The Joint Commission meets in the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee building. Said building sits in the outskirts of Pawalo. Alnam blames the autonomous survival concept, but it turns out, the SIOC has always been located away from the Senate District — even before the war.
Pawalo is covered with old housing projects — at least, a hundred years old. The development is protected by the City Planning — culturally significant in one way or another. Small reprieve for the locals, Alnam thinks looking at the morose condos. Sure, there are parks on the roofs and between the buildings everywhere — but it ain't Aldera City no matter how many trees you plant.
The SIOC building: as non-descript as it gets. Alnam hasn't checked this one, but he suspects it's not because of the anti-spy concept. He did look the residential area plan and pictures up on the Holonet, though. Good that he did — otherwise, he might've driven, and there's no parking here: all the spots available are taken by cars that must've taken root from not being in use. Looks like the Pawaloans bought them just to park them in front of their new houses and have been preserving them for a rainy day since.
Guards ask for his ID twice: once at the gates and once inside. The second one gives him an NDA to sign. Other than that, the building isn't anything special on the inside, either. It smells of the old Republic lifestyle and cheap cleaning agent.
Alnam goes up the wide stairs in the middle of the lounge. He's not late this time: plenty of people socializing on both floors. The stairs, too. He even spies two or three in Jedi robes. Maybe the whole deal won't be a total waste of time.
He realizes it probably will. The Joint Commission has been trying to find out where the hell the Grand Army of the R came from ever since the war started. No result so far — at least, that's what the civil society believes. Nobody briefed Alnam on anything he should know that the civil society shouldn't before coming here — so he assumes there really isn't any result.
That's that kind of question nobody really wants to ask. But it must be asked — so Palpatine said. Alnam has the feeling the Supreme Chancellor may just be the only man in the Republic who genuinely understands it.
It takes the most single-hearted conspiracy nut to ask questions about the GAR. After all, hard not to feel relief it's not you who's fighting somewhere in the outer reaches of space against the metal armies of the CIS and not your son but some poor vat-made non-person. Maybe it's a superstition: don't question where the gift comes from — or it may disappear or turn from gold to dust.
The official picture — but it doesn't get too official when it's GAR business — is that the army was discovered right before the Battle of Geonosis by the RI and hired just to prevent the Seps from hiring it. It doesn't hang together, does it: nobody is going to grow and train an army just sorta hoping someone will hire it sooner or later — after stumbling upon it by chance, no less.
But that's what the civil society is told. It's not bad — in the sense that it leaves some room for imagination. Like, it's easy to think up an explanation: oh, it's just the story they feed us to look good. In truth, they had the army all along — just didn't want us to know about it, the sneaky rascals! And weren't they right — there are certain someones who question if it's ethical to breed supposedly Human beings for the sole purpose of sending them to a war even now. Imagine how it'd have been before the war started!
All nice and sense-making. Unless you account for the Joint Commission, that is. But even then — can't it just be lip service to those certain someones?
That's what Alnam used to think, at any rate. Right until the Chancellor asked him to join.
He takes his seat in the conference hall. Bas-reliefs cover its walls: something heroic enough to warrant bared torsos and buttocks. Six rows of chairs rise one behind another like in a theater. The chairs are of the cheap office variety, with sticky marks on their legs where price tags used to hang.
"Old Ned is finally out, I see?"
A girl takes the seat next to him. A woman, rather — but Alnam still can't get used to calling ladies roughly of his age that.
"Agent Boliola? He's not retired yet. Just trying to spend all the vacations he didn't use over the years before going."
"That's a nice change of neighbor," the woman says. Her breath smells of cigarettes — but not exactly unpleasantly.
"You didn't like Old Ned?"
"I don't often like people who haven't looked in my eyes after ten years of working together."
Alnam can't really blame Old Ned. He keeps it to himself, though.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he says instead.
"Ah, take it with the SR and all that?"
"That's a good piece of advice. But no, I just can't bear to think poorly of Ned Boliola. With his grandfatherly looks..."
"I know, right? That made all the gazing so much creepier."
Alnam chuckles. "I'm Vad, by the way. Vad Alnam."
"I know who you are. I saw you shaking hands with the Chancellor."
"We weren't shaking hands, specifically. The etiquette doesn't allow that."
