The HQ is already at full house when Alnam gets there - and he gets there half an hour earlier than his invitation says he should. He wastes more than that looking for a spot to park - then some more waiting in line for the ID check.
"What are they thinking?" an old Twi'lek who stands in front of Alnam laments.
"What do you want, it's wartime," a walrus-whiskered Human tells him. His suit must cost a fortune, but its glittering makes it seem cheap. "Do you think they're going to let anyone near the Chancellor?"
Yes, the Chancellor.
The Chancellor expressed his desire to meet Agent Alnam at the Fete party - that's what Ven said. Alnam is unsure he believes. Ven is not a man to joke around, but it's too out there to just accept.
But you know why he expressed such a desire, don't you?
The truth is, Alnam is unsure about this one, too. A publicity stunt? A message to Father? That wouldn't be so bad. He doubts a party at the RDS HQ is going to receive a lot of coverage, though - unless Kram Midduk or his paparazzi friend are sneaking nearby.
Alnam barely slept this night, but now his pulse doesn't race. He listens to himself - for umpteenth time this evening - to see if he's worried. He'd lean towards "yes", but more out of obligation than anything else.
He wonders what Father would say about him meeting Palpatine. The seven-year-old lecture is still fresh in his memory - the one Vygo Alnam gave him after the last election. "This right here is an act of a petulant child, not a grown man. To vote for this man? And for what? To prove something to me? What should we expect from you next? That you cut your own hand off to make the fingers regret?" No amount of statistics Alnam gave him - he had prepared to that conversation, or so he'd thought - could convince Father the vote was not a display of disobedience, and in the end, Alnam had to resort to his last and least argument: "The senators will still elect whoever they please." Father, of course, had expected that. With a pained look of victory on his face, he waved his hand at Alnam and gave no counterargument - showing that none was necessary.
The memory makes him angry like no line and no wait can. Angry: at Father, at himself, even at Palpatine - for being so hard to defend voting for. Alnam has returned to it more times in the past seven years than a well-adjusted adult should return to any awkward memory. The past two included - it was still painful and fresh enough to poke at even after Ormi had left him.
It was because of her that it was, wasn't it? She was there during the conversation - Alnam's idea to bring her along to Father's office on the election day. Her mother was looking after Yalgi - one of what must've been three times she ever did.
What was he trying to do? Now, he doubts he had a clear vision. Subconsciously, though, he probably wanted to defeat Father by not confronting him. To bait him with his vote for Palpatine and then watch in mild, cold amusement how Vygo Alnam yells his guts out.
Talk about backfiring.
"Hey, Agent Alnam!"
He turns to see Mtoro greeting him. She wears a dress of the darkest red he's ever seen. Every once in a while, it catches light in a way that makes it flash peach-pink.
"Isn't it Agent Apani herself!" Alnam nods to her companion. "Which would make you Mr. Apani?"
The male Ithorian laughs. "I'm afraid, it would not. We do not have this custom, you see."
"My apologies."
"It's nothing." Not-Apani offers Alnam his hand. "Gwudan Omgize."
While Alnam shakes Gwudan Omgize's hand and listens to Mtoro's opinions about his suit, he can't shake off the feeling that he stands in front of the Ithorians in no suit at all. Then it clicks.
He's the single sentient at the party who's single.
He tells himself it's stupid and nobody's pointing fingers at him, but the feeling doesn't go away. He's so vulnerable under the collective eye of the RDS because he's got no one to accompany him.
He realizes - just now - how much he hoped Mtoro would come alone, too. Two friends without a couple? A loser club it might have been, but a club is better than being the sole loser.
And now, it feels like Mtoro betrayed him - even though they never made any arrangements of how to attend.
"You work in accounting, right?" he asks Gwudan - just to say something.
"I see Mtoro's been talking to you about me. Well, to reciprocate: I take it, you work in the RDS?"
Alnam smiles and excuses himself.
The tables are set in the lounge. The RDS aren't quick to open the bottles, though. They have broken up into several swarms gathered around each table, and their buzz is full of anxiety.
