Sorval shows him his datapad, and Krev realizes why he's booked a private niche at the bar.
"What the fuck, man," Krev asks — although it's he who should be asked that very question.
The Krev on the screen is dancing. Doesn't stop him from shouting: "Thank me for the orders! Thank me! I did it!"
"What the fuck," the remaining Krev repeats.
"Yeah, what the fuck," says Sorval. "Who would've guessed people carry their cameras around on Coruscant?"
"Do... do I say anything else there?"
Sorval tries to hand him the datapad, but Krev won't take it.
"Is it, like, online?"
"How else would I have it? Of course it is online."
"Oh shit."
"Yeah. What the fuck were you thinking?"
Krev keeps watching the ape on the datapad.
"I didn't think anybody was recording... I didn't think at all. I was high."
"I got that impression, you know. What the fuck, man? You hit it big, and the next — the next — fucking thing you do is you try your hardest to fuck it aaaaall up. Why? I mean, how is it even possible? I'm talking to you last week, whatever, you seem like the most competent fucking person for job—"
"Oh, come on, I'm not that."
"Fuck you! You actually are. You seem like you, you might know what you're doing. I talk to you — and I feel like I can rely on you. Like I can be calm that you are the one taking care of this entire business. But then — literally! Literally — the next thing you do is this." Sorval holds the pad higher. "Everything is going smooth, but then, this happens!"
"Okay. How bad is it, man?"
The demonman eases up. "I guess you must be the luckiest motherfucker to ever walk this planet. It's got what, eight thousand views."
"In a week's time?"
"It's nothing. A fucking trillion lives on Coruscant. Pretty much nobody has watched it."
"Can we take it down somehow? Because — I don't wanna be paranoid — but what if, you know, the government starts looking into it? Then this vid might come up—"
"Nothing we can do about it — unless you want to file a formal complaint and prove that it's you in the video — we can't take it down. Don't worry," Sorval takes pity, "the government is already looking into it. You're still free, so... Look at the bright side of it: it's called Crazy man dance in Three Fiddles. Nobody looking for the leak source is going to find this."
"What if they run an audio recognition search?"
"Even with the resources the government can spare, it's gonna take years to run it on all the vids uploaded this week. Not to mention, they don't have any reason to look for clues in videos, you know."
"Somebody can write a comment or something."
"Nope. This site doesn't allow it. Somebody may theoretically share this on a forum, you know, but that would still require them to find this video first."
"Eight thousand people already did."
"Yet it didn't make the news. Nobody cared. Accept it, old man: this is your five minutes in the limelight. It's gonna stay on eight thousands, believe you me."
Hard to believe something is in my favor.
"Okay," Krev says, "then why the sermonizing?"
"You serious? Because the next time you fuck up, you may not be so lucky." Sorval takes a deep breath. "Look, man, it's insane what you're doing. I mean, your plan, not your last-week escapade."
"What we're doing, then."
"No. I just sat this one out, pretty much."
"Not blaming you."
"Look. Nah... I don't want to do that anymore. Alright? And — no offense — but you look like you're in need of assistance. Just someone to, you know, help you keep your cool."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Krev's first instinct is to accept the demonman back into his flock. It's hard fighting this war alone.
He's promised himself not to rush, though. Too many times, if he's being honest.
"What's Fadrina's take on it?" he asks.
"What does it have to do with her?"
"Really? I thought you fancied her."
"That's irrelevant, okay?"
"I need to be sure. I'm the old man's enemy, and Fadrina — for all I know — is still in his employ."
"Oh, fuck off, man."
"What? It's a real concern."
"That I'm a backstabbing bastard? Wow, thank you."
"No, it's..." Krev pinches his nasal bridge. Funny: he'd rather be writing another condemning text right now. "It's more complicated."
"Complicated fucking how? I never gave you a reason to doubt me, and this is how you pay me back?"
"Listen—"
"No, you listen!" Sorval doesn't continue his train of thought, though. Just sits there with his mouth half-open.
See? No amount of carefulness and abstinence would've made this any better.