"But you still got very cozy with him, didn't you? You exchanged formal bows — which serves the same social purpose. He talked to you more than to anyone at the party. Well, save for the director, maybe."
"You sure paid attention whom he was talking to and for how long." Alnam taps his datapad: there goes his hope to finish his report on Gizmo during the meeting. Too bad: should've wrapped it up yesterday. "So you know quite a few things about me, and I still haven't heard your name."
"You say it like I've been spying on you! I don't 'know quite a few things about you.' I just saw you at the party. See the difference?"
"Still waiting for the name."
"How about you use your detective skills and find it out on your own, Vad? Vad Alnam?"
He makes a point of looking in her eyes. "Sorry about that. I'm only good at shaking hands with chancellors."
He manages to get a line and a half typed in before she breaks the silence.
"Aren't we easy to insult? Oh my. I didn't expect that from someone who shook the Chancellor's hand so masterfully."
"There's innuendo in this sentence I'm not going to comment on." He raises his head from the display.
"Does it insult you?"
"Just makes me wonder if there's something you choose to see that's not really there when there are older men involved."
He goes back to the report. Tries to: the mood isn't there.
"So," he asks, "what's going on here? Any chance they'll start soon enough for me to get home before eight?"
"Depends on your time zone. But is it really something you want to be asking someone whose name you don't know?"
"Think of it as the basis of my detective work."
She sighs. "I see you didn't lie about your competencies."
"So?"
"They'll start when they start. You do realize there are SBI and RI and so on people here besides us?"
"Hence the 'joint' part."
"You're not hopeless, after all. They always squabble. Who's gonna have the final word, you know."
"Even over the starting time?"
"Even over the starting time."
"I don't think we're going to uncover any great truth with this approach."
"See? You are not hopeless at all. Of course we won't be uncovering any truths. Or anything. The Oversight got such a hate boner for the Chancellor after that overruling."
Oh yeah. The SIOC declared at the start of the war that clones couldn't be used in CorSec investigations. The Chancellor would have none of it.
"They've gone through four chairmen since then," the woman says. "But it doesn't matter whom Palpatine appoints — they all hate him just enough to hamper all work."
"Sounds awful. I can only hope the RI story is real, then."
"Pfft. You can't even imagine how bad it is." She pauses while a Leffingite with a bottle of soda in his hand squeezes past them to his seat. "They even got a Jedi today. That's bad news."
"Why?"
"Wait and you'll see." She proceeds to not follow her own advice. "Nobody knows shit. They're running around like headless gizka. Why do you think they didn't brief you before you went in? No, seriously, why?"
Alnam looks at her. The cigarette smell has almost worn off — but some reminder of it still hangs around her narrow lips.
"It can't be that bad," he says.
In the following hours, he wishes his inborn optimism didn't get it wrong this very time.
Why does it have to be this time of all times?
It starts off innocently enough. Chairman Corthavo opens the session. Alnam would normally blank out until the formalities were done with, but now the uneasy feeling in his stomach makes him listen to every word. Half of his mind is trying to convince him the woman is just pulling his leg. It almost succeeds.
"We have on our today's agenda an intermediary report," the chairman says, "from Jedi Master Rfanzo, which we will hear after clarifying some things from our previous meeting. First of all, I would like to hear from you, Agent Urdaine."
A black Human gets up in the ISB sector of the hall.
"Right," he says. "We continued our inquiries into the movement of funds during the last year of Finis Valorum's chancellorship. At this point, it's too early to say, but it doesn't look like there were any out-of-ordinary transactions — at least, originating from the Republic Intelligence or the Senate Bureau of Intelligence. I am not at liberty to give my opinion on the state of affairs in the ISB, and the Domestic Security — well, it didn't exist back then."
"I have several points I'd like to clarify on this account," the Leffingite with the soda says. "First of all, not withdrawing or transferring large sums of money in bulk is the first rule of keeping low profile. Every brain-rotten gangster in the underlevels knows that. You do it little by little, and it doesn't stand out as much. So this brings the methodology of our ISB colleagues into question."
"Maybe you should be questioning your own methodology, like the last year—"
"Please let me finish. Can you manage that? So my second question — or the second point of contention — is that the order of the GAR could be paid in advance or after the fact, in which case, checking just one year of the Republic's financial history isn't going to help, exactly."
