Ven didn't lie when he told Alnam to call him anytime: it's well past midnight when Alnam does.
The agent picks up after the first tone. "Detective?"
Alnam can't tell by his voice if he woke Onoile Ven up.
"Good evening, sir," he says. Lights of Uscru are flashing behind his speeder's window: neon signs and police reds and blues. "I'm calling to tell you I have thought about your offer."
Ven waits.
"And I would like to accept it, if it's still up."
"Very well. I'm glad to hear it, Alnam. I really am. I'll send you all the paperwork: agreements, pacts, regulations. You'll have to take a law exam. I'm sure it won't be a problem. But I'll send you an example of the test anyway."
"Thank you."
"When can you start working on your papers?"
"In a month or a month and a half. I should be able to finish my business in the CorSec by then. I could do it faster," Alnam says for some reason, "but we just caught a large drug-dealing network, so—"
"Got it," says Ven. "Don't sweat over it. It'll give you time to get acquainted with the regulations. Well, congratulations, Detective Alnam. Well done on your CorSec business — and I hope, you'll do equally well in the RDS."
"Thank you, sir."
Ven hangs up, and Alnam is left alone in his speeder. Police droids are still taking the detainees out of the clubs. The raid is huuuuge. Should you even quit this, Detective? No one's going to trust a rookie with planning such ops in the RDS. And here, here everybody knows you. Everybody knows what kind of a man you are and what kind of a detective yo are. They know how you concluded from the brand on the ampules — and as we know now, the brands were the real deal, factory write-offs — and from the college boys' reaction that it wasn't ryll in said ampules but giggledust. They know how you made the suspects squeak and chased after search warrants for the past month until you got your hands on that spaceport cargo platform manager whose brother ran a cab service. And everybody will know how tonight you got those to whose clubs said cabs delivered the Ryloth dust.
Same as everybody knows who your father is and what he said.
Alnam takes off. Constables and droids will finish up here — and he needs to write a report. That will take the rest of the night.
He'll write his advance notice tomorrow.
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.
They hold two parties at the precinct at the same time: one for Alnam's promotion and the other for the pre-trial being done. They all know that the headache's just starting with the transfer of proceedings. They all know the war will end sooner than the drug barons are found guilty.
Lately, they say that more often on Coruscant: the war will end sooner.
"Though we all regret that such a specialist as Alnam is no longer with us," Captain Swauri says, a glass of Kattadan wine in hand, "we must also remember that he is a real special asshole. So we're not just getting rid of him today, but also pissing in the RDS cornflakes by doing so."
He waits for the laughter to cease.
"But in all seriousness, we are glad to see you move up in life, Vad. Not just because we won't have to see again, though that's also a factor. We in the CorSec like when our boys and gals show everyone what they're really worth. Am I right, lads?"
The lads give a hurrah. They aren't very enthusiastic, Alnam hears. He knows they aren't. Who of them wants to be seen hurrahing Vygo Alnam's son? The windows are large in the conference room. Who can tell if they are not being filmed from a speeder outside? It's one thing to work with an Alnam and another to drink with him.
Swauri wants to call him a cab, but Alnam refuses. He's only had two glasses — that falls within the driving regulations.
Onoile Ven is waiting for him outside — leans on the fender of a speeder with his hips.
"Evening, Detective Alnam. Need a ride?"
"My speeder is parked right there."
"You can pick it up tomorrow. When is your exam?"
"Almost in a week."
Ven nods. "That's enough time. Get in."
Coruscant sweeps under them. Ven is silent. He's watching the corridor. Alnam also says nothing until they get stuck at a red light.
"Did you have to wait long for me? You should've come in."
"It was your celebration," Ven smiles. "And I'm not sure your colleagues — former colleagues — would like to see me."
The speeder is on the move again, but this time, the agent doesn't keep silence.
"I've read your reports on your last operation. Well done, Alnam. But I have to ask you something: will you be able to plan and conduct raids on sentients involved in anti-Republic activities as brilliantly? Drugs are an evil. An easy-to-recognize evil. Even those who sell them understand they're villains. They may go to great lengths to justify that to themselves, but deep down, they understand. But the agitprop, saboteurs, spies — they don't think they're villains. No, in their minds, they are heroes. Heroes of justice. Heroes of freedom. They are convinced they are. They try to convince the others, including us. That's why it's imperative that you understand what they are in reality. Can you handle that?"
Alnam doesn't answer at once. "Should I think of this question as a psychological test, sir?"
"You can think that way. But this is no test. The droids in HR won't know what you answer to it."
Why couldn't they ask him before he left the CorSec?
Alnam fidgets in his seat. "Sir, I performed a sensitive task for you, didn't I?"
"You did. But that was just a trial. You didn't have to fight your principles to get it done. I cannot promise you that you won't have to fight them later. This is why I'm asking you what I'm asking you."