The real problem is not your habits, it's other people.
"Listen," Krev says again, "I know how you feel. About Fadrina. Doesn't seem like I do, but I do. And I know how women do that. How they give you hope that maybe, one day, if you get your act together... something may change. I don't wanna—"
"Yeah, I know that too. What's the big idea?"
"I'm worried she's still close to the old man. And I'm worried you're gonna do something stupid, because in this situation, your brain doesn't really work as it usually does."
"Son of a bitch," Sorval says with a smile. "What do you think I am, twelve? That I need this fucking lecture? You worry I'll do something stupid?"
"I never said I was perfect for the job. But one opening for fuckups is better than two, and you, my friend, are too close to people who want us to fuck up."
"So what? You tell me everything anyway. If I wanted to, I could've given you to the old man already. By the way — Fadrina never even mentioned that. I don't even talk to her that much. Or at all. Pretty much since I got here."
Krev keeps looking at him.
Sorval shrugs. "I'll get over it. Her. I know I will. It's just not so simple. But I'll do it."
"I don't want to push you there."
Load of shit. You want exactly that.
"You? Pushing me? Get out of here!" Sorval's laugh isn't very sure. "This is the biggest thing I'll ever be able to be a part of."
"Who knows."
"I fucking do. If I piss this chance away, I'll never... I sound like I'm only in it for fame or some shit, but no. I'm..."
"For purpose."
"Yeah. This is something you have to join if it comes by you. You can't say no. It's like you're just a tool. An instrument, I mean."
Krev nods. You have to try and dissuade him, he tells himself. Just so that your conscience is clear.
"I get what you're saying," he says. "But look. I'm a lowlife. I'll kick the bucket one way or another in," he licks his lips, "fifteen years or so. You are a different matter."
"Didn't hear that from you when you were sending me into that morgue."
"You know it was different. I don't want you to ruin your life chasing my dream or someone else's."
"It's my own all right," Sorval says slowly. "You hear me? It's my own."
"Okay." Krev rubs his eyes. Haven't done enough bad deeds? "I appreciate it." You just have to drag him into whatever swamp you're going to? "Honestly, though, there's not much for you to do right now. The story is big. When it starts going stale, I'll have another batch ready — three items per batch, it's forty-nine more posts. Maybe if it begins to bore me..."
"It won't keep the momentum. Not for forty-nine times. You used the best stuff already, right?"
"The one about the Chancellor is also good."
"Sure. But most of it is just who commands what and in which case."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Demonstrations," the demonman says. "Protests. Political parties. Like, actual parties. Our Holonet gig is nice, but we gotta think bigger than that."
"All that shit costs money. Maybe I can finance one protest, and it will be a very pathetic one, before I run out of what I got. Then what? I doubt it will kindle the fire or whatever. Besides, I need money to live. Unlikely I'll find employment. Mr. Kossar doesn't have any credentials."
"I didn't imagine you'd go for the work that requires those in the first place."
"Any job requires credentials. A job I might be able to do especially."
"You know what? It doesn't matter. You won't have to spend a decicred, you cheapass. You saw what your story did, right? They haven't updated Palpatine's approval for eight days. Everybody's talking about the orders. The society is boiling. Just a few well-aimed strikes will make them — other people, you know — organize and question what the fuck the government is up to."
"And then they'll have their way and capitulate to the CIS," Krev grumbles. "How are you going to deliver your strikes anyway?"
"I'll need a transmitter for that. Can borrow yours — or you can buy me a new one."
"I can tear you a new one, that's what I can do. So what's the plan?"
Sorval drums on the table. "I'll go on the Holonet. I will start a billion threads, everywhere I can. And in every single one, I will tell people how they must not protest. That Daddy Chancellor knows best."
"They require an ID. The forums."
"Or — you can buy an existing account. Illegal — hence the transmitter."
"Buy, buy, buy. It doesn't strike me as me not spending a decicred."
"Alright, maybe I was exaggerating. But you won't blow all of your chips away."
Krev thinks. "And you think it's gonna work?"