"Do you think we're stupid or something?" Urdaine asks. "Do you think since you're the Chancellor's golden boys, everybody else is bunch of morons?"
"Gentlemen," the chairman says, "let's keep it civil."
Urdaine licks his lips. "To the first question: we are working directly with the Tax Office as well as a few leading audit companies in the Galaxy. Last year, we've checked more than two hundred quadrillion transactions and more than fifty billion cash operations. The number of financial and other crimes our work has helped to solve exceeds six hundred millions, ranging from large-scale tax evasion and cases of corruption to minor stuff like prescription meds schemes — if they're unavailable on Alderaan and you buy them off a different planet, there was a bug in the pharmacy system that cost the Republic budget something like—"
"Okay, okay. Can you please keep closer to the topic?"
"Okay, I'm sorry. I just wanted to emphasize my point. And my point is, there's hardly a decicred in the entire Republic that is unaccounted for."
"That's not counting crime organizations," someone in the RI sector says.
"You can read the full report we prepared at the end of the last year, but the short of it is that we know where the money is going even when it is the Hutts or—"
"Alright, let's refrain from—"
"Yeah, yeah, sorry—"
"-from species profiling."
"Sorry. So, I was saying, even with criminal syndicates, we generally have a pretty good idea of how much money there is," Urdaine ticks it off on his fingers, "where it comes from, and where it's going. We may not know it as well as with the legal sector, but the thing is, those cartels still interact with banks and other organizations that are accountable to us. Working with planetary police forces Republic-wide, we have established a very good understanding of the circulation of funds."
"There is one problem with this," the chairman says, "and it's the Separatist space. It wasn't Separatist eleven years ago. The money could've come from there, but we have no way of knowing it."
"It's true, but one: we still have every, as I said, decicred spent by our law enforcement agencies accounted for no matter where they might have had an additional office at the time and two: by eliminating all the, uh, currently loyalist worlds as the source, we can narrow our list of suspects down — if we know they must be a non-governmental entity from the presently Separatist space."
Corthavo frowns. "I understand it. But once we did narrow the list, there's not much we can do from there on."
"Well, first we'll need to finish the examination part so we can actually be reasonably sure that the money came from the Trade Federation or, uh, the Banking Clan."
"I see. But at this point, can we be certain that no entity affiliated with the Republic government at the time or prior or since was involved into paying for the GAR?"
Urdaine clears his throat. "I'd say we can."
Leland Howoren — Alnam talked to him at the party and has been exchanging bows with him since when meeting him at the HQ — crackles his fingers.
"That's what we were saying as long ago as in the middle of the last year," he says with his Chandrilan drawl. "I mean, not just saying — we gave the Commission the reports and even the ability to double-check the facts we were presenting. No government agency had any opportunity to pay twenty trillion credits for the clone army and we're not even still sure how much for the equipment and ships. No matter how corrupt the government was in Valorum's time, there's simply no possibility to do it hush-hush — if at all. You all have seen the classified orders and reports from that age, and there's no information — not even hints — about the creation of an army. It's utterly impossible."
"If I may..."
The Y'Bith speaks softly — but everybody quiets down when he stands up. The lightsaber hilt on his belt catches sun and sends a sundog dancing across the hall.
"Do you wish to present your report, Master Rfanzo?" Corthavo asks him.
"I am perfectly capable of waiting until it's time, Chairman. However, I would like to address the problem we have at hand. While I do understand there are definite conflicts of interest between your agencies, I have to call to your best judgment, ladies and gentlemen. I firmly believe there is every logical reason to assume that, had one of the present agencies been behind the creation of the clone army, it would have not been a secret by now — at least, not a secret from you. As Agent Howoren said, it would be impossible for any given agency to operate that sort of money — back in the year four, at least — without a sanction from the government. And if the government did sanction it, we would now know it, I am sure — despite all the mistrust and conflicts between you."
He takes a few steps away from the chairman's table, looking at no one. "Frankly, I am very disappointed to come back to your Commission's session a year later and see it is still where it was a year ago. Believe you me, I am far from a wide-eyed idealist. I understand that you cannot just curb the desire to point fingers at each other because a man in a funny dress tells you to. But ladies and gentlemen, I expected better from you."
