The Golden Wheel of Fate
Chapter 13 / The Golden Wheel of Fate
What the frack is wrong with my father?
Another wave of fury hit so hard that Mekel staggered against the Gamorrean sitting next to him. The sent had several boxes full of cheap batteries on his lap that spilled across the tube floor. Several people glared.
The Gamorrean snuffled curses. His tusks were worn down to stubs, and his hide was dull with age, but he still looked pretty much like bad news.
Mekel slid out of the seat and backed away fast, muttering an apology. Staggering a little, he made his way into the next car.
Who did this to him? Who did this to my father? Dustil's voice was still screaming in his mind. He could hardly hear himself think.
Shut the frack up, Telos. Please.
It was like Dustil couldn't hear him or didn't want to. All of his energy was focused on wherever he was, whatever was happening there.
Fracking Onasi reunion—what, you thought it would be happy? If Mekel closed his eyes he'd probably see the whole pathetic family deal—so he kept them open.
Just when he thought things had stabilized again, another wave of loss hit so hard that he fell flat on his ass.
People laughed. Mekel scrambled painfully to his feet and got off at the next stop. He'd walk the underways the rest of the way home.
And frack help anyone who tried to roll him.
Damnit, Telos. Stop. It. You're going to get me fracking killed.
She's not dead! Mission's not dead! What's wrong with my father? Why did you leave?
Of course, she's not dead, your father's been fracked with, remember? Her message? Mission's message? Meet her at the Wheel. I'm going there. Calm down. Are you okay?
He could only sense emotional distress—Dustil didn't seem to be trapped or injured or anything, just more waves of hate and loss and anger.
Did the Jedi do this to him? There were two of them, trying to offer me sanctuary. Fracking liars, did they do this to my father?
Dustil—please. Mekel was having a hard time walking. He staggered against the wall of the station, eliciting more amused glances from the other unders. Just another tranked-out kid, stumbling around the underground. Dimly, through his own senses he was aware of two shadows behind him. Preds, probably... like he was supposed to be, looking for an easy mark.
Damnit, Telos.
Somehow the anger helped clear his head. Mekel quickened his steps again, heading towards the stairway that led to level 40. Stair mechs would be broken; but he could run down them, if he had to. Behind him came the tread of other feet. The hallway dimmed as the lights flickered. He walked faster.
Catch them on the stairs. Roll them before they roll me. Simple.
An archway covered in broken tile and rusted corusteel. Water dripped somewhere above, and the ground was damp. Mekel thought out the logistics automatically, trying to reason with Dustil at the same time.
Look. Mission said a bad man has your father. You said D'Reev was with your father. D'Reev is a bad man, ok? Everyone knows that. Therefore, I'd assume it's a bad situation. So, get the hell out.
I can't just leave him. And there's the kid.
Dustil's thoughts were more orderly now, Dimly Mekel was aware of a white space and the hum of a groundside engine. Dustil was on a ship, taking off, heading up. He almost felt a pang of envy.
Dustil gets to go up in the clouds and me, I scuttle off like a k'lor slug, back down to my cave. Must be nice to be special.
Special?! Are you fracking nuts Mekk? Oops, he hadn't meant for Dustil to hear that thought. It was really hard—the other boy's emotions were playing hell with his barriers.
That kid. He's really Malak and Revan's son? Mekel was a little incredulous. He remembered the kid's face; the whole thing had been very weird.
He's strange, it's very weird... uncanny how Dustil's thoughts echoed his own. Or maybe not so uncanny. What do you know about this D'Reev guy?
He's a Senator, one of the important ones. He controls most of the media. And you've seen the nets. That's how we got into this mess. Oh. And his son hated his guts. Darth Malak thought his father was the worst thing in the universe.
How do you know that?
Never mind. Mekel slammed that door shut with a thud. Telos, get out of there. Stick with the plan. We'll get your father back and unfracked. Somehow.
Past the archway, the hallway opened into a large vertical shaft, with a metal stairway in its center, curling down. Exhaust stairs like these ran from sub25 on down, with access points at each level; but down this far they weren't often used. Things lived down here, and people who were worse than things.
The light was very dim. Mekel ducked into the shadows at the stairwell's entrance. A pattern of metal bars separated him from the edge. It was a long drop down. Perfect.
He heard the feet approach. Quiet and quick. Mekel reached out with the Force to try and get a sense of his pursuers.