Garlands on the parapet of the second level of the lounge are too noisy - hard to believe it's the RDS headquarters and not some Mid Rim amusement park. Alnam looks at the parapet once more - and feels nothing like staying. All his resignation is gone now.
That's where they're going to take you - right to the second floor, for everybody to see. That's where the Chancellor is going to shake your hand. Maybe even tweak your cheek. Some words will be said about old Vygo Alnam, and some words they will be indeed.
He looks back at the entrance. Mtoro and her Gwudan are still there - talking to a middle-aged woman in a funeral-like pants suit. Were they not there, Alnam would make it for the door - the thought is jarring but true.
Don't be stupid. Ven isn't going to like it if you run away.
He takes another look at the second floor. He knows he felt better when facing the Ixtlari thugs.
Maybe it's because he hadn't expected to be ambushed then.
The bottles on the tables are tempting. Alnam hasn't drunk since he got back from Telos - so more than two weeks ago. That was easy. Effortless. Effortless enough to assume there was no problem to begin with. But: it's stupid to claim that when you know there was a problem. You didn't have to pretend to be drunk when you were leaving Obar's house. It might have solved the case - but pretending probably would have as well. Not like the Skadosi tested you for alcohol before they kidnapped you.
Like all other mental routes in his brain, this one leads back to Father. There hadn't been any beer packs on days off before the Manifesto. But then it started: a can first, two later. Never enough to knock him off his feet - just to make him numb. Then Ormi left. Alnam took certain pride in not upping his dosage because of her.
He promises himself he won't drink tonight. He's got to face the consequences of his choices - not look away from them.
The bottles don't stop tempting him.
A commotion at the top level: Director Bohm appears at the floor two. Other VIPs too: Alnam can see Onoile Ven attending to Scaggle Javirr, the head of the regional department.
The RDS buzz grows louder - carefully so.
"Come on, boys and girls," Bohm says. "Give me a right proper triple hoorah for His Excellency!"
Boy, do boys and girls comply.
A tide of cheering rises around Alnam, consuming him. Just a hoorah - triple or not - isn't enough for RDS boys and girls. They stomp their feet to another rhythm. Clap their hands to a third one entirely.
It's like Alnam is watching a grav-ball game - and Ogres are playing.
He can hardly see the man the RDS is cheering for - but when he does, it's surreal. Surreal to see the face from the news, the person behind the ballots he cast - and to see it belongs to a real man.
The Supreme Chancellor lingers on the top floor - just long enough to wave at the RDS. Then he descends to them. He wears a long crimson robe, but his movements are swift and certain. He doesn't watch his step. Doesn't hold on to the parapet. He's with his RDS - nothing can happen to him here.
Then the RDS' backs cover him from Alnam, but the barrage of hurrahs - no one bothers counting them anymore - lets him know where the Chancellor is.
Bohm tries to say something - maybe call to his boys and girls' decency - from the steps. Nobody hears him behind the pop of dozens of bottles.
But everyone - everyone - hears Palpatine when Palpatine speaks.
"Friends," says the voice everyone knows as well as their own, "I am most pleased to be here tonight, to be among you. Doherty, will you please? But not too much - otherwise you'll have to arrest me for governing under influence, I'm afraid."
The lounge blows up laughing. Alnam's heard law enforcers laughing at superiors' jokes a million times before - it never was this genuine.
"Cheers," Palpatine says, and hundreds of wineglasses kiss one another. Alnam notices one in his hand, too. People - RDS people - he's seeing for the first time are reaching for it with their own.
Seems like a waste not to have a sip.
"My friends," the unsettlingly familiar voice continues. The Chancellor still hides behind the RDS' backs - hearing him like that is akin to attempting to remember where you've heard this voice before. "My friends, I'm truly happy to see all of you today. You know better than I how hard this year was for us. For the Republic. But if not for you, it would have been even harder."
A new round of applause. The backs in front of Alnam part for a second. He manages to spy a crimson sleeve in the middle of a theatrical gesture.
"I shall not bore you with the list of things we have achieved this year. You will hear it in my New Year's address - as usual." Palpatine waits the laughter out. "What we must do tonight is commemorate our friends. Commemorate your comrades who fell in the line of duty."
The RDS quits buzzing and laughing. Someone in the back coughs.