Alnam looks at the no-name-given woman. She rolls her eyes.
"Now," Urdaine says when it becomes apparent the Jedi isn't inclined to share any more of his wisdom for now, "being the pedant that I am, I will answer your second question. We can be sure that it is only the years three and four we need to check because we know when the transaction took place — right about eleven years ago."
"The money could've been amassed prior to that, and it probably was," the Leffingite says.
"Amassing twenty trillion credits little by little isn't a thing that can happen even on the scale of the Galaxy."
"We do not know how long the process took."
"We have checked the government agencies' financial history for the previous ten years as well. You would know that if you bothered to read our report."
"For the record — does that mean ten previous years from now or from the year three or—"
"From the order being placed with the Kaminoans. Which you would also know if you—"
The sound of the Jedi Master clapping his hands is so loud Alnam jumps up. He's not alone — judging by the slightly embarrassed look on every face he sees.
"Alright, people," Master Rfanzo says. "Did you not listen to what I was saying? Well, let me reiterate, then: some amount of mutual suspicion is good. It is what keeps the society healthy. But going on for over a year accusing each other just because it is the safer alternative, it's..." He raises his hands to his face. "It's frankly speaking, insane. It drives me nuts."
Alnam glances at Master Rfanzo's Padawan: the poor lad's cheeks are redder than a sunset above the Works.
"With all due respect to out Jedi friends," the Leffingite says over the hissing of his neighbors, "I have to ask: so you did not do the complete audit of the funds movements in the Republic for those ten past years? Just for the government?"
Urdaine closes his eyes. "Yes. Yes, your understanding is sublime."
Corthavo slouches in his chair. "Can the ISB do the same audit for the years preceding three?"
"It is theoretically possible," Urdaine says, "but it will take years of work and a lot of taxpayers' money."
"Taxpayers' money shouldn't be our concern. Taxpayers want us to find out the truth."
"Sure they do," Alnam whispers to his neighbor.
"The harder Palpatine pushes for the Commission to get some results, the more Corthavo resists. The whole Oversight Committee, really. They look for anything they can use to procrastinate."
The case itself doesn't help, Alnam thinks.
"So what did you do to get exiled here?" he asks.
"I was young and stupid and thought it would be an extra day off once in a while."
"I'd rather work than watch others slacking."
"Oh, now I agree."
"Is the chairman really this idiotic? Because I am a little uneasy. More than a little. We really have no clue where the clones came from, and he's trying to settle his score with Palpatine? Over some miniscule shit from two years back?"
She raises her eyebrow. "And do you really want to know where they came from? Do you think anybody wants?"
Alnam looks at the current speaker. An old and frail-looking man leaning on a walking stick in the DoD sector.
"Therefore, it is impossible to fully determine the scale of the deal between the clone makers and Rothana Heavy Engineering. Kamino has repeatedly refused to disclose this information. So has Rothana."
"Last time, I asked the Department to operationalize their legal apparatus and find out if there were any grounds for the refusals. Has that been done?"
"Yes, Mr. Chairman. We have inquired in the details of the... of the legality of the refusals."
"What have you found?"
"It does appear that both companies are within their rights not to disclose such information. You see, since the war machinery for the GAR was made on the behest of Kamino Engineering, which is a state enterprise from a non-Republic world, the costs of the production cannot be divulged."
"I want this double-checked," Corthavo says. "I want this double-checked by the Republic Intelligence as well as the ISB, but before we go with that, I'd like the Department of Defense to run an additional quick appraisal. Let's try not to keep this going forever — I expect results by our next meeting which is scheduled for 4.3."
"Is he fucking serious?" Alnam asks the woman.
Corthavo coughs. "Should we find ourselves unable to get the costs from Rothana via legal pressure, maybe we'll be able to calculate them based on the taxes they paid eleven years ago."
"That would be quite impossible," says a Sunesi woman who sits next to the old geezer. "Besides Kamino, Rothana Heavy Engineering worked on thousands of other projects then. Shares were being sold, debts were being repaid — it would be impossible to count what percentage of the taxes accounts for the GAR equipment."
"We can try." Corthavo's tone means one thing: you can. "We can deduct the amounts paid for the gains originating from Republic worlds, right?"
"We can, but—"
"Super. Let's hear your opinion on the feasibility of it next time."
