"But you," Bnagen says, "don't do it alone."
Well, shit. You didn't expect there wouldn't be any complications, right?
"So who is it? I know it's not the Separatist command."
"Why don't you think it's just plain old me?" he asks.
"Stop playing your games with me."
Great. Now they'll torture you to death trying to get nonexistent names out of you.
"Already told you. No one. I'm just a lonely paladin of justice."
"Is it a joke to you? What your Republic is doing? A joke? I would've had you thrown out of the window — if I didn't know what you have done. Consider yourself lucky, Kossar. Lucky to have done something good in your life. So I'll ask you again — for one last time."
Krev can feel the Trandoshan and the Quarren brothers stretch their backs behind his back.
"Who are you working for?"
"No one. I told you. You wanna pay me for what I do? Go ahead, I'll accept it. No conflicts of interest here."
"Okay. Then what is your organization? You are not with us, but you fight against the Republic. Why?"
"I still don't know who you people are," Krev says carefully, "but whatever. There's no organization."
"You expect me to believe this? That you got this information, wrote it down the way you did, got an HB?"
"There was one more guy. A clone. He left the army."
"Nice story," the Trandoshan says, "but you don't leave the army of the Republic."
"Quiet," Bnagen snaps at him. Then she turns — with her entire body; it's freaky — back to Krev. Looks at him — expecting him to still answer the inquiry she just shut down.
"You do," Krev says, "if you can hold your shit together for a while."
The Aqualish clicks her mandibles together. "A deserter."
"Yes. He gave me all this info. Contingency orders and more. You heard about ConCare?"
"No."
"I did it last year. Same scheme as now: post them on the Shadowfeed, and the Reps will absorb it and bring it back to their lairs. It is a lobotomy ring — ConCare. They cut clones' brains up to make them always follow their orders."
"So it was a clone," Bnagen says. "Just the two of you?"
"Yeah. For a short time. He got himself killed."
She gazes at him for a minute.
"Why," she then asks, "did you work with him?"
"How do you mean?"
"I know nothing about you, Krev Kossar. Tell me why a Human Republic citizen sides with a clone and not his precious Republic?"
"I guess it was the right thing to do. As clichéd as it sounds."
She doesn't know where you're coming from. That's something good.
Bnagen nods: jerks her head forward as if to give Krev a headbutt. "But you have to understand, Kossar: you can't defeat the Republic on your own. It's too big for you to take down."
"There's no way but with the Confederacy," the Trandoshan speaks up.
"You may think there's another way, another option, but there's none. You must be thinking now: 'But the Separatists are just as bad as the Republic!'"
"That's what the Republic wants you to believe."
"When you walked in, Krev Kossar, I thought it would be difficult to convince you. 'He's a Human,' I thought. But you are not too bad. You did the right thing. Now don't let it be in vain just because of your speciesism."
Oh fuck.
"My speciesism? I mean, I sided with a clone."
"A Human clone."
"You know that most speciesists would count that as a separate species?"
"They would be idiotic to do so. A clone is genetically equivalent to what it is a clone of. A clone of a Human is a Human."
"Okay, whatever. I don't have a problem with you, guys. You do you. But I don't think I'm gonna join, to be honest. Putting everyone resisting the Republic in one place sounds like a terrible idea."
"Working alone sounds like a way more terrible one," the Trandoshan says. "If something happens to you, it's over. All the info you hold on to. Poof — it's gone."
His "poof" sounds more like a hiss.
"Kadrur is right," Bnagen says.
Krev shrugs. "Don't worry. They have nothing on me. Besides, I am using an HB-890."
"And I know where you live, Krev Kossar."
"Would be a shame," Kadrur says, "if you got raided. Krev Kossar."
"It really would, wouldn't it? Then I wouldn't be able to help you."
"You aren't helping now, either."
Bnagen falls silent.
"Look," Krev says, "what do you expect me to do? To give you all I have? I can guess what's going to happen after that."