The Chancellor starts talking - as if that was his prompt. "Operations officer Niolan Olbidi, killed in the Lembaro shooting. Operations officer Ralph Razguo, killed in a spaceship crash on Dokantie. Supervising officer Jorjina Bes-Denn and operations officer Vgarus Qolde, killed in the assault on the Adumar Republic Mission."
The RDS quiets down completely for a moment of silence. Alnam does, too - but he can't help thinking he'd be on the list if his belt was just a little less sturdy.
"One year ago," the Chancellor says, "they were with us, they were here. Tragically and absurdly were they taken from us, but we shall not allow that. They will stay with us for as long as we live. As long as we remember our brothers and sisters, they will stay with us."
No applause follows. No applause - but the silence says more than any sound could.
Alnam just waits. He can hardly think about anything other than the moment he'll have to talk to Palpatine - in front of the RDS. In front of all these people who seem ready to kill for the Chancellor.
What if the Chancellor forgets about him? Well, the commemoration part should tell you how likely that is: those were four names and you have only one. Plus: you are still alive and still can be used.
Although for men like Palpatine - or Vygo Alnam - people's usefulness outlives people themselves.
"I do not know what the next year will bring us," the Chancellor breaks silence. "I can only plan. But I do know that whatever comes, I can rely on you - men and women of the RDS."
No need to ask for hoorahs now: the RDS give their best ones out.
Then they cease, these hoorahs: Alnam can imagine Palpatine's slightest sign quieting them down.
"I want us to have a drink, my friends," an invisible Palpatine says, and Alnam's hand submits the wineglass to be refilled by a waiter droid. "I want us to drink for you - for all of you, for those who are present today and those whose assignments didn't let them join us. For you!"
The RDS drink. So does Alnam, though he doesn't feel like he's a part of the agency right now.
The sparkling wine isn't something he'd go for, but that's for the better: he won't drink too much. It's as good as he's ever drunk, though, and he finds himself eyeing the line to the waiter droid too intensely.
That's enough, he tells himself.
The wine is good. The music, too - a jatz song Alnam is ashamed not to remember the name of. Palpatine is absurdly close, but Alnam still can't see him behind a tight ring formed by the RDS. It puts Alnam at ease - somehow.
He drifts to one of the tables. Looks around for Mtoro, but she's nowhere to be found in this crowd.
At the table, a Mon Calamari agent is talking to two Humans. "This is the first thing you want to check, the bank transfers."
"That's what everybody said," one of the Humans tells her. Very young - must be fresh out of an academy or college.
"And rightfully so," says the Mon Cal. "But it's one thing, Ferlim, when you hear it and a different thing entirely when you have to look at the picture and see the important parts."
"We'd better hear it as many times as possible," the second Human, slightly older than the first one, nods.
"On Trelax, for example," the female agent continues, "they had this huge contract for durasteel."
"For the ships?" Ferlim asks, his cheeks turning scarlet - either by wine or by excitement; Alnam can understand him either way.
"For the ships. And the local legislation allows for - I'm oversimplifying here for the sake of brevity, I don't want to hold you up for the rest of the night - subcontracting government-issued production orders essentially to any entity in the system. Which, as you can imagine, they use as much as they can get away with."
"And the documents are easy to, eh, mishandle," the older Human says.
"Uh-huh. Exactly. Which they also like to utilize. So going along the accounting trail is out of question. But of course, all this made them lazy - I don't know how, but they didn't have audits for almost five standard years. So to the bank I immediately ran."
Ferlim frowns. "But what if they have paid in cash?"
"That would be safer, but how do you imagine that? It's billions of credits we're talking about."
"Nothing a good amount of dedication can't do," Human agent #2 smiles.
The Mon Cal points at him. "But they got lazy. So the bank it was-"
Alnam listens to the conversation: he's half there and half not. The talkers help: they half notice him and half not. Better yet, they don't try to get closer to the Chancellor - even though the Mon Calamari's eyes travel to the biggest crowd in the room once in about a minute. She might be a planet with her own set of satellites and her orbit might be long - but she still orbits Palpatine. These glances bother Alnam - remind him of the things to come.