And met a perfect wall.
Oh shit.
XXX
'Happy accident' was an old Coruscanti phrase used for circumstances beyond one's control with fortunate repercussions.
As HK flew the cruiser the short distance back to the D'Reev apartments, the old man considered the two Onasis sitting across from him. These circumstances seemed to qualify.
Young Malachor was frozen; sitting perfectly straight at Malachi's side. The boy knew he'd done wrong, although D'Reev was almost pleased to see the child show some initiative. Of late, his grandson had done little but look upset and cry when he thought no one was looking.
Cry about his mother, of course.
The boy didn't have the Force in a way that could be measured—Malachi had his own ways of testing that, Jedi Council be damned; but there was a bond there, between mother and son.
Or rather, half of one.
He'd made sure of that when he authorized the Jedi to do the mindwipe in the first place. How it had irked the Council, to beg for his approval... approval he'd given only after certain guarantees had been exchanged.
Inwardly, he mocked the code of ethics that compelled them to ask. Darth Revan's detainment happened far out on the Outer Rim, and they could have done whatever they wanted; except that their misguided sense of morality required the consent of Revan's closest living relative. Vrook Lamar had no official claim to that title, since members of the Jedi Council renounced such things, along with their worldly possessions, upon ascension to their posts.
He'd heard the old man had made some kind of token protest, regardless. For all the good it did.
Of course, those same ties that bound D'Reev fortunes to Revan Starfire were a double-edged blade—now.
The old man frowned and considered the two pawns—how appropriate to use the Mandalorian term—in front of him. The father's reaction to Malachor had been everything he'd hoped for. The man's protective and absurdly heroic nature could be shaped as easily as clay.
But his son could be difficult. The lad had the Force, after all, and who knows what he could sense or suspect. Wrinkled hands tapped an absent pattern on the table as D'Reev contemplated appropriate measures. He'd know more, when he had a chance to study their reactions.
He'd have to decide if Dustil was worth the risk.
Right now, the younger Onasi was shifting on his seat and looking uncomfortable while the older one shoveled soothing pablum down his craw, like a weak minnik bird, feeding its young.
"I'm sorry I disobeyed you, Grandfather," Malachor offered meekly.
D'Reev stretched his lips into a familial smile. "It's natural that you would be curious, Korrie."
His grandson bit his lip and looked at the floor. "The other Egs teased me. I had to know if they were making it up, that there were things about her on that nets… why are they telling lies about her?" Malachor looked up suddenly, accusation in his eyes. "Why don't you stop them from telling those lies?"
D'Reev sighed and patted the boy's hand. "No one really knows what happened to your mother," he began. "But I've told you before; the Force is dangerous. Power must be wielded with great responsibility and great care."
He wondered if Captain Onasi would interject. But the man was silent, staring at Malachor with predictable sadness in his eyes. Well, perhaps later.
The younger Onasi made a face and rolled his eyes.
A loose turbine, that one. Regrettable. Still, better he retained control of the lad than the Jedi. The boy had shown a healthy suspicion of their motives… you didn't need to be a Force user to see a thing like that. Every emotion the young Onasi had played on his face. Right now, he looked angry, and disbelieving. Not surprising. How to shift those doubts to the right side?
"Throughout history, events have been shaped by the Force, and the sentients who possess it," Malachi D'Reev began. "Sometimes in the present, it is difficult to tell which actions are for the greater good or the greater harm. But those who attempt to harness great power often fall victims to it." He risked a humble grin, directed to Captain Onasi. "We mortals bumble just along as best we can; it's all that we can do."
"She promised she'd..." his grandson's voice trailed off and those young eyes looked almost wary. "Don't you want her to come back to us, Grandfather?"
D'Reev sighed heavily and took his grandson's hand.
"I know it was very hard on you, Korrie, accepting what happened to your father."
"He couldn't come back anymore," the child whispered. "And then he died. But M-mother—she's not dead now—and she's a hero."
It had, upon reflection, been a mistake, letting the boy watch the entire Official Coruscanti Version. But he would have heard about it regardless. Although the Eglatines were supposed to be sheltered from the outside world until their official recognition, children pick things up. And not all of their guardians were as traditional as him. D'Reev sighed, happy accidents….
It was all a question of perspective.