"You can hear it now. It's not feasible."
"I'd prefer to listen to the accounting as well as the Tax Office's independent opinion. Of course it doesn't sound very easy, but let's not forget the ISB audited the entire Republic. I'm sure that wasn't easy, too. So please contact the Office for Tax Collection and get their opinion next time. I shall remind all of you that our next meeting will be dedicated to the budget planning for the year sixteen, but let's hope we are able to look at this question then as well."
The old man sits down.
"Do they ever work with anything else?" Alnam whispers. "I mean, following the money is a good idea, but I'm not sure it works if this is what we're discussing more than a year into it."
"You wait and see, Vad Alnam."
"No, I'm serious. How about questioning the clone makers? About anything but the money? Any disgruntled ex-employees? I'm sure there were some over ten years."
"Oh, how cute — a neophyte's fervor. It's like I'm seeing a younger version of myself. Don't worry. We're getting closer to the good part."
The chairman's glasses twinkle with the reflections of his datapad screen.
"Alright," he says. "With that out of the way, we have quite a few complaints. A few are from the last time, actually, that we did not get to review."
Alnam is exasperated. "Complaints? Please tell me he doesn't mean—"
"Oh, he means exactly that. How else could our little joint operation operate? We've got to make sure every agency is satisfied with the work of the others. Checks and balances — remember?"
"So," Corthavo goes on, "we can postpone Master Rfanzo's report until we have time—"
"I would rather present it today," Master Rfanzo says. "With all the budgetary questions, I am not quite sure the next session will be any less busy."
"Or we can do it today." The chairman doesn't sound thrilled. "Shall we hold a vote?"
"Let us not. Your bickering can wait. Our findings cannot."
"Master Jedi, you do your job and we do ours. The job of the Oversight Committee is to make sure no capital-letter agencies disregard the law. When the subject matter is investigating, among other things, each other—"
The Jedi Master gets up again. "Unreviewed complaints are the most dire thing, to be sure, but they won't prevent our valiant agencies from solving this mystery. The lack of knowledge can. I must insist on presenting my report at today's meeting. If you so wish, you can talk about complaints after I'm done."
The conference hall grumbles.
"For the record, I cannot stay any later than four-thirty," someone from the RI says. "Here, I have a note from the Director. My shift starts at 7 AM tomorrow, and I have to get to Quadrant 9—"
"Yes, yes," the chairman raises his hands, "I know, nobody wants to stay overtime. But we have important work to do, don't we? So, we will have to see to some complaints today, at least."
"Thank you." Master Rfanzo walks to the center of the room. "The Jedi Order has been trying to trace the origins of the clone army as well as your Commission has. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we are prepared to report some intermediary results.
"We do not have access to Galaxy-wide accounting and tax data, so we went a different route. We tried talking to the Kaminoans."
Maybe at least the Jedi know what they're doing. That sounds mildly reassuring.
"And we had some leads. When Master Kenobi first discovered the existence of the clone army..."
"Wait a second," Alnam turns to his neighbor, "so it was the Jedi who did it? Not the RI?"
"Uh-huh. Now let me listen to the big head guy."
"Why the secrecy?"
She sighs. "You really can't take a hint, Vad Alnam. I don't know. They did their best to keep it under wraps, though."
"The name they gave their customer," Master Rfanzo says, "was Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. I should emphasize it: now, they are not as willing to talk about it — not on record. But then, during that surprise visit, they were uncharacteristically talkative."
The woman's whisper is hot in Alnam's ear. "I heard they wanted to give Kenobi a sport airspeeder for his silence. The word is that's the reason he hasn't been to Coruscant since. He takes all that non-possession shit very seriously."
"That they know of Master Sifo-Dyas is troubling in and of itself, but it can be explained away. The Order is not secretive — we merely strive to stay away from the public eye, when possible. Though there are no databases of our ranks available to the outside world, it is quite natural that stories about certain Knights and Masters do spread across the Galaxy. After all, our abilities can be viewed as extraordinary, and when our work becomes public, the mass media tend to paint them in an even more extraordinary light. It is not up to me to judge whether Master Sifo-Dyas was — for a Jedi — famous. However, something tells me that to none of you, ladies and gentlemen, would his name mean anything."
Master Rfanzo's dark eyes travel across the faces of the audience.