"I'm sure it will. Especially if I mention how they shouldn't go to a very specific protest next week. Or how workers on a very specific enterprise shouldn't go out. I'll make it look like there is going to be a protest — and one will appear."
Krev keeps thinking on the way home. Tries to keep the video out of his head. It's all fine. Eight thousand views. Nothing.
Sorval's plan sounds dangerous. Sounds like it's going to disrupt the status quo too much.
Isn't that what you've done already?
Maybe it is. But this? When people start being outraged in the streets and not on the forums, chances are, the big men are going to notice it.
Notice you.
Transmitter. It should all be fine.
You're gonna trust Vygo Alnam on this one?
I'm gonna trust Sorval.
Is that a much better idea?
Krev thinks. The demonman doesn't lack courage — the embassy thing confirmed it.
But: he was in it for Fadrina.
He'll get over her, he says. That's an easy thing to say. Doubly so if the most recent interaction with her went sour. But: the next one can do a one-eighty. Will Sorval be this single-minded then?
Krev smells another reconnaissance tour — this one to wherever Fadrina lives.
Stop digressing. Sorval is only in it because of Fadrina. Fadrina won't tell you shit — she needs her leverage. So unless you're planning on whacking her, don't bother with tours. The shit is real this time. No time for distractions.
Sorval's been loyal since the embassy raid, sure. He's grateful for getting his ass out of the hot one — sure.
Doesn't mean his loyalties belong exclusively to you.
So what you mean is you're not gonna trust anyone?
That's the smart approach to take, yes.
He checks his impact when he gets home. Yep: people are still talking about the contingency orders. They had a talk show on Chandrila dedicated to discussing them. Krev makes it through the first twenty minutes before it starts devolving into the talking heads singing praise to Palpatine with many let-us-not-forgets.
As a side note about Palpatine, Palpatine hasn't appeared in public since the second of the fifth month — two days after The Post went live.
Was it me? Did I just made the head of state disappear from the public view for seven days and counting?
Maybe. Bad news if so.
If Palpatine knows about you, you can bet your luck is running out. If you kicked a large enough hornet nest for the fucking Chancellor to catch wind — and be scared of it — special services are on it.
Suddenly, the bowels of the HB-890 on the floor look like a very unreliable safety net.
What were you expecting when you got into all this? That you'll casually change the government and its ethics from behind the scenes and resume your G-head life?
Sorval was right. There was no choice. This kind of cause grabs you and asks no questions — as it was with Atnakis.
Yeah, Atnakis. Krev remembers the space station over Tshindral. The recruitment post. He was supposed to go to Kelrodo-Ai — a shipping racket. Oglago Babel's favor — Krev had known him on Kessel, then Oglago pulled him onto Coruscant. Some of the shit Krev did to reciprocate made it clear Oglago hadn't got any more lawful in the Galactic City. Somebody blew him up in his airspeeder a year after Krev had left Coruscant. Not a lawful citizen's death — even if he has interests in a shithole like Keldoro-Ai.
But Krev didn't get to Kelrodo-Ai. Atnakis stood in his way — like a cliff, like a glacier. Krev did feel passed over by Oglago. Did feel insulted — by being sent away.
But he could've gone off the route at any point. In any system. In any spaceport. He didn't until Tshindral. He didn't until Atnakis.
What was it? Heck — hard to tell for sure thirteen years later. Probably the lads. Just listening to their banter made him feel like this was his destiny, his place in life, his purpose. Out of the six, only Remo Erl served with Krev. Still — it was them. The rightness of the situation: just six newest recruits of the Atnakis People's Militia sitting in the concourse on their bags. Fogan was the big talker, of course — Fogan Immitu. He knew the political environment, the strength of the both sides, everything. Really idea-driven. The only one of the six who stayed on Atnakis willingly when the war was over. Willingly — Volham Skinner and Murkfallada Berissin didn't get a say. Krev visited Berissin's grave once, in the Sandflower Valley. No one knew where Skinner was buried.
