"Come on, son, hurry up," Alnam says.
It's hard to keep annoyance out of his voice.
"I'll just check my mail," says Yalgi.
"You can do it after school."
Not what Father would have said. What Father would have said: "You will do it after school."
"Come on," Alnam says, trying to sound firm but friendly. "I have an important meeting to attend."
"But it's only, like, half past six! With Mom, we only leave at seven-twenty!"
"Maybe it's because it takes longer to fly three hundred kilometers than ninety-something? Get moving!"
Yalgi's glares at him - but finally picks up his backpack.
Alnam locks the door. It's not half past six - more like ten minutes to seven. Five to seven - by the time they get into Alnam's speeder.
The boy lacks discipline - badly. Alnam's fault: when was the last time he took him in? That's right, almost a year ago. Planned to - sometime in the middle of the last year. But then the Uscru drug case came by, and... And, of course, the RDS - don't forget that. That's how you lose your son.
The traffic isn't too bad for a morning Coruscant: just two minutes, and they are at Limdori and Hywatt/77th-T intersection/well. Getting to Ductavis Plaza takes four - could've been three, but could've been six just as easy.
At Ductavis they get stuck for good ten. A shyly-yellow light begins to creep into the shadowy morning blueness and reflects off the blade in the hands of Ductavis's statue in the inverse corner of the Ministry of Information.
Yalgi is silent. Alnam wonders how his father would react if he was pouting like this.
"What classes do you have today?" he asks fully knowing it's a wrong question.
"Usual ones."
"Oh yeah? What are those?"
"The ones we get usually."
Alnam hates to continue this. Can't help it, though: he's been trying to be Yalgi's friend for far too long, and the boy needs him to be the father.
"It's been some time since I was at school."
Bad joke. On a better day, Yalgi would have laughed at it.
"So what are the ones you usually have?"
Yalgi sighs. "Math. Introduction to civil law. Double period of linguistic studies. Economics."
"Isn't economics and math the same thing?"
"I guess."
If even mocking school doesn't get through, it's better to leave him alone for now.
Seven-forty: Alnam drops his son at school.
"When do your classes end?" he asks him through an open speeder door.
"At 1 AM."
"I'll try to pick you up, but I'm not sure if I'll make it. Here," Alnam fishes some credit chips out of his pocket, "have a lunch if I don't."
"Okay."
"And make sure it's healthy, okay? I'm talking soup."
His deposition is scheduled for ten - but the Galactic Courts of Justice building remains almost a thousand kilometers away.
He really should have left Yalgi with his mother yesterday - would've saved himself all the trouble.
Coruscant is merciful to him this time: he reaches the Plains in about an hour. They rise above the surrounding scenery like a near-perfect mountain range, this monument to an architect's commitment and insanity - a million buildings of the same height with a rare distraction protruding above or sinking below the evenness. The Courts of Justice are one of those that protrude.
Time: 10:09. Alnam mutters a curse.
Retardedly, there's a single parking level, and that one is twenty levels lower than the surface of the Plains. GPS in Alnam's car thinks there's a descent lane leading to the entrance. There's not. He wastes two minutes going around the building and looking for a lane-down.
He starts coming in for a landing when his comlink rings. He curses again.
It's Wermano, his lawyer. Ven swears by her - and Alnam's about to swear at her.
"Where are you, Vad?"
"I'm trying to park." Then he adds with sickening servility, "Am I not too late?"
"You are being late, yes."
Well, thanks for clearing that up.
Ms. Wermano could be Onoile Ven's very disapproving auntie going by the way she looks. She waits for Alnam at the central lobby. He's grateful for that - the first he saw of the Galactic Courts' meandering corridors screams innavigable by an outsider.
"I'm sorry," he says, panting a little more than necessary.
"It's quite alright." Ms. Wermano's tone lets him know it's anything but. "They never start on time, anyway. But we should better not make them wait any longer."
She walks him to the elevator and then into some room that looks just like all the rest here do on the outside. Alnam hasn't been to others, but he thinks they probably look the same on the inside, as well.
Three Human males are sitting in the room. A droid is pouring one of them a cup of cafstim.
The one with a chevron mustache and the face of an operetta villain makes a wide gesture. "And now, it seems, we have all gathered."
"Oh, please, Larry," the fat one in a short-sleeved shirt says, "let me finish my caf."
"Please, Rej. Be our guest." Larry smiles to Alnam and Wermano. "Make yourselves at home. It can take a while."
"Your ID," Rej says as he slurps his cafstim.
Alnam tries to keep cool when Rej wipes his hand on his shirt before taking the ID.
"All a-okay," Rej says and gives it back.
Alnam fights the temptation to wipe it too.
Ms. Wermano turns on her datapad. Then she begins cleaning its screen. Alnam watches her. Would be nice to get some pre-battle orders - but she doesn't look like she's going to be done with the screen until the deposition starts.
Alnam looks around. Rel Koji - the Cattesian - isn't here. Alnam knew he wouldn't be, but still couldn't help but worry if something gets amended the last moment.
"Alright," Larry says in five minutes. "Now that you're finished with your caf, Rej, would you be so kind as to provide Mr. Alnam and Ms. Wermano with mikes?"
The fat one gets up. His chair gets pushed back by a good meter. Alnam remembers the pack of diapers Difasg kicked when he hit him in the head. Then he remembers Difasg's shield.
"Can I please have some water?" he asks.
Rej brings him a dispobottle along with a clip-on microphone. Alnam downs almost half of the bottle in one go.
"And we're on the record now," says Larry. "This is the deposition of Mr. Vad Alnam. The case is The Skadosi Heavy Industry Workers' Union and Rel Koji v. Vad Alnam, the case number is 2-378-33-9076-14. Today is 15.1.7. The time is, uh, 10:23 AM. Will the present parties please identify themselves formally?"
Alnam takes a breath, but the third man preempts him and Ms. Wermano gives him a sharp look. Oh yeah, oh yeah, he's not supposed to talk yet.
"The SHIWU representative Julian Narses from Narses, Narses, and Daagmaar," says the man in a long dark-green robe. He wears it with none of Palpatine's grace.
"On behalf of the defendant, Voke Wermano of The Lagwonner Law Firm."