"We are not murderers! Stick your assumptions—"
"Sorry, Ms. Bnagen, not gonna believe it. Not after your talks about throwing me out of the window and all."
"We do not kill those who are on our side," the Trandoshan says.
Bnagen looks away from Krev. "We don't kill, period. We are not the brutes the Republic propaganda machine wants to paint us as. All I want you to do, Krev Kossar, is keep doing what you're doing — but from now on, for me."
"What's the difference?"
"It is good that you fight the perception most Republic citizens have of this war. But you don't go far enough. You have to challenge all of their preconceived notions."
"Meaning I have to shill for the Confederacy?"
"The Confederacy is the right side now. When my people — citizens of the Republic — were being deported for belonging to a wrong species, the Confederacy did what it could to help us. I understand that even for you it is a hard pill to swallow, but the CIS is right. And people deserve to know that."
You are royally fucked, pal.
"You already have gained some notoriety," Bnagen continues. "We can use it. People already trust you — or at least are starting to."
"Oh, I see how I am useful to you. Not sure about the other way around. I doubt the CIS can protect me from a police raid or anything like that on Coruscant, you know."
"It can't right now. But if a raid does happen, we can smuggle you away. Better to live as a hero on a Confederate planet than a prisoner on Coruscant, don't you think?"
Krev can't help but sharply exhale at this. "A raid usually ends with the raided guy being arrested, you know. 'Specially if they find an HB-890 in his crib."
"I'm not going to tell you we are all-powerful. You have to keep track of your surroundings on your own. But you'll have a much, much higher chance to escape a raid if you are with us. To get a notion in advance. To have a place to hide. To get on a vessel whose captain knows how to evade Republic immigration patrol ships. And so on, and so forth."
Hey, when was the last time somebody wanted you to work for them this much? You may as well agree.
"I guess I don't really have a choice," he says. "I can see that. But even then, I need guarantees. Even a cornered man needs some."
"What guarantees do you want from us?" Kadrur says. "That the Republic won't grope you by the ass because you go for another club night?"
"That I won't come home to a police raid at least today."
"You're not in the position to bargain, buddy."
"You're right, buddy. But I'm a paranoid. So if I think you lot are going to fuck me over — at whatever point — there's nothing stopping me from deleting all files and accounts and giving myself the quickest trip to the level one right tonight. Beats waiting for cops."
"Are you being serious?" Bnagen asks. "You know where we are located. You know my name."
"True, but I don't know if it's real."
"You can search me on the Holonet. There are still old social media profiles. I hope you don't have a problem recognizing Aqualish?"
How ironic.
"Oh, I'll recognize you anywhere, sugar, be sure of that. So mutually-assured destruction? Is this how you want out partnership to be?"
Bnagen looks at her grunts. "It doesn't matter what I want. Only what I'll achieve."
Kadrur and the Quarren boys don't ship him all the way back — only to the nearest subway station. It's already pretty late, and Krev's not going to the bar.
He wonders dully why they didn't take his comlink from him. Ah, whom is he kidding — the fuckers probably got him under constant surveillance since the club fiasco. Must know he only goes out — when he's not setting up a fiasco — to a bar once a week. Must've figured out it was a drinking pal calling.
No, wait. Doesn't add up.
They thought Krev was running a huge operation, or was a part of one. Makes sense he was going to the bar to see a contact.
And: they knew Krev was familiar with HB-890s. Makes sense to assume whoever was calling could be tech-savvy too. That he could triangulate Krev's location via the comlink — or whatever it's called. Maybe it's beyond Sorval's scope — hell if Krev knows — but he would've assumed it was not if he was the kidnapping party. Would've taken the device away and thrown it out of the aircar — preferably, while going the opposite direction from the place he needed to deliver the kidnapped party to.
Which means they're sloppy. Go figure: a bunch of alien undesirables hiding in a semi-abandoned monad. Led by a woman, no less. Hard to expect efficiency from them.
Said they are with the Seps, though. Which means: they have to be efficient. Otherwise Dooku won't pay them, simple as that.