Fogan was the big talker, but they all were equal in pulling Krev in. Fogan with his political briefings. Remo with his calm face that Krev's never seen changing — even when Remo got shell-shocked, he just sat there, sticking a cigarette after cigarette somewhere in his beard. Kod Alhari with his receiver playing Duros songs non-stop. Murkfallada with his swearing and promises of fiery death to General Kazot. Volham and his memories of childhood on Atnakis. Ergvani Ergvan with his poems he could compose on a fly. Krev ran into him on Saveyt after the war. Had a couple of bottles together. Ergvani said no poems came to him anymore.
Just seeing the lads sitting there was enough for Krev to realize he was not going to Kelrodo-Ai. Or maybe it was something else — but he called Oglago a few hours before his Eriadu ship even docked. Oglago motherfucked him a few dozen times, but then calmed down in an instant. Probably hoped Atnakis would kill Krev — not give him another birth.
Same here. This is a cause so big you can't dodge it.
The thought of the Chancellor knowing about him doesn't leave Krev, though. His mind keeps bringing it up all the time the next day and the one after.
You need Vad, his mind tells him. You need him to be your eyes in the RDS.
And how do you envision that? One thing to ask his father. Another thing comp-fucking-letly to spy for you.
No spying would be necessary, though. Just a tip now and again.
He wasn't thrilled to see you last time. An don't give me any of the "you just stirred up bad memories, he'll be fine" shit. Bad memories are bad memories and forebodings are forebodings. He knows you're up to no good. A man who isn't wouldn't have ambushed him in his home.
There's gotta be a way. This thought, however irrational, haunts Krev. Typical survival bias: Krev's managed to stay alive up until now, so how can he not now?
Maybe getting caught wouldn't be so bad. They'll put you on trial and your face — in every news source there is. Probably will make you go into rehab — so that you can live long enough.
Maybe this will do more good for the cause, too. Some advertisement it would be!
Unless they understand it too — chances are, they do — and just whack you the moment they find you.
For the next week, he waits for the buzz to die down a bit. It does everything but. The mainstream newscasts seem satisfied with their shitty little notes they published — they've moved on to the next dress some washed-up holofilm star wears to an opening night. The forums, though, fuel themselves — Krev just turned the ignition on.
Palpatine makes three appearances — none has him answering questions. Krev eases up a little. Krev still counts it as victory.
He's trapped in idleness. He knows he should be writing the next text — but the thought of it is disheartening. Hell if he knows why — should be the opposite given how the first text did. Still, can't bring himself over to the keyboard.
He goes through the motions. Looks up a few things on the Shadowfeed while he's not reading the forums that read as if he's read the exact same thing for a hundred times. Looks up ConCare: pretty much the same info as on the Holonet. Registered on Rothana. Nothing concrete on what it produces. No wonder: why would a Republic company care about updating its stuff on the Shadowfeed?
Especially a company like ConCare.
Something is amiss when he goes to buy his groceries on the Taungsday. Almost as if the air smelt funny.
The air is fine. Something else.
He decides not to go to the closest store. Hops onto a bus. Memories of the crane on Kessel come back. That's the feeling.
Only now, perhaps, the precipice is a step away no matter where you put your foot.
The feeling subsides on the bus. Krev calms down a bit. Starts whistling. People start looking at him.
He knows it's all bantha. Hint: he doesn't start whistling when everything is fine. Heck, he can't remember when he just up and started whistling last time.
The precipice is still here. It keeps widening, if anything.
He looks at the other passengers. It's daytime, and the bus is half-empty — perks of being an anti-government saboteur.
A granny sits across the aisle from him. He watches her for a minute — just to be sure. The feeling inside him doesn't seem to recognize her.
He continues his search. Three teenagers in the back. One has a mohawk — but otherwise, they don't look like gang members. Besides: the feeling reared its head before he got on the bus, and the youths weren't at the stop.
Keep looking.
Someone tiny. A Gossam. Was he at the stop? Krev can't remember. The black woman definitely got on together with him. By the looks of her, the biggest problem she can make for Krev is sending him to collect permissions and confirmations to get a slip of flimsiplast with another permission or confirmation. She's got a briefcase. Looks suspicious?