Larry nods. "And I am the plaintiff's representative Lawrence Garell of Vilgi. I will be conducting the deposition. The court reporter is Rej Mitoni. Now, the court reporter will adjure you."
"Will you please raise your dominant hand?" says Rej - and does it himself, as if he's talking to a toddler.
Alnam raises his.
"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
Alnam feels stupid when he confirms that.
"Could you state your name for the record?" Larry asks him. "Your full name?"
"Vad Alnam."
"And your date of birth?"
"18.4.4 BrS."
"What is your address?"
"Iskaayuma 5562/1182/402."
"You are presently not under influence of any mind-altering substance - is that correct, Mr. Alnam?"
"It is correct."
"Do you know what a deposition is?"
"I do."
"Do you understand that we are having a deposition now?"
"I do."
"Do you understand that it can be used in court?"
"I do."
"What planet were you born on, Mr. Alnam?"
"On Coruscant."
"And you lived there for how long?"
"For about ten years."
"What happened when you turned ten?"
"Approximately ten. I was sent to a boarding school on Alderaan."
"What boarding school was that?"
"Surt Thul's Lyceum at the University of Aldera."
"And you stayed there for how long?"
"Until I was sixteen."
"Did you graduate from it?"
"I did."
"Okay. That was in 2 BrS, correct?"
"Correct."
"Okay. What happened after your graduation?"
"I served in the Legislative Youth Program."
"Was it on Alderaan?"
"No, it was here on Coruscant."
Alnam feels sweat on his forehead. Wermano has warned him they would ask a lot of unrelated questions. Shit - by the time they start asking the related ones, he'd tell them it was he who killed Vidar Kim.
"Okay," Larry says. "How long did you serve in the Program?"
"For eighteen standard months."
"Then you got in the Coruscant Police Academy, is that correct?"
"Yes, it is correct."
"What did you do after the Academy?"
"I enrolled in the Coruscant Security Force."
"Do you work in the Coruscant Security Force now?"
"No, I do not."
"For how long did you work... did you serve in the CSF?"
"For nine years and... eight months. Standard."
"Can you specify your post in the CSF?"
"I was a patrol officer and then a detective."
"Okay. When did you become a detective?"
"It was in the year nine. After I took the exam."
"Okay. You left the Coruscant Security Force last year, is that correct?"
"It is."
"That is when you started serving in the Republic Domestic Security, is that correct?"
"Yes it is."
"Okay. Was there any period between your service in the Coruscant Security and the RDS?"
"No."
"You went straight from the CorSec to the RDS?"
"I did."
"Can you remember the exact date when your service started?"
"You mean in the RDS?"
"Yes, yes, in the RDS. Sorry."
"That would be... the second of the eighth of the last year."
"Okay."
A cold realization pierces Alnam. "I'd like to make a clarification on the last point: uh, officially, it was the first day of the eighth."
"Okay."
Larry doesn't seem to mind. Rej may - he's responsible for reporting, but Alnam doesn't look at Rej. He's focused on Larry and on Larry only.
Larry smoothes his whiskers. "When you started working in the RDS, you were given an assignment, is that correct?"
"Yes it is. That is what work entails, doesn't it?"
Larry laughs. "Well, we all wish it didn't. Alright. That assignment you got, it concerned the situation on Skados VI, is that correct?"
"It is."
"Now, uh, I want you to give us the most detailed description of the nature of that assignment - but without touching on anything that is under investigatory privilege."
"That would be hard."
"Please try."
"It had to do with anti-Republic libel and propaganda. It was a propaganda case."
"We'll get back to this later. Did you go to Skados VI as a part of that assignment?"
"I did."
"Can you specify the time you spent on Skados VI?"
"It was the eighth to the nineteenth of the eighth. Last year."
"During which time, you have visited the offices of the Skados VI Planetary Metalwork Corporation located at the Skados City Heavy Industry Hub, building 13/2? Is that correct?"
"I have. It is."
"What date did it happen on?"
Alnam thinks for a second. "On the fifteenth."
"The fifteenth day of the eighth, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Have you been there prior to that date?"
"No."
"Have you ever been to Skados VI prior to the eighth month of the last year?"
"No, I have not."
"Have you met Mr. Rel Koji prior to your arrival at Skados VI?"
"I have not."
"Have you met Mr. Rel Koji prior to the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the last year?"
"I have not met him prior to that date."
"Have you heard or talked about him prior to that date from or to anybody?"
"No, I have not."
"So you had no knowledge of that man prior to that date, is that correct?"
"It is correct. In fact, I had no knowledge of him - as in, his name or his position or anything - even on that date."
"Uh-huh. Okay. When did you become acquainted with his name and, as you said, everything else?"
"That was on the next day."
"The sixteenth?"
"Yes."
"I see. For the record: the sixteenth of the eighth Galactic corresponds to the second of the second month of the Skadosi calendar. The Skadosi year was 2109. Okay. You did not know the name of Mr. Koji when you saw him, is that correct?"
"It is."
"What was the reason of your visit to the offices of the Skados VI Planetary Metalwork Corporation on the fifteenth of the eighth last year?"
"My partner and I were there to conduct an arrest."
"Did you have an order?"
"Yes, obviously."
"Was it the order for Mr. Koji's arrest?"
"No, it was not."
"I'd like you to look at the floor plan of the offices. It is plaintiff exhibit one. I'd like you to look at it and tell me if it is an accurate depiction of the offices' layout."
Alnam looks at the hologram. "For the record - I've been to said offices just once-"
"Does the plan depict them accurately, to the best of your memory?"
"Let's not interrupt each other," Ms. Wermano says. "According to the Republic Code of Criminal Procedure, section 5, subsection 11, all the parties-"
"Yes," Larry says, "I'm sorry-"
"Now, I must insist all of us adhere to this subsection which clearly states that all the parties at a deposition must be listened to without interruptions as long as their answers fall under the requirements of the section 5, subsections 8 to 10."
Just get it over with, Alnam thinks.
"I apologize," says Larry. "Mr. Alnam, do you want to add anything to your statement - what was that statement, Mr. Mitoni?"
"The one you interrupted?"
"Yes, the one I interrupted."
"I do not want to add anything to it," Alnam says.
Larry waves his hand. "The section 5 is one for all of us, Mr. Alnam. Let us indeed try not to interrupt each other."