Must be something you don't see. Some reason they didn't take your comlink away.
Wanted the caller to check the location? Got an ambush set up back in the monad? For whom? Doesn't make sense.
No, just admit it: they are fucking sloppy. Probably lied about their CIS connections, too.
"What the fuck," Sorval says when Krev calls him, "where have you been?"
"Sorry. I slept through the entire day."
"That's fucking great to hear." Then, in a suddenly concerned tone: "Have you... been doing stuff?"
"No. I mean, no more than usual. Just my fucked-up regimen catching up with me."
"Great. I've waited for you for hours."
"Given my dreams, I assure you you had more fun than I."
"Whatever. Later."
Krev doesn't tell him — neither now nor later. Can't get rid of the feeling the Alien CIS Fan Cell is just a nuisance.
Had a pretty wildly different feeling before the talk, didn't ya?
That's right. But you know how it goes — not the battle, yadda yadda.
He also can't shake off guilt and shame for getting caught up in this shit so pathetically. That's probably the real reason — Sorval's reprimanded him enough as it is. Krev can live without more.
He looks up Tuu Bnagen's profiles on the Holonet — Krev Kossar, the most desperate xeno-stalker in the Galaxy. It's her — has pictures, has friends, has family. Or had — maybe. No one Aqualish from her circles has been seen online for the past year. Her neither — for seven or eight months. Guess she stayed a little more real for a little longer.
He goes to sleep still shaken up. Wakes up four hours later — the doorbell. He fondly remembers his DY-225 — it was a pleasure opening his door with it at his side.
He opens up. Huh — it's his old fellow the Gossam.
"What's up?"
"Kadrur is waiting for me outside. That's the Trandoshan guy."
"Not sure how you two fit together, but I'm not judging. Came here to share the happy news with me?"
"Very funny. I'll laugh — if it stops you from tearing my legs off."
"That was my way of asking you what your puny ass is doing here. That your way of wasting even more of my time?"
"Right. I mean, no. Sorry. I prefer not to ignore questions of people twice my size."
"Get to it, then."
"Sorry. I brought... Can I come in? Great. Thanks. I brought your... orders?"
"Why are you asking me what you brought?"
"I'm not sure how you're going to react to this word. That's what Tuu said, just in case, not me."
"Orders?"
"Well, let's call them guidelines. For your, uh, posts."
Some guidelines these are. Praise to the CIS galore. Each line preceded by a subtitle: "Suggestion." They only suggest one thing, and that thing is Separatists propaganda.
"You guys are really fond of the CIS, I see."
"Maybe better not to discuss it out loud—"
"No, seriously, what the fuck is this? Do you really think people — you know, the Republic people — are going to actually read stuff that jerks off the CIS' cock this hard?"
"It's not coming from me, man."
"I mean, we're better off avoiding the whole CIS topic in general if we want the Republic citizens to listen. That's what I've been doing, or trying to."
"This isn't coming from me. Like I said. Take it up with Tuu. I don't know, man, that's all I can suggest."
Krev talks to Tuu. He does it alright.
"We need to show the discrepancy between your government and ours," she tells him.
"I get that. How about we do it in a more subtle way?"
"You're the writer. It's up to you to make it as subtle as you wish."
He procures his datapad. "This read subtle to you? 'Suggestion: Put more emphasis on how such a thing can never happen in the Confederacy, i.e. the droid army can never make decisions this important.'"
"It factually can't. What's your problem?"
"My problem? It's that you're blackmailing me into doing this shit I don't wanna do and enforcing your vision of how I should do it, to add insult to injury."
Bnagen sighs. "Come on," she says.
Krev follows her through the dusty offices.
"I didn't want to pay you before you got results," she says, "but okay. Maybe you aren't wrong — we did pressure you into doing this, even though doing this is the right thing. Alright. You'll get your advance payment."
It's four grand in cash. Krev gets a glimpse of the safe's insides: looks like maybe two thousand more.
Someone's not doing great — either them or the Separatists in general.