When you get the feeling, everything looks suspicious.
Krev tells the feeling to fuck off. I'm not a fucking Jedi, he thinks. This shit doesn't mean anything. Anyone with his addiction experience is bound to get the feeling once in a while.
There's also an older man in the middle of the bus, but he got in two stops after Krev.
Krev gets off at a random stop. Is it really random, though? With how much you were gazing around, you bet nobody's gonna think it's random.
He makes himself not look back. Stops a few steps from the bus platform and pretends to be looking through the contacts in his comlink. That's some tough shit — he's only got Sorval's signature and the apartment owner's one.
The youths walk past him. Then the Gossam.
Well, at least the granny wasn't watching you. Or maybe she was, and they got proper surveillance set up — with agents relieving each other and all.
Krev tells himself not to be a damned paranoid. Nobody is going to bother so much because of you. If they had a slightest suspicion you were involved, they'd get a warrant and search your place, pure and simple.
Sounds reassuring.
I mean, look — they all have walked by you. Nobody as much as glanced back.
Krev has to agree with that.
Now he's just stuck way away from his home. Whatever. Can buy his groceries here just as fine.
He has to search for a store for a bit. How do people even live here? Must be horrid for them — to have to go four levels down to buy their sustenance.
Maybe there's another store four levels up, though. Then it's horrid for those who live four levels up, having to face the hordes of the underpeople daily.
He walks the aisles, noting the local prices. Shit is more expensive here — shit like eggs, meat, beer, some of the veggies. Candy bars are cheaper, for some reason. Krev considers getting them in bulk for a week.
He muses about the price differences. Maybe they are due to how far away stores are from a factory or greenhouse? Or maybe it's because some owners are palsy-walsy with the manufacturers and some aren't.
It brings his thoughts to the bakers' union. Now what if he could use their help once more?
Oh yes. The bread-makers will protect you from the Aurebesh services. Totally.
Maybe not to that extent, but...
He notices him when he's about to leave — the Gossam. Standing by the vending machines in the vestibule. Not using them — just peeking through the glass doors inside.
Krev approaches him. His heart is beating way harder than it should — given the size difference.
"What's your problem?" he asks the Gossam.
The little guy squirms: "N-nothing. Not at all. Sorry!"
Krev feels fucking stupid. What are you gonna do now, you fucking badass? Beat him up? For staring somewhat in your direction?
He leaves the store with a bag in his hand. Two bottles of beer. Some instant suppers. No candy bars: he forgot about them as soon as he took his eyes off them.
No Gossams on the back trip. Was the one at the store even the same one as the one on the bus? Krev'd lie if he said he could recognize them with one-hundred-percent accuracy. Some species are easy — mostly near-Humans. But he's worked with reptilians a lot. Sumar? No mistaking him for another Ubb. A random Gossam, though...
It was the same one, though. Krev is pretty sure about it. How many Gossams are left on Coruscant anyway? Not that many. The man isn't going to suffer "untrustworthy" species in his capital. What's the chance of running into two different ones within half an hour? And here, relatively high up?
Yeah, but what's the chance one is working for the man?
Slim — on both accounts.
The feeling doesn't let go of him for the rest of the day. Really makes the instant supper taste like shit.
He's meeting with Sorval the next day. Not much to discuss: an unproductive week. The last one's productiveness is still kicking.
But hey — you gotta meet with your friends once in a while, huh? If only to check how they're doing.
Or maybe let them check how you are doing.
He locks the apartment. Makes a few steps towards the turbolift. The yesterday's feeling comes back. Shit — he thought he got rid of it when he woke up.
He considers going back to the apartment.
Don't be a retard, he tells himself. What are you gonna tell Sorval?
Another step. Somewhere, a door clangs.
The urge to go back is suddenly very real.
Krev looks up at the turbolift indicator. Two more floors to go. The corridor seems tighter from Krev's anxiety.