Someone touches his shoulder. It's Ven.
"Let's go," Ven says, his eyes big and scary, "His Excellency wants to talk."
Alnam puts his glass on the table. Picks it up immediately - would be stupid to stand in front of the Chancellor with empty hands. He's not worried now - like a word said too many times in a row, his worry has lost all its sense.
Ven guides him through the crowd like a capital ship with sonic shields going through an asteroid field. The RDS give way to him - without ever looking away from Palpatine.
More backs step aside - and suddenly, less than a meter separates Alnam from the Chancellor. He stops in his tracks. This is where you're not supposed to be: seeing him this close.
Palpatine stands with his back to Alnam. Only the top of his head can be seen behind the robe's high collar - but that is enough.
Alnam can't make another step, for there's nowhere else to go. He is at the center of the universe.
Then, the Chancellor turns to him.
Onoile Ven is saying something. Palpatine listens with a polite smile, but Alnam can't hear anything.
He knows everybody at the party must be hearing his heartbeat, though.
Alnam's hearing returns, brought back to him by a voice - the voice.
"Ah, Agent Alnam. Finally we meet. I have been awaiting this moment."
Although a planet-sized drill site is going off in Alnam's chest, he manages to observe the protocol and bow. "It is a great honor, Your Excellency."
"The honor is all mine," Palpatine nods. "Agent Ven rarely commends anyone as much as he does you. And he is not the only one. I have heard many things about you, Agent. Many things. While flying here, I hoped you would shed light on certain episodes of your biography."
Here it comes. Try not to say anything that will get you discharged.
Well, that's not what you should worry about, is that? You'd better worry about how you're gonna live with yourself after what you say now.
"Of course, sir."
Palpatine makes a small pause and then continues, "I'm speaking about the drug-dealing network you busted this year. I'm afraid I did not have the time to make myself properly acquainted with the case file."
Alnam wants to make sure if he's heard him right. He stops himself at the last moment.
"What is it you want to know, Your Excellency?"
"Firstly, I was curious about how you kept your investigation secret from Messrs. Tu-Watha and Fumurad. Given how influential they had been before you closed in on them, it's surprising none of their minions you persuaded to cooperate with you told them. And secondly, how soon do you think the drug trafficking in Uscru will recuperate? I have the official estimates, but I would like to hear your opinion."
Alnam is so relieved he's not being asked about his father, he scarcely registers Palpatine's questions. It takes him a second to get his thoughts in order.
"As to your first question, sir, I had to employ some level of deception."
"Is that so? Most fascinating!"
"Indeed. I convinced them I was, in fact, bought by Tu-Watha to cull the treacherous elements in his syndicate. That was the grunts, I mean. For his underbosses, I pretended to be bought by the Besadii. A few threats, a few promises..."
"Ingenious!" Palpatine salutes him with a glass. "And they believed you?"
"I suppose I am a good actor, sir."
"I'm not saying anything, Agent, but have you ever thought about a political career?"
The RDS laugh. Alnam does, too - and this time, it's as genuine as it gets.
He licks his lips. "Concerning the second point, I am in no position to judge that. I do not have any statistics - any meaningful statistics, I mean. While I hope that our raid, the CorSec - the CSF - raid, will curb the drug trade in the district, drug trade is never fully gone. What we did was, I fear, a mere disruption that will result in other criminal barons coming to power. It requires a continuous effort to keep it down."
"Just as I thought. Unfortunately, with the war going on, our attention to the domestic problems has diminished. I have no desire to hide behind words: it is my fault as the Supreme Chancellor."
Alnam has to stop himself again: this time, from assuring Palpatine it is not so.
"Agents," Palpatine says, "if you will excuse us."
His touch on Alnam's shoulder is both fatherly and firm. They don't go far from the crowd, but somehow, Alnam is sure: nobody will be eavesdropping.
"Just today, I signed my approval of your appointment to the Commission."
Belatedly, Alnam thinks Palpatine could talk about Father now.
"The Commission?"
"Yes, the Joint Commission for the Grand Army of the Republic Inquiries. As Agent Boliola will be retiring in two months, a new RDS representative is needed. Your superiors spoke in favor of you - and I agreed."