He doesn't expect it, but the money works its magic: he starts arguing with himself that maybe it's not that big of a deal if he sprinkles his posts with some Sep shilling. After all, they are paying for this. Not that they are leaving him a lot of choice — but that can be taken care of later.
Once he buys a blaster, for instance.
Still, it ain't all bad. He's posting on the pro-Separatist forums — makes a bit of sense to add Sep propaganda into it. It can throw the Reps off his scent — let them think it's a Sep spy ring or something.
That's all a bunch of shit excuses, he knows. But he works on the next post. Makes it fit Bnagen's expectations.
And he still doesn't tell Sorval.
Takes him until the end of the month to finish the job. The fucking Gossam comes to his place on a daily basis. Krev now regrets taking the money — now the little fucker has something to be right about.
The next two posts are easier — he writes them almost without thinking while watching a Sabacc tournament on his datapad. With the last one, he even looks at the response — getting tepid. He's not sure if it's his style being affected or the orders getting less wacky.
Life's good overall: he's getting paid for doing a questionably right thing (ten thousand after the first four). He's still seeing Sorval each Zhellday. The demonman doesn't suspect a thing. Even has the balls to praise the newer posts. Krev jokes his way out of it.
He catches himself wishing the Chancellor and his super-secret services would win this one more and more often. It starts as a joke, but in a few weeks, he is positive he hates Bnagen and her crew more than he does Palpatine and his Republic — harder and harder with every day. He hates her almost as much as he hates Alnam. This is what it all comes to: an average man will hate the smaller evil he sees every day or week rather the bigger that exists somewhere away from him.
What are they gonna do if he disappears? He could do that. Bannison's place is always open to him — good luck finding him there. And if they come for him, the bread-maker union will have a chance to show how much they really hate aliens.
He goes nowhere. He's not sure why.
His regimen gets progressively worse — he rarely gets up before the daily dose of sun his apartment gets, and even that starts getting too early. His glitter consumption level rises — subtly, but he knows it does.
"You're doing okay, man?" Sorval asks him during one of their carousals.
"Do I really look shitty enough to warrant the question?"
"Kinda. I mean, still better than back on IV, but..."
Krev knows the demonman is lying.
He wakes up well past four one day — to the Holonet full of Palpatine pictures and pictures of clones and Jedi. His heart skips a beat before he reads the headlines. Then it sinks.
Eight missed calls from Sorval. None from Bnagen — but she'll probably send the Gossam.
"You saw it?" Sorval almost screams.
"This is official, right?"
"Of course it's official. I saw it almost live. You saw it?"
"Fuck. The faggot outplayed us. He just—"
"Can we meet, like, tomorrow or something?"
"Sure. I can if you can."
"I'll skip classes if needed. Shit."
"Okay, calm down. We'll figure something out."
Are you gonna tell him?
Krev ain't figuring that out. Not on his own. Maybe some glitterstim will help.
He stops halfway — with the syringe full. How did this fucking happen?
Fucking Reps. They really did outplay them — all of them: Alnam, Bnagen, him.
Fucking Palpatine.
They just up and admitted the Orders' existence. Basically went so-what. Killed a Jedi on live holovision. What a power move.
No fucking way. Krev isn't going to believe this shit even if he sees it with his own eyes.
It's all over the Holonet. The first video he finds isn't even from any of the official channels — but lookie here, eight hundred billion views and growing real-time. One hundred million times more than his escapade got.
Palpatine makes a long speech — heavy heart this and heavy heart that. Then he calls a clone captain and says, "You must cleanse the Republic Army of your brothers' killer. Execute Order 66."
Krev has to pause. Krev has to check the Shadowfeed. Seps are talking about it too. Small fucking wonder. They don't seem too weirded out.
He reenters the Holonet. Motherfucker. They got an entire snuff film — shit quality for maximum authenticity. Clones really go and shoot a Jedi — no pictures of the corpse on film, though. Where's the 221st when you need it most?