The elevator doors open. Krev nearly jumps when he sees two Quarren inside. Then — a momentary relief: it's just some Quarren.
"Let's go, pal," someone then tells him from behind his back.
The desires to turn and not to turn fight. The latter wields an image of a blaster. It wins.
Only inside the elevator cabin does he see who was behind him — a Trandoshan. Oh fuck. A relatively small one — still oh fuck.
Nobody says anything as the lift is going down, down, down. Krev's mouth is too dry to produce any sound. The three other sentients are perfectly fine without speaking.
Krev sees no blasters. That's good. This thought gets stuck in his head on repeat: that's good, that's good, that's good.
Is it even an arrest? What is it? First a Gossam, and now Quarren and a Trandoshan are working for the government? Maybe they are just hired muscle to deal with you quietly?
Then they would've already. No reason to be seen with their target.
The elevator arrives. Krev can't tell the level they're on.
"Now for a ride," one of the Quarren says.
The other replies to him in their language.
"You heard him," says the Trandoshan.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"You don't do business about it," says the Basic Quarren.
"Your fans," the Trandoshan brings his maw close to Krev's face. He's not too huge — must be young. Krev could've taken him on, had he not brought his flunkies along.
Also: had Krev been ten years younger himself.
He sort of recognizes this floor. He's been here before.
Not that it's helping now.
Come on. No blasters.
Well, Krev doesn't have one, either. Worse: he knows he doesn't have one. With these three clowns, he's not so sure.
They lead him to a parking. Check their speeder out: looks exactly like it belongs to some government-employed thugs.
"Where are we going?" Krev asks them. He knows it's too late: he's already in their van.
"We're not going," the talkative Quarren explains. "Flying!"
"Don't worry," the Trandoshan says. "The boss will tell you everything."
"The boss?"
"Have patience."
How did it come to this? Krev feels like he's been asking himself this question too frequently since Alnam knocked on his door.
They didn't put a sack on his head — that's something. He can't tell where they're taking him regardless: the speeder gets lost in the lower-levels traffic.
After they pass the fifth or fiftieth alley he would've chosen to kill Krev Devin if he was in the trio's shoes, Krev is back to thinking straight. They are not common thugs. They are not the Ixtlari — the boys never have any deals with aliens when their honor and vengeance are concerned.
The government?
Wouldn't be hard for the man to press some Quarren into working for the state. For what purpose, though?
Leaves only one possibility, really.
Alnam.
So the old man is here? Or does he still prefer to appear as a hologram? Whichever's the case, he's somehow got a jump on you.
Probably the orders thing. Of course he knew it was Krev. Must've tracked his signal down somehow...
The Republic couldn't do it, but he did? Something doesn't add up.
Face it: it was Sorval all along.
Krev presses his lips. Not necessarily.
Could've been Vad.
Either way, you trusted a wrong fella.
"How much is the old man paying you these days?" Krev asks.
The Quarren Quarren lets out a series of angry shouts — whether at Krev or the traffic.
"Are you high again?" the Trandoshan says. "Or are you trying to pass for a madman? No, pal, it won't work."
"Alnam." Krev tries to cough as softly as possible to get his voice back. "Alnam. How much does he pay you?"
He knows it's not gonna do shit — he can't trump Alnam's offer no matter what. Years of embezzlement wouldn't have helped.
Still worth a shot.
"I told you," the Trandoshan says, "it won't work. What? Do you think we are going to drop you off at your favorite club and forget about you? No. Drunk, high, whatever you are, you're coming with us."
Club. He said "club."
Maybe it wasn't Vad or Sorval after all.
The fucking video. The fucking video, man.
The Reps don't know what you look like. Alnam does. Probably has pictures of you. Of course he does.
Could run a search.
Krev remembers the day Fadrina took him to meet Alnam for the first time. Remembers the stupid little game he was playing — counting to fifteen. If I see an aircar before I'm done, I'm gonna make out of it alive. Fucking hell. This is what you remember?
The lower-levels traffic is heavy. Playing the game now would be cheating. The worst kind of it — the one that doesn't get you winning.