You know nothing about what I had to fight, mister agent, Alnam wants to say.
He keeps his mouth shut. Doesn't bring Ven's persistent attentiveness up.
"Indeed, I haven't yet worked on political cases and thus cannot base my answer on practical experience. However, I am more than sure of my abilities and my convictions. I am a patriot of the Republic."
Is he really? Probably is. He'd have joined his father if he wasn't, wouldn't he?
This thought doesn't convince Alnam now as it hasn't ever before. He has thought about it much in the past two years and he still can't tell if his father's act was an act of true patriotism.
Onoile Ven doesn't persist further, though. "Good. I'm glad to hear that. Thank you, Alnam."
Their speeder gets stuck in another jam when Alnam speaks up again. "Sir, can I ask you something as well?"
"Shoot."
"That job I did... was it really that important for the Republic? I have to admit, I didn't find it to be that way."
Ven smiles. "Don't worry, Alnam: not all work we do in the RDS is like that. But it was important. I get what you think about it. I'm not crazy about the Jedi myself. Trained generals, not monks, should command armies. But we do as the Senate says."
Think: what does he mean by this? That he has to accept the Jedi as the GAR commanders? Or that the RDS carries out all the Senate's orders?
"We can't give our enemies any latitude now. No rumors disparaging senators — even if the senators themselves do their utmost to generate such rumors." Ven falls silent for a second. Then he adds, "There's a silver lining, though. This doesn't concern the Supreme Chancellor. Maybe you think the press and the Holonet in general paint him in too good a light. It's not so. He's exactly like they represent him."
"So we are in good hands?" Alnam realizes he just put his foot in his mouth, so he says in a hurry, "I'm sorry."
"No, why?" Ven gets perplexed for some reason. "You're going to be in the RDS, but it doesn't mean you can't criticize the authority here. You can say what you want. It's not prohibited."
Unless, of course, you want to say something of Vygo Alnam-magnitude.
"But really, many of us don't like when somebody speaks ill of the Chancellor. Just a piece of advice. But you'll get it once you meet him."
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.
.
He passes all the tests. Turns in his general jurisprudence blank thirty minutes before the deadline. Administration of law — forty minutes early. He gets the highest grades on both. Things get harder on the shooting range, but his results still fall within the requirement.
But he understands he passed the real test a couple of months ago. Plus maybe the question Ven asked him in his speeder.
Are you laughing now, Alnam? You should cry instead. Your abilities didn't earn you this position in the RDS. What do you figure your first task is going to be? Maybe fly to Sanner? Prodigal father reunites with his son — how's that for a headline?
Alternative theory: the RDS needs Alnam for different kinds of headlines. To show the populace the Republic doesn't turn away even from the children of untrustworthy elements.
Both theories disgust him, but Alnam knows he'll suck it up. For Yalgi's future — he will.
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.
"Vad Alnam," says Ven, "meet Mtoro Apani. She will be your mentor."
Alnam shakes the Ithorian's hand.
"She will give you a rundown on our current state of affairs. You have my number if you have any questions to me specifically."
Onoile Ven's hologram disappears from the relay, and Alnam stays face-to-face with his mentor.
"Nice to meet you," Mtoro says in Basic. She speaks with both her mouths, and it sounds as if two persons are talking to Alnam. "I am sure we will work well together. I've seen your CorSec clearance rate. Very impressive."
"Thank you. I'm sure we'll make a good team, too."
The Ithorian sits down at her holochips-covered desk. "I think it won't take long until you learn the ropes. You'll get it as we go. We have some business tomorrow in the Senate, so there's your opportunity to dive into that atmosphere."
"Is it the Special Commission business?"
Mtoro gives out a loud reverberating croak. Alnam hasn't communicated with Ithorians that much before, but he knows this sound serves as a shrug.
"Everything in our work is related to the Commission one way or another. But tomorrow, it's not a session we need to attend. We have to meet a senator."
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.
People say that Senator Narlaut Dibasi could've become the Supreme Chancellor if not for the war. He's super popular not only on his home planet of Sethri but also throughout the Mid Rim. Alnam remembers how five years ago he took his family — it was back when all was good — to Glee Anselm for a vacation. The senator's portraits hung in the hotel's lobby and on almost every little shop's wall. "Without Dibasi," an old Nautolan inner tubes seller told him then, "the Hutts would've been here."
Vygo Alnam also had much to say about the Sethrian senator. "On Sethri," he would say, "the Zabrak make for more than a half of population. Now how many, do you figure, Zabrak candidates reach the final tour of Senatorial elections?" Then he would connect his thumb with his forefinger. "And not a soul more! As a rule, not one more. Hard to elect a Zabrak when half of them are in jail, I suppose. Add to that how the constituencies are divided. And add money! Always add money! Who on Sethri if not Dibasi can afford Holonet ads in prime time? Who if not Dibasi can afford all the bribes?"