"It is an honor, sir."
"It is a responsibility, first of all. The Grand Army came as a gift to us, but a gift from whom - this still remains a question. The question not many people in the Republic are courageous enough to ask, but ask it we must. Do you feel up to the task, Agent Alnam? Vad?"
"Of course, Your Excellency. I will not fail you."
A smile comes to the Chancellor's sharp, slightly bird-like face.
"I knew it," he says.
.
.
.
"Agent Alnam?"
Alnam turns around. The parking lot turns with him.
Perhaps he ought to take a taxi.
A small man stands next to a hoverlimo - and two other, much bigger men.
"Can I help you?" Alnam asks, wondering how this threesome got into the RDS headquarters.
"That's up to you to decide. A word?"
He gestures at the limo. Alnam doesn't like it - but it's the RDS HQ. The Supreme Chancellor himself left not half an hour ago. There are agents everywhere. The security is still on high alert.
Although - if they let these three in, maybe the alert isn't that high.
The wine takes the wheel, and Alnam walks to the limo's raised door. He's smiling stupidly and self-assuredly. Can't help smiling.
He remembers the Skadosi aircar: far less comfortable and far more crowded.
The small man gets in after him. Shuts the door.
"Don't worry," he says, "I won't take much of your time."
He offers Alnam his hand.
"Name's Doriana. You haven't heard of me, but you have worked for me."
"Is that a fact?"
"It very much is. Remember the libel case? The Honest Harbinger?"
Alnam's heart starts racing again. It's not fear - it's anger.
"Let's suppose I do," he says.
Doriana nods. "You did well back then. I would've handled the matter differently myself, but..."
Alnam really doesn't like the keenness of Doriana's eyes.
"You want to do something other than reminisce?" he asks.
"Short on patience, Agent? Don't be. I'm the bringer of gifts."
Doriana hands him a metaceramic-sealed envelope.
"For your service to the Republic."
"Is this a bribe?"
"It's not. It's your key to a special account. One hundred percent official. For receiving rewards. One is already there."
Alnam takes the envelope. Its coarse material feels good in his hands.
"How big is this one?"
"Why don't you find out on your own?"
Alnam thinks for a bit. Then hides the envelope in his jacket's inner pocket.
"I have a feeling we'll work together again sometime," says Doriana. Alnam doesn't hear joy in his voice.
Doriana opens the limo's door. His brutes stand hotching outside.
"You need a ride, Agent?"
Alnam wants to decline... but doesn't.
He doesn't name his address, however - but a very different one.
.
.
.
Ormi lets him stay over for the night. He sleeps on the sofa in the entrance room. It's the best night of sleep since the one he had after apprehending Povo Rapol on Skados VI.
He comes over again two days later - on the New Year's Eve. Brings presents - not to be opened until tomorrow morning; a morning as early as only a child on the Fete Day can make.
His presents are good, so he tells himself. A portable computer for Yalgi - the newest model in the Abgara line. Alnam's sure nobody else at school is getting anything like that. For Ormi, he got an aurodium chainlet from Dotro & Pahila. Both are way over an RDS operative's budget - unless said operative is on Mr. Doriana's payroll.
His new account - at the Bank of the Core - holds a hundred and fifty thousand creds. Well, less than that now. A big old heap of money - and it is what makes Alnam's presents feel cheap. As if he didn't buy them.
He can't help but to think about Doriana as he sits down with his family - what's left of it on the semantic level - for dinner. What's obvious: said Mr. Doriana works for the Chancellor. Said Mr. Doriana is also not to be found on any - publicly available - lists of the Supreme Chancellor's aides.
The question: why would the secretive Mr. Doriana pay Alnam a visit? Such an unsubtle visit at that?
The answer: he was sizing you up. The Chancellor might've put you on the Commission, but you didn't think your hundred and fifty grand were just for your past service, did you?
It was your advance - and not for the work on the Commission. Your appointment to which is also nothing if not an advance.
"They won't have a celebration tomorrow," Yalgi says. "On the Army of Light Plaza. No sir."