Rej clears his throat. "Mr. Alnam's statement was, 'For the record - I've been to said offices just once.'"
"Do you, Mr. Alnam, have anything to add to this statement?"
"I do not."
"To the best of your recollection, is the plan you're seeing accurate?"
"To the best of my recollection, it is."
"Please find on the plan the note saying 1."
"Uhhh-huh."
"Does the note 1 represent the recording studio inside the offices?"
"Objection," Ms. Wermano says. "Mr. Alnam has already stated he does not know the layout of the offices by heart."
"Well, I believe he stated no such thing - that's just what I assumed, hence my interruption that caused so much contention." Larry smiles. "Mr. Alnam, do you recall the layout of the Skados VI Planetary Metalwork Corporation offices by heart?"
"No, sir, I do not."
"To the best of your recollection, does the note 1 represent the recording studio?"
"I would say it does, as far as I can remember."
"Do you mind telling us how you got inside the recording studio?"
"My partner Agent Apani shot the control panel of the door - which is in line with the prescribed arrest procedures."
"Thank you for this clarification, but it's not something I'm currently interested in. So your partner shot the control panel, and the door opened, is that correct?"
"Yes it is."
"What happened next?"
"We entered the recording studio."
"Who entered it first: you or your partner?"
"I did."
"And what happened then?"
"I introduced us and stated our reason for being there."
"And what happened after that?"
"I saw an employee at the studio reach for something."
"That employee was Mr. Koji, yes?"
Wermano inhales, but Alnam steps in before she can object.
"I didn't know that at that time."
"Did you later find out that employee was Mr. Koji?"
"Yes I did."
"Did you have your blaster pistol in your hand when you entered the studio?"
"I had it in my hand."
"Did you have your blaster pistol in your hand when you saw the employee you later identified as Mr. Koji reach for something?"
"Yes I did."
"Was your blaster pistol in the stun mode at the time you saw the employee you later identified as Mr. Koji reach for something?"
"Yes it was."
"Were you sure it was in the stun mode?"
Wermano objects. Larry throws his arms up.
"The objection stands," says Ms. Wermano. "You may answer."
That's just great, Alnam thinks.
"I was sure it was in the stun mode, yes."
"Then you shot the employee later identified as Mr. Koji, is that correct?"
"I stunned him."
"Did you see a weapon at or in the vicinity of the employee later identified as Mr. Koji?"
"I did not, but the concept of concealed weapons exists, so I saw my actions as justified."
In reality, Alnam can't remember if he was thinking about that at the time. Probably not: he was more worried Koji would delete their archives or do something like that.
"Mr. Alnam, please answer my questions and do not expand on them unless I ask you. Can you recall what appendage Mr. Koji reached for some object with?"
"It was his upper right limb."
"So it was his wing?"
"Objection. Leading question. You may answer."
Alnam sighs. "It was his right wing."
"Have you ever seen a Cattesian person grab anything with a wing?"
"Objection. Mr. Alnam isn't an anatomist."
"Mr. Alnam was conducting an investigation on a predominantly Cattesian planet which is also a part of the Cattesian core space. I'd expect some knowledge on how the locals' anatomy works from him, at least."
"The objection stands. You may answer."
"I have not," Alnam says, fighting the urge to wipe his forehead. "But I have seen their devices with sensor beams - which can and are explicitly constructed to be triggered by a wing movement."
"What did you assume Mr. Koji's movement could trigger?"
"I did not have time to ponder on it properly. I mean, at that time. At that moment."
"Okay. Do you recall what intensity your pistol's stunner was when you used it on Mr. Koji?"
"It was twenty-six kilocebs."
"Is twenty-six kilocebs the standard intensity of the stunner?"
"Define standard."
Narses wakes up. "Objection. It's Mr. Garell who's asking questions to you, Mr. Alnam, and your task is to answer them - not to ask questions to Mr. Garell or me."
"Mr. Alnam is at liberty to ask for a clarification," Wermano says.
"There's no such thing as 'the' standard intensity," says Alnam.
"It's fine, Mr. Narses," says Larry, showing his unnaturally white teeth.
"For the record," says Narses, "my objection stands."
Ms. Wermano scoffs. "You can have it."
"So there is no standard stun pistol intensity, is that correct?" Larry asks.
"There is no single standard intensity. The stun setting intensity is determined based on a table in The Domestic Security Weapon Regulations."
"Can you describe in further detail how it is determined?"
"When setting the intensity before entering a scene, the stun intensity should be determined in relation to the lowest-mass sentient known to be present at the scene. The intensity itself is determined according to the formula: the average mass of a species minus three kilograms in the case of the average lying between thirty-five and forty kilograms - as is the case with the Cattesians - multiplied by seventy-eight cebs and rounded down to the largest integer in kilocebs."
"So you were sure there would be Cattesians in the recording studio, is that correct?"
"I was sure that the prime suspect an order for whose arrest we had would be there."
"Was the prime suspect a Cattesian?"
"Yes."
"Were you sure there would not be any sentient present in the studio with a lower mass than that of an average Cattesian?"
Wermano does her non-objection objection trick, but Alnam is calming down. These are the questions he's prepared for.
"I was certain beyond any reasonable doubt that there would not be any sentients weighing less than an average Cattesian at the scene. According to the Galactic Bureau of Statistics, Cattesians make for about eighty-seven percent of the Skados VI population. Only point four percent of the population is represented by species whose mass is lower than the Cattesians'."
"What was your plan if there was such a sentient present?"
"Objection," Ms. Wermano says. "Unsubstantiated theorizing. You may answer."
"In that case," Alnam says, "I would refrain from using my blaster."
"Were you, as of the fifteenth of the eighth of the last year aware of various heart conditions that can be worsened and/or complicated by a hit with a stun gun?"
"I was."
"Did you consider the possibility that Mr. Koji could have one or more of such conditions?"
"I did consider the general principle of applying the stun setting."
"What conclusion did you come to?"
"That stunning someone is less lethal than shooting them with a laser."
"Did you search the workplace of Mr. Koji during the arrest of your prime suspect?"
"We did, my partner and I."
"Did you find any weapon Mr. Koji could be reaching for?"
"We did not."
"Did you search Mr. Koji himself?"