His comlink goes off. He knows it's Sorval — who else? — but under the reptilian's stare doesn't pick it up. They ride with the beeping as their soundtrack. A reason to feel better, this beeping: means it likely wasn't Sorval.
Likely.
Takes them almost five hours — seven more missed calls — before they arrive. The building is awfully nondescript. A shame to end one's life in it. It doesn't even have an inside parking — the speeder lands on a platform jutting out of the wall.
They walk him past an empty reception desk on the platform's floor and into an elevator. The Quarren keep muttering to each other as the lift goes up. The Trandoshan takes a wooden box with different-shaped holes in it out of his pocket and starts putting his claws into the holes. The pattern he follows is hypnotizing — well, anything would be now for Krev. He muses about all the puzzles he never got to learn.
"End of line," the lizard sneers a second before the lift dings and opens its doors.
Some dusty office outside. Desks and chairs under celloplast covers. No lights.
The Trandoshan knows his way, though. Never breaks his pace navigating between all those chairs and partly taken apart office machinery. His coat is white — a good reference point in the dark room. Heck — if not for the Quarren, Krev would've tried his luck.
Do it, dammit! Are you really going out like a little bitch?
The room lights up before he can come up with an excuse. He hears the Quarren barking in their tongue and the Trandoshan's hissing laughter while he's blinking furiously.
"Here he is, boss," he hears the reptile say.
No holograms. The boss is here in person.
"So who are you?"
A woman.
Krev squints. An Aqualish woman.
"Same question," he replies, the feeling known to any banthashitter — that you might be able to get out of this one, after all — spilling all over his body. He tries to rein it in — but there's no dealing with this feeling, same as with the other one.
"You say when the boss asks you," the verbal Quarren says.
"Your goons kidnap me... first, and now you demand answers from me? Too..." Krev has to swallow before continuing, "Too few blasters pointing at me for that to work out."
The Trandoshan bursts into laughter. "Oh, that's golden! Better than your moves!"
Krev ignores him — never talk to henchmen when their boss is around. "Do you have a warrant, at least?"
The Aqualish takes a step towards him, then steps back.
"We are not with the government," she says. "Don't worry."
Krev stands silent for a long while — so long he realizes it himself. You are not figuring this out on your own. Might as well ask.
"Who are you with, then?"
"The people."
"Maybe I'm jaded, but that's what literally everybody says. Including the government."
"We defend the people that the Republic has thrown away. That includes you, doesn't it? Your addiction. It's not hard to see. And you, a Human, what care did you receive for it from them?"
She finally walks closer. Her large black eyes are unblinking.
"That's right," she says. "None. They don't care about the likes of you. They promote Human superiority, yet they don't even care about Humans. Only about themselves."
"Do you people provide rehab services? I mean, I could—"
"It was you, wasn't it?" The Aqualish's voice loses all pretense of warmth. "You shed the light on the contingency orders. It was you."
Krev squeezes a chuckle out. "That holovid? Look, I was really high..."
"The holovid is nothing. Doesn't show half of the things you said."
"You were there?"
"Our sympathizers were there. You have a thing for Twi'leks, don't you, Krev Kossar?"
Oh, cock! You managed to blow both of your identities. Congrats!
"I mean, who doesn't—"
"No one not involved in the operation would be able to describe the process in such detail as you did. The girl messed it all up, but even then I saw how you did it."
"You got me. I have a thing for Twi'leks. Guilty as charged. Get too talkative next to one. Especially if she's green. Was that one green?"
"Enough!"
Damn it. The sight of the mandibles doing their thing is best enjoyed from farther away.
"You," the Aqualish says, "are fighting against the Republic. There is no doubt. Not many regular people even know about HBs in the first place. And nobody is going to come up with a story like that to impress a girl. You'd better talk."
"I'd be more willing to if I knew whom I was talking to."
She straightens her back.
"My name is Tuu Bnagen," she says, "and I fight for my people. Against the Republic. Like you do, Krev Kossar."