. From her point of view, he had vanished. She hurried outside.

She met a broad-shouldered bronze protocol droid fashioned after a male Devoranian with horns on top of its head and slanted red photoreceptors for 'eyes'. Many places in Mos Eisley displayed 'NO DROIDS' signs including the gambling den they had just left. After the Clone Wars where the Separatists had fielded massive droid armies it seemed that a lot of people disdained eating or socializing anywhere near them.

Keeping to the shadows, Kenobi followed her and her droid. As he feared, she was heading toward the Imperial Garrison. But she did not know Mos Eisley and was keeping to the better lit streets. He knew some shortcuts.

Dodging down some dark and not entirely safe narrow streets and alleys, he got ahead of her on a wide, but less traveled street. The night traffic around the Imperial Garrison was always light. She gasped and whirled around when he put his hand on her shoulder.

"We need to talk." He held up two fingers.

"We need to talk." Her face slacked, her eyes going glassy, her long pointed ears still tense and alert.

"Mistress?" The droid intoned in a deep voice and taking a step toward them, eye sensors blinking.

"We need to talk in private."

"We need to talk in private," she repeated to the machine, her tone drifting between dazed and half-awake.

"Mistress?"

His fingers passed before her eyes again. "Stay here. I'll be back soon."

"Stay here. I'll be back soon." Her voice firmed up with enough authority to satisfy the droid.

Taking her shoulder, he steered her toward the alleyway where he had come from, the droid assuming a position by the entrance, warily looking to either side on the darkened street.

He easily led her passed bins and piles of refuse, small angry scavengers skittering out of their way.

"Why did you come here?" He pinned her to the wall, standing close but not touching, his hands on the wall, his arms giving her no place to go. She was his height, and he kept his eyes locked on hers.

Obey.

"I - I - had to. I have to get away. There are supposed to be people here. Low-lifes. Rif-raff. Who can get me to the Outer Rim. At least that's what Falcrius told me." Her face screwed up with pent up hatred. "That rotten, mat-furred hesklet-spoiler!"

Kenobi knew enough Devaronian to know how much she hated Falcrius. "Does he work for the Empire?"

Her anger drained away into confusion. "No. No, he was our servant. He helped me escape. I trusted him . . . " a shade of the fury returned, " . . . Rhem trusted him, in case . . . . the worst happened."

"What happened?

"The Emperor," her tone sank into low contempt. "He took it all. Everything. Our money, our estates, the moon . . . after we all swore loyalty to the Empire. Every Oclono kneeled to him." She was no longer looking back at him; she saw only a past burning with lies and unreciprocated fealty.

Oclono . . . . the name sparked Kenobi's memory. Senator Rhemsu Oclono from . . . . Alikirius. Not a very distinguished politician except for the depth and range of his corruption. Even Palpatine, when he was only Chancellor, had been known to speak of Senator Oclono disparagingly. But a greedy politician like Oclono could be very useful to an Emperor . . . and a Sith Lord.

Until he wasn't useful anymore.

"So, the Emperor took everything from you. And then your servant took the rest."

She nodded, her breaths hissed between sharp clenched teeth. "Treason! We were accused of treason! Us! The Emperor wanted our moon, but that wasn't enough. He took everything! Rhem made sure I got away. And then . . ." her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a snarl. "Treachery. Falcrius took everything else, everything I had left. Said that the Imperials didn't think I was that important; I still had time to get away." Her hands suddenly gripped his arms, her claws digging deep into the heavy fabric of his robe and tunic. "As if I was supposed to be grateful that he wasn't turning me into them for the reward. Left me with one small ship and the droid - - - "

Kenobi's fingers passed before her eyes again, deflating her tirade. "But you got away. You are smarter than Falcrius. You'll survive. You're clever. You have plans . . . ." His words calmed her fury and the glassiness returned to the eyes. He gently pulled her hands away from his arms and they fell back to her sides.

"You were heading toward the Imperial Garrison. Why?"

"You." Her eyes widened with wonder. "General Obi-Wan Kenobi. A Jedi. You're worth half-a-million credits."

The price for Jedi had certainly gone up.

"Maybe more. You were a member of the Council. If I turn you in, the Emperor will see that I'm loyal. We're loyal. I can buy Rhem out of prison." She smiled at her big idea, a sinister grin both naïve and predatory, like a child who had just learned the joy of torturing animals.

His hand passed before her eyes again.

"It's too dangerous. The Emperor is worse than a hesklet-spoiler. He cannot be trusted. Ever. He won't give you the reward you deserve. He'll arrest you. And have you and your whole family executed. Publicly."

She bared her pointed teeth.

"But you can go to the Outer Rim. Outside the Empire. Gozephiss Spaceport, in the Lo'Ank system harbors many like you. People who were betrayed by the Empire. They'll help you. They'll welcome you. You can help them." The Lo'Ank system was no friend of the Empire and too small and distant for the Imperials to bother with. And it was every bit as corrupt as the former Senator Rhemsu Oclono of Alikirius. She might feel right at home. Or she might be easy pickings for the syndicates there. Her fantasy about being forgiven by the Emperor was pathetic at best, but most likely fatal. Palpatine would probably have her executed. Right after he executed the Jedi she turned. If the Stormtroopers didn't kill them both right away.

She swayed, absorbing the new plan. "I can get allies. Get my revenge on Falcrius and the others." She sank her teeth into her new plan better than he hoped. Revenge was a powerful motivator. He led her back to the entrance of the alleyway, whispering to her in the ear tilted in his direction.

"And you never saw a Jedi. You thought you saw General Kenobi, but when you confronted me on the street, close up, you knew that I was not him." She nodded to his instructions, her brow furrowing.

"And I made an obscene proposition to you, too vulgar for a woman of your quality and station." She snarled in distaste, but did not look in his direction.

"We're going back to the ship. We're leaving," she told the droid with passable authority as she emerged from the alley. Kenobi stayed back in the shadows.

"Mistress?"

"Now." She strode down the street, the droid shuffling behind her.

He waited until they were near the end of the block before following.


END Part 1