"We did."
"Did you find any weapon on him?"
"No, no weapon."
"What was the extent of your communication with Mr. Koji afterwards?"
"I apologized to him."
"Did you apprehend him?"
"We did - same as everyone present at the studio."
"What happened next?"
"Most of the employees - Mr. Koji included - were released on pledge not to leave Skados City until the trial."
"Did you come into contact with Mr. Koji after that day?"
"No, not personally."
"Did you communicate with him on comlink or via any other remote way of communication?"
"No."
Larry nods. "I have no more questions for today."
.
.
.
"So, how was it?"
Elevators shuffle past them as Alnam and Wermano stand in the lobby.
"I'm not sure what answer you are expecting. It was a deposition. It went pretty standard."
"Well, I mean, I didn't put a foot in my mouth or anything like that?"
"No. You were far more collected than my average client. A non-RDS client."
Their elevator arrives. They walk in. A youth in an office suit but with a pink mohawk stands inside, nodding to the rhythm coming out of his earpiece.
Alnam considers talking business in front of a stranger. The feeling of unresolvedness defeats caution.
"So, uh, how do you think we should proceed now?"
Wermano purses her lips. "It's too early to tell. Your deposition is the first. Now, we need to question Mr. Koji, his coworkers, your partner, your boss... It's a lengthy process."
"And I will be called in to clarify things as we go along, right?"
"Most likely, you will."
Alnam rubs his chin. "How is it looking for me?"
They exit the elevator. Wermano downright storms out of it. She's probably had enough of it, but Alnam is at her heels.
"As I said, the worst case, you're going to get a formal reprobation. Since you work in the RDS, it's highly unlikely you will be stood down."
"Any chance we can speed the process up? I mean, I'm ready for the reprobation. Give it to me now and let me work."
"That's not an option. You know how courts work yourself. Nothing will be done until it's done. And besides, there's a conflict between the Union and Mr. Koji's attorney."
"You mean, the Narses guy and Larry?"
"That's what I mean." Ms. Wermano's patient tone doesn't fit with her expression. "The Union is affiliated with Kusa Vtevi, who was the senator from Skados VI formerly. Proving there's a conspiracy - or should I say, implying there is a conspiracy - involved between Senator Ktii and Coruscant is the only way for him to knock her powerbase from under her. He hopes your process will force the Senate to cut Ktii loose if she becomes too much of a liability. And Garell... Garell just wants his client to get compensated for the, uh, takedown. Which will probably end up happening."
It's warmer outside than it was in the morning. Alnam checks his watch: 12:34.
"Can we maybe use their conflict?" he asks.
Wermano exhales sharply. "That's something I've thought about."
"Yeah, sorry. Of course."
"But you can be sure," she says, "it will take time anyway."
.
.
.
"How was the day?"
Yalgi gets in. "Fine."
The wrinkle between his eyebrows is gone. He doesn't smile and look at his father until they fly away from the school's aircar pad.
"How was your day?" Yalgi asks. "Did you go to that, uh, meeting?"
"Well, I said I would. Why would I lie to you? You think your dad is a liar?"
Yalgi laughs. "Was the Chancellor there again?"
"No, it was a different kind of meeting."
"But you remember? If you meet him again?"
"What was that? To tell him about your grades?"
"Dad!"
"Yeah, I remember. You wanted a Jedi's autograph. What's his face - Vannar Treece?"
"Oh, come on, dad!"
"Oh, oh, yeah. I remember now. It's that Skywalker fellow."
"You'll ask him, right?"
"Told you I would. Buuuuut... what if he can't do that, the Chancellor? He's a busy man. I imagine Skywalker is, too. So how about Treece's autograph?"
Yalgi turns away and to the window. It's a mock peeve, though, and Alnam doesn't feel a surge of self-hate rising in his chest.
"Do you know, at least, who Vannar Treece was?" he asks his son.
"I don't want his autograph."
"Okay, I got that. But do you know who he was? I'm serious."
"Daaaaad-"
"What? I'm checking your general knowledge. I'm finding it lacking."
"It's not!"
"Well, then tell me who Vannar Treece was. Oh, you don't know that? What are they teaching you there? We oughta to find a new school for you. How does a boarding school sound?"
"Dad!"
"What? I studied at one, you know."
"Yeah, I know. It's not like you told me about it, I don't know, a trillion billion times."
Alnam shuts up to change the lane.
"Vannar Treece," he says after that's done, "is a hero of the Republic. He fought in the New Sith Wars-"
"But we haven't studied the New Sith Wars yet! It's the sixth grade!"
"Okay. Well, listen now and you'll pass for a smart kid in the sixth grade. In those wars, the Republic was on its last legs. Some people like to say now we're in a new dark age. They're full of it, okay? It's not even close to what was going on a thousand years ago."
"Why was it so bad?"
"Well, some bad decisions were made by the government. The Jedi didn't do too good, either. There was that battle that almost destroyed them as an order." Alnam realizes he doesn't remember its bloody name. "Well, basically, we lost almost everything apart from the Core after it."
"And the Sith were really powerful, right?"
"I guess they were."
"But isn't Dooku also a Sith?"
"Depends on whom you ask. The mass media like to call him a disgraced Jedi and such. The Jedi seem to insist he's a Sith."
"And he's also our relative, right?"
"A very distant one. Through your grandmother Strenua."
"Can I also be a Sith?"
"I'd prefer you not to. Why don't you be more like Treece?"
"Did Treece defeat the Sith?"
"Well, not really. But he was a hero - because he saved a lot of people. And those people, nobody else would save."
"Why?"
"Because everybody cared just for themselves. Well, it's probably more complex than that, but that's the gist. It was a hard time, after all. But what I mean is not even the other Jedi would go to the Sith space to help civilians on the occupied planets. Vannar Treece would. So yeah, he did not destroy the Sith - the seven battles of Ruusan did. But who knows how many people he saved later fought in those battles?"
Alnam looks at his son. The boy doesn't seem thoroughly convinced - but this is about the extent of things Alnam can remember about Vannar Treece.
So he just says, "Let's grab a couple viewscreen dinners, what do you say to that?"
.
.
.
"Did they find the guys who shot at you?"