The ship angled into the docking bay of their compound, and the engines shifted smoothly to a stop.
"Declaration: we have arrived, Master. Shall I prepare some refreshment for our guests?" HK's voice clicked over the intercom.
"Thank you, HK. In the library, please. And tell Sidona to arrange the two rooms next to the family wing upstairs—the ones with the interconnecting suite. I'd imagine our guests would like some time alone."
Not to mention those rooms had excellent and very unobtrusive monitoring systems.
He'd have to move them out of here and into the apartments he'd prepared before her arrival, of course—the D'Reev compound was not part of her ultimate and final destiny. Risk to Malachor was out of the question. Although, now that Onasi knew… the old man allowed himself the small indulgence of imagining how Revan would take the news of her son's existence, coming from the mouth of her former lover.
Impractical, really; but nonetheless, a rather pleasant fantasy.
Happy accidents. He hadn't felt so alive in years.
XXX
Shit, shit, shit.
"Mekel Jin." They stood in the entranceway. The taller one was Falleen, slender and scaled. No way of judging her age; but she wore the dark brown robes of a Jedi Master, and her voice was weighted with the experience of ages. Pale eyes, almost white, gleamed in the darkness against a gold face. Like all of her kind, she had that frightening, graceful beauty that made you go hot and cold all at once. At least normally. Right now, it was just one more threat.
Mekel pressed back against the rickety metal embankment and wondered if he could survive a jump to the level below. Miscalculate and fall to your death. Splat. The end.
Dustil's thoughts broke in, like a CorSec at an underground squat.
We're going to be D'Reev's guests, he says. Something is very wrong with my father. And this old man is really fracking creepy.
Not now. Shit. Dustil, not now.
"We know you're there, Mekel. Come out. Master Iridel just wants to talk to you."
The speaker was Thalia May, dressed in smart Padawan beige. She looked well-rested, well-kept, and nauseatingly content. Far cry from the shivering coward who'd run off to hide in the shyrack caves on Korriban when she couldn't hack it in the Academy.
Mekel pulled his 'saber out but did not activate it. He wasn't a complete idiot like Telos, standing off five squads like some kind of hero out of the Golden Age.
If they rushed him, he'd throw it at them—and run. Would buy him a few seconds, maybe.
Maybe they don't know I'm here? He crouched down farther, into the shadows.
The Falleen Master's eyes looked straight at him.
Yeah right, fat chance. They know. They know everything. No different than Uthar or Yuthura. It's no different. They're stronger and there's nothing you can do but obey….
Or run.
"You're confused," she said gently, stepping forward.
"I'm fine," Mekel called out, gritting his teeth. "Don't come any closer. Go away. I don't want your help."
The Falleen frowned. "It is no longer safe to leave you unattended. We had hoped that you would find your way out of the darkness and seek the healing that you need of your own volition… but time grows short."
"How so?" Mekel asked, stalling for more of it. His skin prickled with the force moving all around them like currents in the wind.
"S he's coming here," Thalia said, a trace of awe in her voice still. "The Masters say it will be soon."
"You mean Revan? Coruscant's popular. Center of the universe. The Reef offers many delights to all sorts," Mekel spat back. "What does that have to do with me?"
He kept his thoughts as locked as he could, dimly aware that somewhere Dustil was battering on them. Now was really the wrong time to think about what it had to do with him, or what he thought about it. She —don't even think about her name—don't even think it out loud—was terrifying. He'd agreed to help Mission— no, no, no. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Her son… no, no, no. Her son was his son. Malak's son. Darth Malak's son too.
Don't think about him either.
The Falleen's eyes were luminous in the dim light. "Dustil is caught in the middle of something much larger than himself. For his sake, as well as your own, you should accept our sanctuary."
Instead of thinking more, Mekel tried to gather as many strands of the Force as he could. Build them into a shield—or a ladder.
"Why do you fear the Jedi so much?" Golden-skinned hands opened in a gesture of peace.
"Being Sith, I tend to think of you as the opposition," Mekel hedged.
A ridged brow rose. "You think of yourself as Sith?"
"You're not seeming very sithy right now, Mekk," Thalia commented. Her brown-skinned face almost had a smirk on it.
Smirking at him. Thalia always was an asshole know-it-all.
"The Sith gave me a home. What did the Jedi ever offer me?" He said that louder than he meant to. The words echoed around them.