"It's for security," says Alnam. On the viewscreen, Kirbain Palad gets on a wrong ship like he does every Fete.
"But this is Coruscant." Ormi reaches to wipe some chocolate off Yalgi's face, but he evades her hand. Then wipes the chocolate off himself. "Isn't it too much?"
"No it's not," says Yalgi.
"There was a celebration last year," Ormi continues. "But not now? They've been telling us for a year how well the war is going, but we can't have a celebration?"
Her voice is too serious - way too serious for a talk about a local Fete festival.
It's almost like she's blaming Alnam for it.
"Well," he says while Kirbain describes his bride to a fellow passenger: She's the real jewel of her planet, you know. She combines all of its best and most famous qualities! "Well, not everything they say on the Holonet is true."
Aren't you one quirky fella! Palad's co-traveller tosses his arms up.
"I know. But how bad must it really be if they are locking us up here in the capital?"
"Nobody is locking anyone up. Come on, it's just a celebration. The war's been going on for a while. Everybody is jumpy. They just don't want to have a headache about ensuring security. With a lot of people, you know... it's a good target for terrorists."
"Aren't our apartment buildings also a good target? Our offices? There are also a lot of people there."
Ormi's stick-to-itiveness starts to get on his nerves. He tells himself to stay calm: Yalgi is here. Also: Ormi is his maybe-family.
"It's not like they can do anything about that," he tells her. "They can't resettle one trillion sentients on Coruscant in a way that there are no massive clusters of them. It's not possible."
"One trillion is just the official, uhm, figure," says Yalgi. "Really, there are more people here. Maybe two trillions. Maybe even three."
"Well, three is a bit out there, buddy," says Alnam. "But I can believe in two. Either way, it's not happening. But they can prevent any problems at a celebration if there's no celebration."
On the viewscreen, Kirbain finally realizes he is on Kashyyyk instead of Corellia. An ad break comes before he finds out the planet is under quarantine and no ships will be leaving it for a month.
"It's more to calm the public down," says Alnam. "It's not like there's an actual threat of a terrorist attack. Here on Coruscant? Please. The spaceport security is insane. I had to wait for two hours before they ran all the checks, and I'm an RDS operative. It's just to keep people calm. When they see there's no celebration, they know: something's being done for them."
"That's not how I feel."
"That's because you're smarter than an average crowd-person," he smiles. Ormi reciprocates, but just barely.
Alnam spends another night on the sofa. They open the presents in the morning. Yalgi is up in the clouds over his new computer - but that was predictable. Ormi surprises him: she really likes the chainlet. It almost seems as if the last two years didn't happen: he fastens the chainlet while feasting his eyes on the back of her neck, and the same curls of her hair tickle his fingers, and her skin gets the same goose bumps when he touches it.
Her smell is different, though: she didn't use this perfume back when they were together. Somehow, it wounds him.
She catches him in the entrance room in the evening - while Yalgi is too busy playing the game Ormi gave him on the computer Alnam gave him.
"Would you mind not staying tonight?" she asks.
His heart sinks. He didn't expect anything else - but it still does.
"Sure," he says.
Ormi hides her eyes. "Sorry. I'm not sure I'm ready for this... for anything."
"Sure," he says again.
.
.
.
His hands clutch the steering wheel too hard when he's flying home. It's okay, he tells himself, it's all fine. Hey, buddy, you're better than you were the same time yesterday! You spent a day with your son! He loved your present! And Ormi said she's not sure she's ready to take you back - which means she considers it, at least!
Yeah, buddy, he thinks. Fuck you, buddy.
He struggles to shoo away a certain thought. The thought that he didn't hire Smates last year. He could - had the money - but he didn't. He didn't fuck her over. And this is how she pays him back.
It's not a good thought. Not a fair thought. He fights it - but it's such a kind of fight it's more satisfying to take a dive in.
Another thought follows this one - and it is even worse.
Now he has more money than the last year. More than ever before.
He is grateful to whoever is calling him for freeing him from these thoughts - until he sees who it is.
It must be morning on Sanner. Vygo Alnam always gets up on eight hours sharp.
"No," Alnam tells his comlink. "We'll be talking in private, you and I."
He kills the call without taking it.