Alnam squints at Mtoro. "Just the one I shot at." He bites his tongue before bringing Devin up.
Mtoro reads his mind. "What about the one you were arresting?"
"No luck there, either. And from what I've seen of the Telos police, it's not going to change."
"At least, he's not going to be broadcasting again."
The GAR propaganda campaign is an open secret in the Domestic Security now - now that Alnam's nearly got killed while investigating it.
And Krev Devin is really not going to be broadcasting again: his HB-890 is now stored in one of the RDS storehouses here on Coruscant.
The droid lands their speeder. Uscru-North, Pinecone Square - colloquially, the Cones. The four cones always looked more like firs than pines to Alnam.
Gizmo lies across the square from the parking lot, in one of the more phallic than conical towers. The monolith of Desiderata looms over the square: two hundred thousand suites separated from the Cones by eighteen-by-eighteen lanes of traffic. The Cathedral of the Eternal One stands next to the hotel. Alnam remembers how he was called - back in his patrol days - to take care of some other faith protestors who got in. The fuckers claimed he couldn't remove them because of the sanctity of the place.
"I wonder whose idea it was to put the parking so far away," Mtoro says.
"When you're under three types of drugs, it's nighttime, and the music is blasting - are you kidding me? These distances are nothing."
"Your drug case - did you visit the Cones, too?"
"I knew it - you didn't read my report." Alnam remembers how this conversation went the last time. "No, that was more to the south. Exhale Ave, Trinda Cul-de-sac, that little back alley next to the holofilm complex, you know, in Elti Street."
"There's a back alley there? That used to be my favorite holoplex. There's an alley there?"
"It's like on the level eleven-seventy or something. You probably wouldn't notice it unless you were coming from a very specific point."
The square looks off in daylight and without roaming throngs of spice-ghouls. Looks like a giant holofilm set - especially from the top of the tower.
Gizmo takes said top - eight levels of crème retching crème. No crème here now - too early. At 11 AM, they just crawl to sleep.
A janitor droid is mopping the floor on Gizmo's lowest level.
"Is Mr. Alni in his office?" Mtoro asks.
A twitchy Twi'lek materializes before the droid can stand up.
"Can I help you? Mr. Alni is not well at the moment."
Mtoro shows him her ID. "We're with the RDS."
"Inquiring into the Tax Office thing you folks are having," says Alnam.
Both Gizmo and Palooia - forty kilometers west and half-kilometer down from here - have been having a thing with the Coruscant Office for Tax Collection. Said thing: Mtoro-invoked. Giles says the clubs didn't pay Fozatta in young talents only - also had a cut of the ticket sales. Had a scheme set up to get those monies tax-free - top secret shit. Not even Giles knew the ins and outs.
Now that Fozatta's regular accounts are frozen, would be nice to see how that scheme operates.
"Mr. Alni is, as I said, presently indisposed. You should speak to our accountant, Ms. Riva. But she's not here right now. I can-"
"It's a damn shame Mr. Alni is indisposed," Alnam says. "We're here because we heard there are numerous, uh, complaints about how this investigation is going on-"
"We are not under any investigation at this moment," the Twi'lek says quickly.
"Well, call it what you want, but, you know, there are multiple other parties around Coruscant being dragged into this. It's the Tax Office doing one of their gimmicks. The fiscal year ending, they were getting a lot of pressure from the government - it's a thing they do to show their zeal, so to speak. Going after random - successful - businesses to try and find just about anything. So, uh, we're here to check if they... if what they're doing in your case is okay, basically."
The Twi'lek looks from Mtoro to Alnam and back. "Are you saying it may not be legal? What they're doing to us?"
Alnam munches on his bubblegum. "Well, it's not illegal, strictly speaking. Like, you can't go to court with it - I mean, you can, but..." He gives a knowing smile to Mtoro. Then to the Twi'lek. "But - if there's something fishy about it - you can get them to back off. Now, if you don't want it, just let Mr. Alni send a formal no-complaints note to our office. I mean, that's less work for us, right?"
"I will see if Mr. Alni is available now. Will you wait at the bar, please? Everything is on the establishment for you."
Another droid is working the bar. Pretty low-class - Alnam supposes a sentient will be doing it come night.
Alnam spits his gum into an ashtray on the bar counter. It gets incinerated before it hits the bottom - neat. He picks up a toothpick from a dispenser. Puts it into the corner of his mouth. Turns his back to the counter and leans on it with his elbows.
"Got an oral fixation, Alnam?" Mtoro asks.
"Damn right I have."
The Twi'lek comes back. "Mr. Alni is ready to see you, if you please."
One more elevator ride up. Orfid Alni's office: darkened windows. Holoposters and flimsiplast posters on the walls hang alongside melodiums, bandfills, and mandoviols. It's one of these stupid rooms where the floor changes its altitude at random. In the case of Orfid Alni's office, it's worsened by how much shit there's on this floor: sound slugs, items of clothing, holocards, fast food boxes, credit chips.
Orfid Alni looks too sharp against this backdrop. His clothes are casual - but at least, not visibly dirty.
"Mr. Alni," Mtoro says, "my name is Agent Apani and this is my partner Agent Alnam of the Republic Domestic Security."
Alni's face jerks when he hears Alnam's surname.
"Alnam, really?"
"Yeah, really."
"That's crazy to think, huh? You're Alnam, and I'm Alni. Did you - if you don't mind me asking - did you volunteer to do this case?"
"No," Alnam smiles. "I guess it was the fate that brought us together."
"But what a coincidence!" Alni scratches his blonde beard. "So, I gather you're here about the tax investigation - I mean, it's not, it's not an investigation, it's the process of clarifying some things, as I've been told-"
Mtoro interrupts him, "That's what we're here about."
"-as I've been told by my lawyers. Yeah. Good, good, good. Anyway. What can I do for you?"
"We would like to-" Mtoro starts, but Orfid Alni blows up with another blast of energy.
"Oh, excuse me. Please, take a seat. Let me just get rid of this..."
They wait until Alni frees a couple of chairs from under what looks like consequences of a flangth-box landslide.
"So we're here to make sure the Office for Tax Collection is treating you right," Mtoro says.
"Oh, man... I don't even... You see, I'm not, I'm not a finance person."