The brown-robe frowned. "I've looked into your case, Mekel. All children of Coruscant are tested for Force sensitivity. I'm not sure how you were overlooked." Her talons made a gesture of apology and the sincerity radiated off her in waves.
"Yeah, right," Mekel said. "That rules really enforced in the Underground, where we actually use the force to get things done. I was picking locks with my mind when I was six, Master Iridel. Moms found that just as useful as my big round eyes in the beggar's quarter. I'm not part of your Coruscant, I never was. Only one Force user I ever met from this stinking planet ever gave a damn about me..."
Okay, bad time to remember that. Really bad time. Hell.
XXX
The black hooded figure was impossibly tall and walked the deserted streets of Bone Alley like he owned them.
Twelve-year old Mekel Jin figured him for a slumming mark. Maybe a perv, but it was hard to get a read on his twist. Weird. Well, whatever.
Didn't really matter, all he needed was that nice fat groundside wallet.
He pulled out the corrugated shiv, just in case the unpredictable magic Jedi powers he relied on for all his tricks failed.
Never leave anything to chance, just like Uncle Kris said.
"Excuse me, sir," his child's voice piped high and clear. Perfect timing, the undersec patrol wasn't due round again for another fifteen. Left him just enough time. Body might be too heavy to drag off, but he could just duck down a few levels for a few days until the heat moved on. Live high on the takings. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
The figure stopped walking and turned.
Mekel moved forward, looking shyly at the ground. Look helpless and get in close, then zap! The mark was huge—but that didn't really matter. Big ones fell down just the same.
"Reef spawn," the man chuckled. There was something wrong with his voice; the words were strangely… mushy… somehow. "What level of our world swept you in with the tide?"
"Forty-seven," Mekel said. The words just fell out of his mouth. The shiv fell out of his hand and clattered on the floor.
Oh. This was a mistake. Big one.
He raised his head up, pulse pounding in the back of his throat and looked into the man's face. You see a lot of bad things in the Underground. The big rotting hole that exposed teeth and sinew and bone on the side of his mouth really wasn't the worst thing at all.
The worst thing were those eyes.
Yellow and black and burning like the charnel pits on sub60. Where all the dead men go. Where all men go, eventually. The one thing that really was equal on this teeming world. In the end, you all get dumped off at sub60.
"Do you know what I am?" the man asked.
Mekel tried to run, but he couldn't. Those eyes held him pinned like a bug.
The man had the power more than anyone he'd ever seen. The Force, same thing Mekel had, only so strong that it rippled around him in waves. How had he missed it before?
"S-s-some kind of Jedi?" Some kind of really bad fallen Jedi. There were rumors about them, now that the war was over.
The man laughed. "I'm an apprentice to a new order, little reef rat. I'm a Coruscanti son, the same as you. Born high or born low: in the new world we'll build, none of that will matter. Only power matters. I sense potential in you. Would you like to join us?"
"I-I don't—" He took a step backwards. "I don't understand. Is it your twist?"
The man looked amused. "We're founding a school for children like you, Mekel Jin; in a place far away from here. We can teach you to do more with your Force than roll marks in the Underground. Master the Force and become a master of a new age."
The Force rippled around them. The man paged through his mind, laying it all bare. All of it. His ruined smile grew wider.
"More than anything else, you want to leave this place, don't you?"
"Yes." Just one word. That was all it took. Part of him wasn't even angry. For the first time in his life, Mekel actually felt something like hope.
The tall man offered him an arm. He took it, docile as any trick after a few shots of starbright.
Mekel had never seen the stars, never even seen the sky—not really. Few times groundside, all he'd seen was rain and clouds.
The ship was small and fast and extremely expensive. They cleared customs with a wave of the tall man's hand.
The stars on the way to Korriban were beautiful.
"You're one of the Sith?" he asked finally, trying to put a definition on his new way of life, trying to reconcile the new clothes and the sonics and three square meals a day of food he'd never heard of with some kind of cause.
The man didn't seem to want anything else from him, which was a big relief. Just fed him and clothed him and left him alone with the nets and vids.
The man seemed lost in his own thoughts much of the time; although sometimes, the man cried.
But don't think about that. Not now and not ever.
"I'm a Lord of the Sith, Mekel Jin."
"And you came to Coruscant for me? " His voice came out in a squeak. It was cracking now, sometimes high and sometimes low. He flushed and wished he could control it.