Krev finds the pictures — the Jedi's body and much more — on the forums, though. Look at the fucking reptards going at it:
"Suck it, you scum who posted for days and end about the orders. We've been telling you since Day 1 its normal. Now how do you like being the laughingstock?"
"This is how it should be. A Jedi gets uppity, he gets shot. That's why we have GAR in the first place — so we don't have to rely solely on a religious order in our war."
"I can't believe anyone thought the orders weren't approved or coming not from the Senate and the S. Chancellor himself... You people went parading them as if they were something special. Now you see them for they really are: just a bunch of ropes our military operates by. If you think it's bad or unprecedented, maybe go live in the CIS (=shithole, try finding one planet there that is worth living on...) where they outsource fighting to droids and see how you like it there..."
"Shit like this really makes me proud of my Republic. We don't take shit from anyone, Jedi or otherwise. Take a good look, sepboys: this is what is going to happen to you at some point. And I suspect sooner rather than later."
Krev rewatches the footage again. The quality's so bad there's no telling if the thing's real.
Of course it's not, he thinks. They wouldn't kill a Jedi to flex their muscles. Nobody is that insane. But it doesn't matter: they got out of the corner you'd put them in.
He goes out — to his surprise, no Gossams at his door. But the outside doesn't help — it's too oppressive and too open. Krev needs to crawl back into his shell.
The next few hours: going back to the snuff again and again. He keeps looking at the dead Jedi pictures, trying to guess if they're real or not. Keeps reminding himself it doesn't matter — but ends up going back to them still.
His comlink goes off. Shit — a hidden signature number.
You don't think she's calling to tell you it's time to part ways, right?
He picks up. It's not Bnagen — a male voice.
"You asked me a while ago to look into something. To ask my father about it."
Oh shit indeed.
"Yeah," Krev says. "Yeah, I remember that."
"Listen, I need to discuss something with you in person. How about tomorrow? Around 7 PM SBT at Three Oases." Vad names the address — it looks to be about two hundred kilometers from the RDS HQ. Still half a planet away from Mr. Kossar's apartment.
"Not sure I can make it," Krev says.
"Do your best, please."
Krev doesn't feel like doing his best. The situation starts to stiiiink.
This is it. They're onto you. Palpatine did the farce for the gullible, and Vad is going to clean up the guilty.
Maybe it's the Sep shit you've inserted. Yes, it's probably that. Made them get their shit together and start looking for you in earnest.
But this doesn't quite make sense, does it? Why would they wait for the night of the farce to get you? They pretty much tipped you off not to show up. They can't be thinking you haven't watched the show. It's what the whole Galaxy is buzzing about now.
Krev doesn't go to bed that night — or the next morning. He is planning his route to Three Oases. He calls Sorval — no need to skip classes. The demonman freaks out. Krev does what he can to convince him everything is fine.
He's miscalculated a bit — it's more like four hundred kilometers to the south from the HQ. He goes there through the orbit — can afford it with all the Bnagen cash.
Three Oases is deep — Vad takes secrecy seriously. Too seriously, Krev thinks: he'd appoint a meeting ten blocks away from the headquarters — far enough for RDS boys not to stop by on the way home but close enough not to draw suspicion. Maybe Vad is taking you in? He shoos the thought away. It doesn't matter now — he's here. What happens, happens.
Vad's there already. Krev has to look for him for good ten minutes through two metric tons of patrons.
Vad is sitting at the counter.
"Got you some," he nods at the whiskey glass next to him. "Hurry up before the ice melts."
Krev can't help but remember his tributes to Fucktwerp Bannison.
"I assume you want to talk about the big news," he says once he's done with the whiskey — if they're taking him in, he might as well come in a good mood.
"It's you, isn't it?"
"Should I pretend like I don't know what you're talking about?"
"Should you?"
Krev looks the other man in the eyes. "Well, it's not your dad. I can tell you that much."
"No doubts about that. My dad isn't a fan of the C of IS."
"I got a different impression."
"He's not."