Alnam makes a quick rotating gesture with his finger above his head. "How about all this? Seems to suggest otherwise, huh?"
"Oh, it's... I guess I'm lucky. I'm a musician, first of all. It's mostly my name that draws people here."
"Oh, no-no-no-no-no-no! This is some prime real estate! Uscru-North? Are you serious?"
"What my partner is trying to say," Mtoro says, "is that Gizmo looks exactly like a typical business that would attract the taxers' attention."
Alni licks his lips. Nods. "Okay."
"So do you have any complaints about how they're doing their job?"
"Oh, shit... I really wish I could help - I really do. But... as I said, I'm not a finance-minded guy. I don't understand, frankly, a lot of things that go on, you know, behind the scenes."
Alnam doesn't like the look in his eyes. He doesn't like Alni as a whole too much, true - there's something about his young pudgy face that rubs him the wrong way - but the look in Alni's eyes is not good.
He's onto something. He may not be feigning his cluelessness, but he's not a complete moron - or his intuition is talking to him now.
The look doesn't get worse when Mtoro repeats the end-of-the-fiscal-year drivel - but neither does it go away.
You need to talk - or the dude's intuition will keep talking.
"So Mr. Alni," he says, "we get it, okay: you're not that into finances. That's cool by us. But you run things here, okay? That's true, right? It's your club?"
"Yeah, I mean, sure." Alni smiles. "Last I checked!"
"And you know better than anybody else what sort of public comes here."
"Excuse me? What are you getting at exactly, Mr. Alnam?"
"Come on now. Musicians. Not the most... careful folk when it comes to not saying shit that is currently best left unsaid, eh? In the political climate we have?"
Alni doesn't know what to say. Good. Keep talking.
Alnam does. "Just between the three of us - the taxers don't like that sorta thing. Commissioner Pardo is this kind of a patriot, you know, that is constantly on a lookout for this type of stuff - like really minor. Like, you can't say a slightly bad thing about the Senate without him getting on your ass. That's the kind of a patriot he is."
"Oh," Orfid says, "yeah, I know a few people like that. Don't get me wrong - I am a patriot myself. I, I love the Republic. But yeah, some people get a little too, uh-"
"Too agitated," Alnam suggests.
"Yeah! So you think that may be that?"
"Well, Mr. Alni, let me be honest with you. I believe you recognized my surname when Agent Apani introduced me?"
"I mean..."
"You've heard about Alnam RoboTech? Vygo Alnam?"
"You are..?"
"Uh-huh. That's my dad. I know how this shit works, believe you me. And you know why? It's because there's no real legal way of dealing with dissent like this. You cannot, you cannot imprison a person for saying our government fucking sucks. But you can, you know, send the taxers after him. Or after the guy who hooks him up with his audience, producers, et cetera."
Alni looks at Mtoro. "So you think this is what's happening?"
"We do not know," she answers. "We hoped you would help us clear this up."
"And there's one more thing," Alnam says. "Now, they're coming after you. But then - what's to stop them from coming after your friends? You know, those who actually said stuff the taxer-in-chief didn't like?"
Alni thinks. "Well, the crowd I have here is... it can be a little... leaning towards anarchy, should I say? Not always, I mean - it's some performers that may attract a certain type of audience."
"Let's try and remember when the inspections started," Mtoro says.
Alni tries. Like a child - he's now interested in the game and trying his damnedest to help them figure out what set the Tax Office off.
Alnam watches him as Alni names names and relays words. There's one name that seems to elude poor Orfid no matter how hard he tries to remember all the others.
Alnam helps him. "By the way - didn't the outcry about Fozatta start some time before your trouble?"
Orfid turns away from Mtoro - as if pulled by a string. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, you're friends with Mr. Fozatta, so-"
"I'm... I don't understand what you're talking about."
Alnam laughs. "Mr. Alni, are we in a bad procedural? Let's not do this."
"We have looked at the artists who performed in Gizmo in the past two years," Mtoro says as she puts a holoprojector on Alni's table. Here it goes! "There is a certain pattern we couldn't help but notice."
"I don't understand-"
Alnam points at the image rising from the projector. A Nautolan band.
"This is Voss Dozz's Orchestra, right?" Mtoro goes to the next image. It's text - mirrored for Alnam, but Alni can see it just fine. "Their first single, I Don't Know What It Is... Not, was recorded by Fozatta Records, which still retains exclusive rights to it - and to the Orchestra's performances. That song made the charts - namely, Silence!, The Breezer, The Galactic Top 200, Coruscant Flow - top spots all - as well as the top spots in the glimmik sections of What's That Tune?, Coruscant's Top 40, The True Chart, and numerous others. It happened, let's see, on the twenty-first of the third month, thirteen. Three days later, Voss Dozz's Orchestra gave two concerts in Gizmo, and two more on the thirtieth. And that's just five months after you opened, right?"
"I don't seem to remember..."
"You don't remember when you opened?" Alnam jumps in.
"Of course I do, but-"
"This situation, or a very similar one, happened with Uitta N'To two months later," Mtoro goes on, "The Crudity just three weeks after that, then with Atlooda in the early eighth month..." Now she is naming names - and transparent faces turn into documents above the desk and documents into faces. "Sixteen cases all - that's only the year thirteen. Excuse us if we don't believe that you don't have any connection to Giburin Fozatta."
"Okay, I never said I didn't have any connection..." Alni nods - as though he's agreeing with himself.
Mtoro nods too - but doesn't say a word.
"I had... we had a business relationship."
"Was it completely aboveground? Please don't mind us asking - but you have to be honest with us so that we can help you. The thing is, you see," Mtoro shows him the next image, "there are no mentions of you paying Fozatta Records anywhere in your accounts."
"How-how-how do you have this?"
"We're investigating how the Tax Office's investigating you, remember?" Alnam says. "Of course we have this."
"I paid the artists-"
"Let's see."
More images appear.
"For all the concerts last year - eighty in total - you paid the performers affiliated with Fozatta Records the total of one hundred and twenty-three thousand credits. Those are the best-selling singers and bands at their peak. And they cost you scantily more than a thousand credits per concert?"
"I mean, this just doesn't work, does it," says Alnam. "I once paid a clown to come to my son's birthday party eight hundred. Which, I figure, is less than a typical ticket costs here in Gizmo. And that was before the war."