"So I thought. But knowing the Master is no indication of anything. It is far more concerning that the Kaminoans felt like they could use his name. The thing is, Master Sifo-Dyas has been missing since the late year three — and that is not publicly available information. The Order has a policy regarding its members who go MIA: even after the active search parties have to be called off, we keep checking news for any mentions that can be related to them. Once Master Kenobi heard Master Sifo-Dyas's name on Kamino two years ago, we ran the news check again for the entire period since his disappearance — and we tripled the number of sentients that normally supplement the droids on this task. There was nothing in the press — and we did not just look through the region where Master Sifo-Dyas was last seen, but the entire Republic — nothing to suggest he ever got lost.
"Therefore, the clone makers could not learn about the Master going missing from the Holonet — including, I assure you, its darker parts — as the Jedi Order always treats its losses as a strictly internal affair.
"This leads us to three hypotheses. The first one is that the Kaminoans played a part in Master Sifo-Dyas's disappearance. The second one is that whoever placed the order for the clone army did. The third one is that Master Sifo-Dyas abandoned the Jedi Order in secret and went rogue.
"All three possibilities are terrifying to me. Look at the first one. It does not explain who paid for the clone army and makes it, in fact, seem as if nobody at all did and the Kaminoans produced it just of the goodness of their hearts and based on some premonition that the Republic will need it that they received just in time to have a grown army when the Republic finally needed it. The second possibility is no better: it means that the Kaminoans themselves were fooled, and fooled by no other party than the one guilty of the disappearance of at least one Jedi Master."
Alnam speaks up. "Or that party could know about the disappearance but not be complicit."
"We thought of that, of course." Master Rfanzo's eyes meet Alnam's. "But as you would realize on second thought, this would be quite unlikely. When there is that much money involved, no enterprise is fond of asking questions — especially one located without the jurisdiction of the Republic. There would be, thus, little need for the customer to assume the name of a real person — unless to throw any potential investigators off the scent and to a very specific other scent. The chance of someone with enough money to build and equip the clone army just happening upon the loss of a Jedi Master and not being a part of it does seem tiny, does it not?"
"Maybe it does. It doesn't mean it shouldn't be worked on."
Some heads turn to Alnam. Nobody else wants to prolong the Jedi's speech. He feels very alone.
"You are not wrong," Master Rfanzo says. "No, you are not. Regardless, the customer would be in some way related to the disappearance — even if not orchestrating it. If they used it, their certainty that Master Sifo-Dyas will not be showing up one day was very high. Their knowledge would have to be pretty intimate, too — we have sieved through billions of pages of criminal cartels' and terrorist cells' news in the private sectors of the Net."
The Y'Bith gives a sharp nod — signifying that the conversation is over. "The final possibility. It was Master Sifo-Dyas himself who placed the order. This one causes a lot of problems. Where did a Jedi Master obtain more money than two thousand years' worth of government's subsidies to the Order?"
He makes a pause like a cult leader or motivational speaker about to reveal some out-there truth. None follows, though.
"Our investigation disclosed some more weirdness — if you still have appetite," Master Rfanzo says. "Master Kenobi also met the genetic template for the army of clones during his visit to Kamino. Quaintly enough, this mercenary, to listen to him, was hired by neither Sifo-Dyas nor the clone makers but by some elusive man called Tyranus."
"What kind of a name is that?" an obese man from the RI sector guffaws. "Your friend was duped, it seems. That guy was just pulling his leg."
"Perhaps. But if you heard the names of some of the ancient Sith Lords, you would say the same. Tyranus may sound stupid to you — but it does follow their naming conventions. Can it be that Master Sifo-Dyas fell to the Dark Side of the Force? I would very much not like to believe that, but we cannot exclude that possibility."
The chairman makes a low growl. "What name he goes by is semantics. Can you prove that Master Sifo-Dyas is the one behind the creation of the army?"
"No, and therefore, it is important, as it can add yet another party to the picture. Fett, the mercenary, was killed during the Battle of Geonosis, so we cannot question him further. From what we were able to gather by talking to the workers in the facility Fett was being housed in, he was not much of a talker—"
("Unlike you," Alnam hears somebody whisper).