Krev thinks back to his talks with Alnam. He did want to hold the CIS leaders accountable for the war too, didn't he?
Krev thinks forward. Does he tell Vad about Bnagen?
"Well," he says, "did you ask your father about Damask?"
Vad snaps his fingers. "Damask. Right. Hego Damask. I forgot the name when I went to Sanner."
Krev keeps looking at him.
"Sorry," Vad says. "I know it sounds retarded. I was not in the best place then."
"You didn't ask him?"
"No. How could I ask him if I forgot the name you said?"
"You probably heard about Damask. He used to be a big shot. Could've backtracked from there, you know, from mental connections—"
"Like I said," Vad says through gritted teeth, "I wasn't in the best place. I'm sorry I couldn't do your bidding as soon as you asked."
"Don't take it like that. I mean... maybe you can do it in—"
"Of course. Now I remember the name, right?"
Krev doesn't like this fake energy in people.
"Are you in a good place now?" he asks.
"Good as ever. Anyway. You guessed right — I wanted to talk about the yesterday's news."
Krev extends his palm to Vad: talk.
"If I'm being honest," Vad says, "I didn't think much of what you told me back on Telos."
"But now you see I was right."
"Now I see you were onto something."
"Something? Are you shitting me? After what you saw?"
"Keep your voice down."
"They did it to absolve themselves of any guilt, of any responsibility. I got people talking about shit they wanted to keep under wraps. And look at their reaction: they decided it was better to admit to everything and make it appear as if nothing happened. What a fucking performance! They even got quote-unquote leaked pictures of the dead Jedi — in case somebody didn't believe the movie."
"Hold on, pilot. What are you getting at?"
"It's a performance, Vad. It's all a motherfucking performance, and even the Jedi went along with it."
"I can tell you for a fact it's not. That's what's concerning — that it's not a motherfucking performance."
"I don't know. You think they'd really kill a Jedi just to fuck me over?"
Vad moves his chair closer to Krev's.
"They would do that and much more. Tons more. I know it," he says.
"It was for real?"
"Yes. I had spoken to a Jedi earlier this year."
"You mean this Jedi? Rahonga?"
"No. Just a Jedi. The thing is, he told me about Rahonga. How he fell to the darkness and everything. It was before the ruckus you caused. Way before. So unless they used their Jedi premonition shit just to fuck with us, it's as real as it can be."
"Oh shit."
"No shit. And you saw it. You saw the clones carry the order out without a question. And you know what other orders there are."
"What are you getting at?"
"You got all this data from a clone deserter, ain't that correct?"
Krev nods.
"You said you got some documents from him?"
"Yeah. His diary. The list of contingency orders."
"That's great. That's great. I hope you'll help me out here. And I'll, and I'll help you. I'll ask around about that Damask character. Around people like my father. Yeah, right — I did ask him about you. As in, what he's going to do about you."
Krev sips on the whiskey-tasting melt-water. "Okay."
"He seems like he's lost interest in chasing you down. He may think your posts are beneficial to him, but in any case, he's most likely not going to do anything to you. So keep your eyes peeled — but not too peeled, I guess, is what I'm trying to say."
"Yeah. Well, I'll keep that in mind."
"You were straight with me, Krev — back on Telos. So I'm gonna be straight with you, too. I cannot promise you he won't do anything ever. That would be banthashit, honestly. Just telling you my assumption."
"Okay. Uh, thanks for asking him."
"Yeah. And I'll get down to the Damask business. I mean, now that I see you were right the entire time — well, you were. You were. Righter, at least, than everybody else."
"Good. Thank you. But what do you want from me? You wanna look at Brate's files?"
"Yeah. That would be great."
"No problem. You can do it, well, right now. We'll take an orbital—"
"I've work tomorrow. So we'll schedule another time, alright?"
"Absolutely. But Vad..."
"M-hm?"
"What will you do with them? With the documents?"
Vad's smile is crooked. "Why, I'll do my duty and try my damnedest to save the Republic."