"Don't flatter yourself." The man scowled suddenly, and Mekel backed down, way down, all the way across the room down. "I came home, to learn one final lesson that my Master couldn't teach me."
"You have a master?" Mekel was shocked. The man didn't look like a slave. Not that there were slaves—officially—on Coruscant—but of course, unofficially, it was one way up from the Underground. Or so he'd heard.
"Don't you want to know the lesson?" the man was mocking him now. Mekel clenched his fists and glared. The man smiled approvingly.
"Yes." He wanted to learn everything, everything that there was. The universe was a big place, and all he'd ever learned was the way things ran in the Coruscanti Underground.
"You can never go home again, Coruscanti son. Unless you want to see it burn." The tall man laughed. He shook his head slowly. His fingers plucked at the ruined place in his jaw. It was a little bigger now, and the skin around the injury looked inflamed.
Kolto packs didn't help. They'd tried that already. That had been the first time he'd seen the man cry. Then he'd gotten very angry and Mekel had been afraid. He'd realized that he'd followed a stranger who could kill him with a thought offworld and into some strange unknown that people underground only spoke about in whispers.
The Sith. The rise of the Sith.
The whispers said that the heroes of the Mandalorian wars came back from the Outer Rim changed by some terrible evil. It was rumored that they were massing an army against the Republic, a fleet to crush all the free worlds.
A war was coming, denizens of the Underground whispered. A war to end all wars.
"Coruscant deserves to burn," said Mekel Jin, thinking about Moms and his cousins and the brothel and the marks and the tricks and pervs. And the few times he had been groundside. With no idchip he was nothing. Just another beggar in the alley where the rich went after meditations or temple to feel better about themselves. Cast off some rags or credits. "Burn it all away and make something new."
The tall man laughed his terrible laugh. "Exactly."
He'd been snug and safe in the Sith Academy for a week before he found out who his strange benefactor actually was.
Master Jorak was most amused that Mekel had no fracking idea that Darth Malak himself was sponsoring his education
XXX
The Falleen looked troubled. Back in the present now, Mekel felt something snap. Something inside. Dustil's presence, battering against his shields suddenly phased out like static on a bad holofeed. Replaced with nothing.
Dust'?
There was nothing where his friend's mind had been. Not death. Just… nothing.
DUSTIL?
Like when Revan… when we thought she was dead. So maybe he's not. Maybe he's not….
The Falleen just watched him. Behind her, Thalia May crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Master Iridel reached out a hand to him, almost entreatingly. Her beautiful eyes were very sad.
"Perhaps we have failed you in the past, Mekel Jin; but the Council can offer you sanctuary now. You and Dustil are in more danger than you know." Her eyes scanned his face. "You know what it's like to be caught in something larger than you are. It's happened to you before."
His fingers fumbled on the Force switch. Red light, and then his lightsaber hummed between them.
"Put that thing down and just come with us, Mekk," Thalia sighed. "The Jedi won't hurt you, I promise."
His palms were sweating. His hands were shaking. Mekel threw the 'saber blindly at the beautiful golden face and leapt over the embankment, aiming for the ledge ten meters below.
His aim was true.
XXX
The Blue Ghost landed on Coruscant without incident. Painted disc ships were popular now, ever since the Star Forge; and the Ghost was only one in a line of them parked like bright coins along the public landing bay. She'd paid extra for a groundside docking—only a kilometer from the Third District of Joy, where the Golden Wheel of Fate loomed on the domed skyline like a great yellow sun.
They had a small amount of trouble with customs, which she'd half-expected.
"No unaccompanied droids," the port official said, frowning at the battered T3 in front of him. One of the Wookiees had painted a blue flower on her side. In retrospect, perhaps that had been a bad idea. It really lacked dignity, even if it was cute.
Mission beeped at Rulan, who was blending into the background in a typical shadowy assassin manner. Completely inappropriate, all things considered. He still wore the slaver's collar. She hadn't removed it yet. Bargains were bargains, and he'd agreed to live up to the first part of his.
Dustil had gone off with D'Reev. She'd seen him clamber into the Senator's planetside cruiser like a drone set on auto. Idiot asshole boy.
But part of her still hoped he'd meet her. She had to be sure that he wasn't going to make it before she went ahead with plan B.