Mtoro takes the ball. "Not only that, but you cannot also avoid paying the rights holders if the songs they are the rights holders of are performed at your concerts. Fozatta Records holds the rights to all the songs recorded at it in the past fourteen years. We have examined the publicly available tapes of the aforementioned concerts and discovered nearly all the songs sung at Gizmo by those artists were recorded by Fozatta. So this brings us to the question of how exactly you paid Mr. Fozatta for all the concerts that his artists had given in Gizmo."
"I'm not sure... Look, you're supposed to see if the Tax Office thing is legal, right? But now you're asking me, like, if I did my accounts right - which, by the way, isn't done by me. So I don't understand-"
"We're trying to make sense of what we're seeing."
"Look, I don't mind... cooperating?" Alni's tone goes up. "But I don't think I'm comfortable discussing these things... unprepared."
Alnam tsks - with the most friendly disappointed face he's capable of. "My son - he's eleven - he wants to get into the music business when he grows up. I mean, he's eleven - so who knows how it pans out. Not something I'd like him to do... But, like, he's interested in it - currently."
"If he wants... If you want, I can give him a tour of the club and the..." Alni blinks. "Just, uh, you can bring him here, and I'll show him - and you, if you want - Gizmo and, you know, the backstage and everything-"
Alnam looks at Mtoro. She noticed it too - he can see it.
"The club and what else?" he asks.
Takes Alni two tries to regain control of his voice. "The backstage?"
He doesn't sound like he's convinced himself.
"Mr. Alni," Mtoro says, "there are victims coming out who - alleged victims - who accuse Mr. Fozatta of sexual harassment. Your name also features quite prominently-"
"I never harassed anybody!" Alni rises up and falls back into his chair immediately. "That's just sick, man! I would never do that! Anything like that!"
"Oh, nobody's saying you harassed them," Alnam says. "Just, perhaps, facilitated your friend's raping them. Small thing, eh?"
"What are you s... That's enough! Get out of here!"
"We're RDS," Alnam gives him his best shit-eating grin. "We can stay if we want."
"I'm calling my lawyer!"
Mtoro's sigh is like a speeder engine decelerating. "You are free to do that, obviously. But right now, Mr. Alni, is not the best time to cover for Giburin Fozatta. The man is being accused of organizing anti-Republic libel campaigns, sexual misconduct, rape - this is someone you want as your friend?"
"We need Fozatta," says Alnam, "not you. You still give him money, don't you? How does that happen? He doesn't come here to collect his due, right? I mean, either way is okay with us. Just give us Fozatta - and we'll leave you to deal with the Tax Office."
"I'm calling my lawyer."
Shit - Alni may be missing the comlink buttons with all the adrenaline his heart's pumping, but he's dead set on clamming up.
Mtoro stands up. Invites Alnam to join her.
"You saw that, right?" she whispers. It's funny how Ithorians do that - you'd never imagine they can whisper at all by the way they talk, but they can be the softest-speaking species in the Galaxy when they need to.
"The 'the' thing?"
"Yeah. I bet it's related."
"Uh-huh. What about the lawyer? Are we screwed?"
"If his lawyer..." She pauses when Alni starts screaming into his comlink. "If his lawyer is any good, they'd tell him to talk. That's the sane thing to do."
"Right. Can be an ass, though."
"Yeah. You mind going to the detention center real quick?"
"You think Giles-"
"Maybe he can guess what the 'the' was about. I mean, probably not - he'd've told us already if it was this obvious - but maybe he'll remember something we can use."
"Okay. You'll keep the watch?"
Mtoro squints. "You bet I will."
Alnam takes a bus: there's a stop at the feet of the Gizmo tower and he doesn't feel like crossing the square again.
"Very nice of you to get here so soon, Agent," a detention officer tells him. "Another ten minutes, and I'd have to walk him to his cell and back into the interview room."
"Somebody was questioning Giles?" Alnam asks as they cross a long dusty corridor.
"Some Internal Sec feller. Arrived right after your call. Had this interview scheduled for a month. He's still here - must be."
The feller is. A lanky guy in his late thirties. Wears glasses and fucking sideburns.
"Cyme Glattri." He offers Alnam his hand - with a coat slung over his elbow. "It was you who arrested Giles, right? Well, as it turns out, he is also of interest to me. I am in charge of the special detective squad tasked with solving a misuse of funds case."
"That's good to know."
Alnam almost adds: "Senate boy".
"Taking money from the local talent discovery program. Serious stuff."
Glattri's face looks serious enough to convince Alnam he believes it.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Alnam tells him, "I'll go see Mr. Giles."
He does - but not before Glattri shoves a holocard in his hand.
Giles: in all his ponytailed glory.
"How are you doing, Odoacer? The guards treat you okay?"
"Sure thing, Mr. Alnam. It's a resort, really."
"I'll trust your words. Well, I was talking to Orfid about an hour ago, and you know what he told me?"
Giles shrugs. A slight hint of worry at the bottom of his eyes.
"He promised me, as a matter of fact, to give me a tour of Gizmo and something else. He kind of realized at that moment that he said something he shouldn't have and bit his tongue. Any idea what that something might be?"
"I don't know, his home?"
"Odo, Odo, Odo. Do you think I'd be interested in seeing his home?"
"Well, I don't know, Mr. Alnam. You might be - in case he stores something prohibited there."
"The only prohibited thing that I'm after is your boss' ass - so no, I don't think so."
"But can't he be hiding him?"
"Look, he said 'the club and the' - and then he cut himself off. Think about what he could mean."
Giles strains, but nothing comes out. Alnam goes back to Gizmo.
The lawyer is at the scene already. Alnam shivers: he's a Miraluka - and one of those fuckers who don't wear anything over their eye-absence.
He's not an ass, though.
"Orfid, listen to me," he says in the tone of somebody explaining something for the tenth time. "All the documents show that you have had dealings with Mr. Fozatta. It's useless to deny it now - you're only making it worse for yourself."
"But... they cannot arrest me! They have no order!"
"Right - for now. But based on this," the lawyer points at the holoprojector, "they can get it by the end of the week, given what Mr. Fozatta is being accused of."
"And until then, we're gonna give you travel restrictions to sign, and you can't say no," Alnam says.