Now Narlaut Dibasi, a fifty-year-old Human with a retreating forehead, a dark-grey crew cut, and bulging eyes of a mad prophet sits in his Senatorial office. Behind him is a window with a view on the Avenue of the Core Founders. It's raining — Coruscant has been skimping on nice weather lately.
The senator finally turns the hologram off and looks up at Mtoro and Alnam. "Ah, Agent Apani. Thank you for coming! You arrived at my call," he smiles.
Alnam remembers another thing his father used to say about Dibasi: "Smiles and nothing else, that's what he's going to give you. Vote for him if you want another Palpatine."
"And this would be..." Dibasi offers Alnam his hand but looks at Mtoro all the while.
"This is Agent Vad Alnam, my partner."
The senator's smile withers a bit — but he doesn't take his hand away.
He has them sat on a soft leather sofa. A droid brings them refreshments while Dibasi tunes his holoprojector.
"My friends," the senator says, "less than two weeks divides us from the stated meeting of the Special Commission on Investigation of Anti-Republic Activities. As its head, I will have to provide a report. Thanks to your efforts, our successes are more than considerable. We are on the right pass, my friends. But! We cannot put our minds at ease before the time for that comes. Am I right? We should put vigilance first. Just as you, I keep my eyes open for everything that concern propaganda. And this is what my searchlights caught."
He pushes a few buttons on the holoprojector, and a hologram of an avian sentient in a long robe appears.
"This is Senator Ktii from Skados VI," Dibasi introduces her. Ktii squawks her greetings. "She informed me — as her friend from the Mid Rim as well as the head of the Special Commission — about several disturbing facts. Very disturbing, to be more precise. These facts, agents, take place in the very heart of Skados VI."
"As far as I remember, not a small part of the GAR's ammunition is produced on Skados VI," says Alnam.
"You are absolutely correct. And it is specifically at the factories where honest citizens of the Republic forge our victory that these vile cases of pro-Separatist rabble-rousing occur. It happens during the hardest time, the hardest ordeal our Republic has faced in a thousand years!"
"With all due respect, Senator," says Mtoro, "such cases are — unfortunately — hardly rare at any factory in the Republic. This is more of a case for the planetary security force rather than—"
"Of course, I wouldn't have called you because of such a trifle," Dibasi waves his hand. "However, there's something far more sinister behind the propaganda on Skados VI than a disgruntled worker or a paid union leader. No, I firmly believe that this is exactly the case for the RDS. These so-called activists employ the help of a celebrity — how did you put it, Senator? — right, of a culturally important personality. One Isk Povo Rapol. The Skados VI Cattesians adore the bastard. His entire image is built around him being just a man of the people, just like any factory worker. He sings about things they care about. Of course, he gets more per concert than this simple worker gets in six months and he gets it off the worker and his friends, but they don't care enough to notice it. He's got property on Coruscant and he's got the balls to tell his fans what's best for Skados VI. You see now? The RDS involvement is necessary."
Alnam glances at Mtoro. She's silent. She doesn't seem that convinced by Dibasi's arguments.
"Senator Ktii told me that Povo Rapol appears in a holotransmission aired every Zhellday at twenty-two hundred hours." Dibasi actually says twenty-two hundred hours, the prick. "It's being transmitted from somewhere on the planet. I'm giving you all the information she's given to me. And agents — this matter should best be settled until the next meeting."
Alnam and Mtoro get up when the senator adds, "No time to lose, huh? You need to find the enemy elements, and I..." He smiles as if to himself. "I need to prepare my commentary on the Republic reorganization project. Yes, my friends, this is huge. Huge... The orders come from the man himself," Dibasi points up. "Sate Pestage! Well, I can't divulge all the juicy bits — no matter how much I want to."
In the atrium, Mtoro tells Alnam: "Dibasi is one of the brighter ones on the Commission."
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.
That evening, he really wants to talk to someone. Needs to.
"Going through too many emotions today?" he asks his reflection, but the need goes nowhere.
Alnam peers into the contact list of his comlink. He could call Ormi once — even after they'd separated. He knew he'd find support there. Not anymore.
Friends. Do you still have any, Alnam? Have you ever had any? Vygo's manifesto seems to have put an answer in the head of that question.
His finger hovers over his father's number. For a loooooooong time. They haven't spoken in almost a year. Now you want to call him? What's there to say? "Hi, Dad, you can congratulate me: I'm with the RDS now?"
But he knows his father likely has heard of it. Vygo Alnam still has friends everywhere. If you got money, friends will come.
Still he sits for a while looking at the numbers and letters of his father's number. Scrolls the address list past it a few times — and scrolls back up to it a few.
And in the end, he doesn't call.