"-not divulge anything about the circumstances of his employment. Those interviews we held, however, pointed us to a new lead. You see, Jango Fett had lived on Kamino for about seven Kaminoan years, or ten standard, hardly ever leaving it. It speaks, surely, to the size of the reward he got for his involvement — but even then, such behavior is uncommon for a bounty hunter. Kamino is not a place where it is easy to spend money: you won't find bars, casinos, brothels, or race tracks there.
"But Fett did not sit there idle: he was training the army. And, of course, he was not the only trainer. There were a hundred more — nearly all Mandalorian, like Fett himself, and hired by him. Most of them were quick to leave Kamino right after the GAR was first deployed.
"I managed to track one of them, Solin Orr, down on Nar Kreeta last year. I was not careful enough, and someone tipped her off. And so she fled from Kugmara to the mountains that protect the city from the arctic winds. For more than a week I pursued her, cursing the credit chips that I had intended to offer Orr for her story and that now were weighing me down.
"Whether by accident or on purpose, but the Mandalorian led me into a cave where a terrible creature made its nest — which nest Orr did not hesitate to set fire to. The beast that I can only describe as a product of some sick gene splicer's joke attacked me, as between Orr and me, I was the only one incapable of flying away through an adit of sorts. But as soon as I managed to fight my way out of the cave, it turned out that the creature's wings were not for decoration. Imagine, if you will, an airborne rancor, and you will understand the sense of dread that engulfs me even today whenever I see a simple hawk-bat in the lower levels.
"Two days I spent battling the beast before I felled it — and it did not go down a precipice without a good lump of meat from my side. I could not think at that point about Solin Orr — I had forgotten she even existed. But as I was lying there in the snow and a puddle of my own blood, I saw her silhouette against the setting sun. I was certain it was my doom, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not muster any strength to defend myself.
"But Orr did not finish me off — although she had every opportunity in the world to do so. No, she took me to a hidden abode in the mountains and tended to my wounds and nursed me back to health. I will not lie to you: I had to suffer many a disparaging comment about my species' biology while in her care, but she was equally as lavish with praise for my combat abilities. She told me she had been watching the entire battle — and realized, for the first time in her life, how the Jedi could defeat her people and how Revan could best Mandalore the Ultimate over Malachor V.
"This unexpected friendship bore fruits I had hoped to reap without feeding a nameless monstrosity with myself, but well, I do not complain. Solin Orr told me about her time on Kamino. Fett did not share too many things even with his fellow Mandalorians, but there was something of importance he did share.
"Once, he boasted that he was the murderer of Senator Trell."
The conference hall grumbles. Alnam feels the urge to join them — and perhaps, he has a bigger reason than all of them combined.
He remembers Trell's murder. He was doing his second-to-last year in the academy then. Already knew he would enroll into the CSF. Everybody who did was enraged by what had happened to Trell for months on end: too many CorSec officers dead. An entire gunship blown apart.
"This involvement," the Jedi continues, "he claimed was what got him the role of the template. He never specified the details, however.
"This is the lead I am giving you. You will find more details — although there aren't many of them — in my written report."
Corthavo wipes his mouth. "Thank you, Master Jedi. But don't you think it might be wiser if you pursue this?"
"I am afraid, my duties do not allow me to stay in the capital for long. Our Order hopes to finally learn what happened to Master Sifo-Dyas, and I must put all my efforts inot this task."
He stops, as if considering whether or not to elaborate.
In the end, he does. "We do suspect someone of his killing."
"So he is dead?"
"As badly as it sounds, I hope — for his own sake — that he is."
"And whom do you suspect?"
"The Confederates do have a notorious Jedi killer among their ranks, do they not? If only I could get a good look at General Grievous's lightsabers, I am quite positive I'd be able to identify Master Sifo-Dyas's one."
A glimpse of genuine interest runs across the chairman's face. "And how do you hope to accomplish that?"
"Why," Master Rfanzo says, "I'll find Grievous and engage him, and I'll have to defeat him. How else?"
.
.
.
"I do not believe we've met," the Jedi says.
Alnam smiles. "You got good memory for faces, I see. This is the first session I attend."
"For faces? Not so much. For what reflection people cast upon the Force? Yes."
How are you supposed to reply to this? Alnam doesn't know. He'd like to be on his way home already — the evening is really nice and mild. It would be sweet to take a roofless bus home. To take a piss first — also not too shabby.