The lawyer, half-sitting on Alni's table, turns to Alnam. "Agent, I must ask you to stay out of it."
"Sorry."
"Orfid, you have to tell them."
"Fucking hell, Adili. I thought you were on my side."
"I am. That's why I'm telling you what I'm telling you. You make a deal with the agents - that's how you get yourself out of this mess."
Alnam glances at Mtoro. Well, they had to offer the deal - now that the lawyer is here.
But maybe, he thinks, he'd have handled it differently.
"Listen to your conscience," the lawyer tells Alni. "You're a good man, Orfid, I know it. Think about all the pain Mr. Fozatta caused so many people. Rid yourself of this burden, son."
Alni looks in Adili's face. Alnam sees tears from where he's standing.
"Whatever he did," Alni says, "he always helped me."
"Orfid," Adili says firmly. "You talk now - or the next time we meet will be in the detention center. Remember? I start my second go at chemo the day after tomorrow. I won't be able to be here for you when they come to arrest you. It will have to be Forester."
Alni sits in silence for a minute. "If I talk... I mean, now, today - I won't have to do anything else or..?"
"You will have to testify in court."
"No!"
"There's no way around it."
"You were supposed to protect me from this sort of shit!"
"If you listened to me and stayed away from illegal stuff, you'd be okay now. But now I find out you didn't - and look where you are. So listen to me now and do the right thing."
Alni sighs. His breath is wavy. He hides his face in his hands.
"Okay," he says. "Fine. Whatever."
Adili gets off the table. Mtoro shows him her datapad. He peruses the contents and gives Alni an okay. Alni signs the deal.
Alnam steps in. "Tell us where Giburin Fozatta is."
"I don't know that. The last time I saw him was before the... the accusations. But I can tell you h-how I paid him. I won't be charged for this, right?"
Adili shakes his head.
"Not by us," Alnam says.
"There's this club, Fu-Bar - with a hyphen. It's in Pyochayarit. I used to own a part of it, but then I... we broke up with Tillisy and I sold her my share. That's on paper. But we sorta... made an exchange. I gave him my share of Fu-Bar, and he gave me a share of Gizmo."
"Whom do you mean by 'he?'" Mtoro asks.
Alni gulps. "Giburin."
"Isn't Gizmo your brainchild?" Alnam says.
"Only on paper. But the starting capital was Giburin's. One hundred percent of it. His people hold the controlling interest in Gizmo. They all appear normal to the taxers. Just private individuals. But they all vote as Giburin wants."
"So it is his club?" says Alnam.
"In reality? It is."
"And he hasn't appeared here since-"
"I have already told you!"
Adili makes a soft cough. "Agent, please. My client has already answered this question."
"He likes it, you know," Orfid says. "He likes clubs. Likes running them. It's a passion of his."
As well as a few other things, Alnam wants to say.
"Let's get to how you make your payments to Mr. Fozatta," Mtoro cuts in.
"On paper - again - I took a loan from Tillisy. For the club."
"At the same time?"
"As..? Yeah. When I quote-unquote sold my share at Fu-Bar. But that's on paper only. I just transfer money through her."
Alnam raises his eyebrows. He should be taking notes. Well - good that Mtoro is.
"And when I need to pay Fozatta Records," Alni goes on, "it's like I'm paying back my loan. It's 'acquittance' or something like that in the documents."
"Amortization," Mtoro says.
"Yeah."
"Where does the money come from?" Alnam asks.
"Like you said. The artists are underpaid. But that's right after they have their bangers. We get several million credits per concert. Several dozen million - on a good day."
"Why does Fozatta need you to do this? They are his artists. Can't he just underpay them at his own club?"
Alni gives a low-energy chuckle. "As a matter of fact... no, he can't. There is a law that protects singers from this exact thing. You can't - as a producer, you can't - make them sign any contracts for singing at your places so far in advance. That's how he does it: makes them sign a contract that says they have to sing in Gizmo in two months two months before he plans to launch their career big time. Because after they become big, they're not gonna agree to such shitty terms. And there's some other law that sets up the minimal fee per concert based on the singer's earnings in musical services, slugs, and so on."
"How come they still sign those contracts? There must be some word of the mouth."
"He tries to limit how much they talk to each other. Even builds studios on different planets to separate them."
Alnam looks at Mtoro. "Isn't that the most wickedly smart thing you've heard today?"
"Giburin isn't the only producer who does that. Every time they want to close this loophole in the Senate, he and his... colleagues dust their millions of credits. And... well, the loophole is still there."
"What does he need you for? Why not just have one of his puppet stakeholders run the whole thing?"
Alni sits straighter. "Because I have the same passion about it as he. About music. About the club culture. He values that. As I said - it's not just about money for Giburin. He lives it. Can't have some doofus in charge - not even on paper."
"Let's go back to the money. So you transfer it to Mr. Fozatta through Tillisy - that's Tillisy Matli, right?" Mtoro asks, looking into her datapad.
"Yes. On both counts."
Alni's smile is crooked.
"And the girls?" Alnam asks. "How do they come into play?"
"I thought it was all consensual. That's what Giburin told me."
"Well, no shit. How about the girls? What did they have to say?"
"Everybody does it. Every producer. It's sick, I mean, I get it. But the industry as a whole needs a cure."
"And Tillisy?" Mtoro asks. "Does she know about this girls business?"
Alni nods.
"Some good understanding you two have even after breaking up," says Alnam.
The lawyer gives him a reprimanding look with his non-eyes.
.
.
.
He doesn't want to take a day off next day - Yalgi is with Ormi, and Alnam's not sure he's up to seeing Ormi now - but Ven insists.
"You have the Commission meeting this Taungsday," he tells Alnam. "You did some good work today with Apani. Go rest a bit."
He spends the day watching holo. The temptation to call Father is strong - but he reins it in.
He's going to see him up close and personal.
His comlink goes off in the evening. Alnam picks it up. It's Lawrie.
"Hey, Alnam," the RI man says. "How're you doing? Gave me the fucking heebie-jeebies with your radio silence after Telos IV. Thought they got you after all. Ah, don't apologize. Listen, I heard from a little bird you're working on Fu-Bar - with a hyphen. Guess what - it puts us on the same team again. What are you doing this weekend?"