Mission was keeping a positive spin on everything. After all, she was still herself. And things could be worse.
She hadn't had the—well heart wasn't exactly the right word—maybe conscience—no— courage —to tell Polla-Revan about the latest developments. Things could still turn around.
All the targets were still alive after all; wasn't like D'Reev would kill them. He needed Carth for Polla-Revan and he needed Dustil for Carth. She was pretty sure about that. In some ways, it was sort of like having all of your credits in one safe. All someone would have to do was pick the one lock.
Worth a try anyways. It would be cool if she could deliver everything to Polla-Revan tied up with a nice tidy bow.
"The droid's with me," Rulan said softly, resolving himself into the image of a blue-skinned Twi'lek. Female. Likeness wasn't bad. He had the pack she'd given him to carry slung lightly over one shoulder. "You'll find our documents are in order?"
"They seem to be, Citizen Wee. My apologies, I didn't see you before." The human grinned. "Say, has anyone ever told you look a lot like—"
Rulan rolled his—well her-eyes. "I get that all the time."
"If you're not doing anything later, I get off duty at four."
Mission beeped indignantly.
"Frack off, you old geezer," hissed Rulan. Mission would have smiled. The inflection was perfect.
She didn't have to beep of course, but it did seem more authentic. Most T3's weren't equipped with voders.
They strolled—or rather she rolled, and the shapeshifter walked—out of the spaceport and into portside town. The Joy Districts lined it like a huge circle of sleaze.
Putting most of herself into T3 clipped Mission's wings a little, at least locally, since she couldn't risk too much broadbeam transmission going planetside between Kashyyyk and the Ghost and her T3 chassis. In space you can hide things easily. In grav it was a lot harder. Sort of the opposite of what you'd expect—except a lot of space noise was only that—noise—and it was simple to hide things in the randomness.
Here, every transmission had some kind of function. On the bright side, she could monitor local traffic really well. Just a risk, getting directly involved. Not a risk to her, of course: worst case scenario she'd scrap T3 and move back into her core on Kashyyyk—but a risk to the mission.
Mission was counting on no one knowing about her. She really hoped Carth wouldn't spill the beans. She was betting on him not thinking of it.
He'd never really accepted her new self anyways. On Kashyyyk, when he'd come on the Hawk to look for Dustil and scan the nets for news about them she used to try and talk to him—just like they used to talk. He always seemed so stressed she thought he might relax a little. When Mission was alive, she'd always been able to make him laugh.
But apparently, some computer calling him Pilot Flyboy just didn't work the same way.
If she had feelings, they'd be hurt.
The Wheel was huge. On Taris it would have swallowed ten Upper City cantinas and still had room for a multi-story parking garage. The yellow arch of the rim stretched above them, and the golden letters burned across the domed horizon. The Golden Wheel of Fate.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," Rulan said formally, as they entered the glittering doorway. Liveried bouncers, plumed and tentacled, beckoned and smiled.
Luck. Fortune. Chance. Spin the Wheel. Sublimed drones buzzed softly above their heads, and the whir of hidden cameras clicked.
"Deal was, you wait inside until the boy shows," Mission reminded the assassin.
"Of course." Rulan curled a lekku in agreement.
"No droids on the casino floor," a Durian in a spangled green suit chortled disapprovingly. The translator attached to its head spines chimed the words in toneless basic.
Stupid vegetables, at least she didn't need repulsor fields just to move around. Treads worked just fine. Mission ran a scenario that involved a long and painful volcanic bioseeding of Duria in her head. Just for fun.
"We're not going to the casino floor," Rulan said smoothly, batting her lashes at the spiny thing. "We have a private room."
"Ah," the Durian chortled. It was hard to tell, but she thought it looked dubious. Maybe a fourteen-year-old Twi'lek and a battered T3 weren't the usual clientele for such things. "What is the name on the registry?"
"Handsome," snapped Mission, using her voder.
Droid discrimination is what it was. Was it her fault she could measure odds better than most organics? It occurred to her that there was a reason HK-47 always seemed so bitter.
"Are you an actress?" The Durian's chortles sounded more respectful now.
Rulan blushed. Her lekku twisted modestly down. "Maybe," she admitted modestly.
"I thought so. Should I call you… Citizen Vao?"
Mission would have gritted her teeth. Perhaps having Rulan impersonate her wasn't the best idea.