But the Jedi needs something, apparently.
"Vad Alnam," Alnam finally bows his head. "RDS."
Rfanzo returns the courtesy.
"You know me," he says. "This is Jax Pavan, my Padawan."
Alnam wills his eyebrows to stay where they are while he exchanges bows with the young Human.
"I only wanted to tell you, Agent, how I appreciate you asking questions during my report," Master Rfanzo says. "I'm afraid, such occasions on these meetings are rare. Please, do not let anything or anyone take your inquisitiveness from you. Time, especially."
He is about to say something else when a group of men — Alnam wants to put them in the SBI sector — walks by them. They are talking quietly — but not enough for Master Rfanzo not to hear them.
"How disgusting," the Jedi almost spits. "Sometimes, I regret having so much composure."
Alnam is again at a loss.
"They took to making bets on General Rahonga's casualty rate," Jax Pavan explains, following the man with his stare. "The Senate Bureau. Can you believe that?"
Alnam can — he's less than proud of some of the bets he made back in his CorSec days.
"What makes General Rahonga so special?" he asks to take his thoughts away from it — as if fearing the Jedi would read them.
He regrets it immediately: just one look at Master Rfanzo is enough to realize it was the wrong call.
The Jedi takes a deep breath, though. "The casualty rate of his troops. It was five or six times larger than the average at the start of the year."
He motions towards the stairs and starts walking. Alnam and Jax Pavan follow.
"Now, it is more than twelve," Master Rfanzo says.
"Must be a tight spot he's in," Alnam says.
"Dxun is as tight a spot as any, but it's not the cause. Rahonga has always been an unstable Knight. Brilliant, but unstable. We fear his disregard for his troopers' lives shows he has fallen from the Light."
"You think he tries to secure the Confederate victory this way?"
"No. I spoke to him several days ago and sensed nothing but his usual self. No signs of treason. Just his love for the thrill of a fight. He tries to secure victory for us — I am sure of it. But what does it matter if he does it this way?"
.
.
.
The woman catches up with him at the doorstep.
"First the Chancellor, now the Jedi. You are a popular man, Vad. Vad Alnam."
He is frankly tired of her. Has to measure his words carefully.
"Maybe I'm on a special mission from the Chancellor?"
"Does your special mission include deducing my name?"
"I'm working on it."
"Let me make your job easier. It's Arlos Trome."
"Well, nice to meet you, Arlos Trome."
"I know a good bar just a couple of kilometers away. How's that sound?"
"Tempting." He doesn't lie. "But maybe some other time."
Something in Arlos's eyes changes. "Maybe there won't be another time."
"I guess we'll have to wait and see."
.
.
.
He doesn't wait for a roofless bus — takes the first one that comes. Doesn't feel like he's got the right to enjoy the lazy evening sun.
He tries to keep his thoughts away from a new pit of horror he discovered he has in his mind. Thinks about Jax Pavan: isn't that an interesting coincidence? Or maybe, no coincidence at all. About eleven years ago, his Father had this crazy conspiracy theory that the Jedi got Palpatine elected — apparently because he helped them keep a murder they had committed secret. He even had a name for the victim: Lorn Pavan, slain with a lightsaber in some fancy hotel shortly after meeting the then Senator Palpatine. Each time Alnam questioned the story's credibility, Father would wave his hand at him and let him know Alnam didn't have the mental capacity to understand the fine details of real politics.
Alnam's brain refuses to think about the Padawan, though. It keeps going back to the truth.
Nobody fucking knows where the GAR came from. Nobody knows and nobody seems to care.
He remembers what Krev Devin told him on Telos IV. That he had shot a clone deserter. That he had found said deserter's diary or something. Alnam wasn't in the best condition to receive such revelations then — but he remembers a few things.
The GAR have some contingency orders that allow them to kill civilians or overturn the government. That'd be fucked up even if we knew their origin. But we don't — and yet we still made such provisions.
He regrets not asking Devin more about it at the time — but it's also a blessing. He's not sure he wants to know.
He's sure he has to, though. It's like a loose tooth in your mouth — you won't leave it alone until it's out.
Devin said Father knew about the clone and wanted to use him.
The list of reasons to go to Sanner grows by day.