Rulan shrugged. "If you want." She looked disdainful and impatient. The vegetable hurried them to a ferracrystal elevator, festooned with tiny lights.
"23rd floor, Suite 16, Citizen Vao," it told Rulan respectfully, completely ignoring Mission. Mission wasn't sure why she was surprised, but it was a little bit annoying, being dissed by a vegetable. They didn't even have legs!
The elevator doors closed and took them away.
"They're lucky they build such good ships," Mission commented. "Or no other sentients would ever even talk to them. Someone should just make their entire planet a plain of smoldering glass."
Rulan considered her. "You seem changed," the shapeshifter observed.
-My consciousness is a bit smaller here. - Mission admitted, using the subvocal on the collar. Maybe not the best tactical move, letting Rulan know she had limitations, but she didn't foresee a betrayal. The Genoharadan had been paid. She'd have to make some of that money back. Maybe with Dustil… after she explained things to him. She hoped he wouldn't take the news too badly. This was going to be a little rough.
If she had nerves, they'd be frazzled.
Beams of light played over Rulan's face—her own face—at the door to suite 16. "Retinal scan accepted," the door chimed and slid open.
Sec was good, Mission had noticed the data-collecting scanners at the door, but most sents wouldn't. She hoped that wouldn't be an issue with Dustil; just one more thing she hadn't thought of. Then again, she hadn't expected him to draw any attention. He'd been hiding out perfectly well on this planet for months.
Only now, now that she needed him to be hidden, he'd painted a big target sign on his chest. Stupid boy.
The room was lushly appointed with soft couches lining a circular gaming pit and vidscreens along all the walls. Mission scanned it for bugs and disabled them. Easy. She used the opportunity to tap one small stream into the security net. Just in case.
Rulan plopped down on one of the couches and put her feet up. "I need a drink," she said.
"Don't look at me," Mission snapped. "I'm not a serving droid."
"I wasn't." The Genoharadan raised a lekku. "You seem… impatient."
A serving droid glided smoothly across the plush carpet at the sound of Rulan's voice and offered her a selection. The shapeshifter accepted a green glass of something and sipped it, closing her eyes. "I was tired of Wookiee rotgut. It's so nice to be in civilization again."
The serving droid beeped a question at Mission.
"I don't need any tune-ups, thanks," she answered it in Polla-Revan's you're- going-to-get-your-ass-kicked voice.
The droid whirred and backed away. She'd better disable it, even if it was pretty mindless. Mission advanced on the server, beeping something noncommittal. It stopped and asked another question. She shot it with a cool ion ray from her chassis and all its lights dimmed and died.
Maybe it was the lack of all-around sensors that was bugging her. At the moment, Mission was limited to the array around the T3's dome, and the readout of the collar. They'd been modified beyond old T3's capacities, but they still seemed limited now. She missed the Ghost. It was too risky though, drawing anything that might link her to it.
"They'll charge you for that, and I wanted another drink," Rulan sighed.
"Shouldn't you be praying to your One or something?" Mission snapped. She said it subvocal at the same time and the shapeshifter winced.
"Don't mock what you cannot understand, ghost-child."
"I'm hardly a child," Mission said. -I was old when your people were eating grass and trying to look like dangerous predators so the kraff wouldn't eat you. -
"Part of you was," Rulan agreed, rubbing her neck. "But not your soul."
She would have kicked something.
"Supposition. If one believed in the existence of something like a soul, would it reside in my sentient core, or in my memories of being Mission Vao?" She used her own voice, but she made it drip ice.
"That's an interesting point to debate, actually." Rulan grinned. Cheekily, with her best Vao street urchin smile.
Well. As an intellectual exercise it would help pass the time until Sithboy showed up. If he ever would. The odds against it were seventy-eight point three to one.
She'd give him twenty-four hours and then move on to Plan B.
Plan B involved spending a lot more credits. Mission carried her side of the debate subvocal with the Genoharadan while she rolled her chassis over to one of the terms and placed some buy orders on the Coruscanti exchange. A new offering, I.E., Limited, was really taking off. She wasn't sure how some former swoop hack dumb as Nico Senvi was making credits spin out of the played-out Tatooine mines—probably some laundering going on there somewhere—but the opportunity for upside was too good to miss.
She knew that. Tatooine, after all, was almost like family.