Another deposition at the Galactic Courts of Justice. Goes just as poorly as the first one: they ask him the same questions in a different order.
Then Larry Garell goes in for a kill: "Knowing that we have questioned your partner, Agent Mtoro Apani, would you like to make any adjustments to your story?"
Wermano protests. Alnam still has to answer.
"Nothing I told you is false, so no, I wouldn't."
Larry smiles as if he has made the kill. "I have no further questions for now."
"Thank you," Narses says. The Skadosi Heavy Industry Workers' Union attorney looks fatter than he did at the year's start. "I would like to take over the deposition now."
"Be our guest," Larry smiles him his cartoony smile.
"Agent Alnam, had you had any prior knowledge of Skados VI before your assignment to it?"
"I read up on it. It's a standard procedure."
"I said, before the assignment. Before it was issued to you."
"No, I didn't know about Skados VI." Alnam represses the urge to elaborate. To start making excuses: it's unreasonable to expect me to know everything about every planet, yadda yadda yadda.
"So you did not know about the political situation on the aforementioned planet, is that correct?"
"It is."
"So the first time you hear about Skados VI was when you were given the assignment?"
"Yes."
"Can you specify the date it happened, please?"
Alnam scrolls through the calendar pages on his datapad hectically. "One second," he says, "let me take a... a quick look at the..."
"It's fine, Agent Alnam, take your time," Larry says — Alnam is sure, to Narses's utmost displeasure.
"Ah, here it is. It was the second of the eighth last year."
"Okay," says Narses. "Second of the eighth. When did you arrive at Skados VI?"
"On the eighth day of the same month."
"Did you prepare in terms of research during the time between receiving the assignment and landing on Skados VI?"
"Yes. Like I said, I read on the planet, its customs, its population, and so on."
"What about its politics?"
"Obviously. That too."
"Agent Alnam, did you at any point prior to your investigation on Skados VI meet with the senator thereof, Af'fanari Oga Ktii?"
"We were tipped off about the state of events on Skados VI — uh, the then-state of events — by Senator Narlaut Dibasi of Sethri. And he had learned about them from his acquaintance Senator Ktii."
"This does not answer my question."
Alnam waits Wermano's objection out like he would a noisy truck coming by.
"I was getting there," he says when she's finished. "Senator Dibasi introduced me and my partner to Senator Ktii."
"Did he introduce you to her personally?"
"It was via a hologram."
"Did you talk to Senator Ktii then?"
"No, we did not."
"So Dibasi just introduced you, and that was it?"
"Yes, it was."
"Have you spoken to Senator Ktii at any time following this introduction?"
"No."
"Has Senator Dibasi talked to you about her at any time following the introduction?"
"He told me she was pleased her situation had been resolved."
"Has she, directly or indirectly, encourage you to make use of her gratitude?"
"No. She was just grateful, that's it."
"Have you received any gratuity from Senator Dibasi following your arrests at Skados VI?"
Oh, for fuck's sake!
Alnam casts a look at Wermano. She opens her mouth — at the same moment as Narses does.
"I..." Alnam says. "I have."
Better tell the truth. It's nothing they can have you for — just two bottles.
"What form did that gratuity take?"
"Two bottles of Alderaanian brandy, sir."
"Have you declared them, Agent Alnam?"
"I have not."
"Are you aware that failing to declare a gratuity is a breach?"
"I am. I am ready to receive a reprobation for it."
It's just two bottles. What do they come to — three thousand? It's nothing.
"Giving reprobations is not our business, Agent Alnam. Ours is finding out the truth about the circumstances in which you caused harm to a SWIHU member."
Doriana's hundred and fifty thousands are a bigger deal.
He said it was official!
"Has Senator Dibasi mentioned Senator Ktii when giving you the bottles you described?"
Gonna be fun explaining it to the anti-corruption.
"I don't believe he did."
Of course he did. From Senator Ktii and myself — that's what he said.
"You don't believe he did or he did not?"
"I cannot at this time remember."
"Did you get the impression the gift was from Senator Ktii?"
Alnam tries to calm himself down while Wermano protests. They have nothing. No way they know about Doriana.
"No, I did not," he answers. "After all, it was Senator Dibasi giving me the bottles and not Senator Ktii."
"Your partner, Agent Mtoro Apani, has also received a gratuity from Senator Dibasi, is that correct?"
"She has, to my knowledge."
"What form did it take in her case?"
"A rare plant, I believe. A small tree, by the looks of it. I'm not a botanist to give a more precise description."
"Has Agent Apani, to the best of your knowledge, declared said gratuity?"
I bet she has.
Why didn't she tell me to declare mine, dammit?
"I do not know."
"You haven't discussed it with her?"
"No."
"Have you discussed the morality of taking such gratuities with Agent Apani?"
"Objection," Alnam hears Wermano say.
Once she's finished, he says: "I have not."
"Have you discussed Senator Ktii with Agent Apani?"
"We haven't."
"Really? You went to a planet and you never discussed its representative with your partner?"
"We have never discussed Senator Ktii beyond mentioning her in passing. We were focused on the investigation, not its implications for the Skadosi political entities."
It ends there, but Alnam leaves with a heavy feeling in his stomach — as if after a hearty dinner.
"Am I in trouble for not declaring that brandy?" he asks Wermano.
She raises her eyebrow. "You are in trouble because of Agent Ven's influence waning, although your... actions don't help. Was it so hard to register those bloody bottles?"
Alnam feels like he's back to school.
"The damage done is minimal," he says. "We don't have to pay taxes on gratuities."
"Agent Alnam," Wermano puffs angrily, "do you really think I'm unaware of that?"
"I'm sorry. So how is it looking for me — generally speaking? They're going to throw me under a bus, aren't they?"
"Like I said, Agent Ven's influence is not what it used to be."
"It can mean a lot of different things, Ms. Wermano. Starting with me having to pay Koji for stunning him to suspension to me getting discharged."
To them throwing a book at me for participating in a conspiracy to keep Ktii in power, he thinks glumly.
"What it means is that Agent Ven may not be able to pull the strings to keep you out of trouble," Wermano says. "Julian went all in today. That brandy... is bad news."
"Should I have lied?"
Wermano only hesitates for a second. "No. That would've complicated everything."
"My partner probably told them about it anyway."
"You could insist you didn't get anything. I doubt Senator Dibasi will be happy to admit to paying you."
"Paying me? Two bottles of brandy for determining who is the Skados VI senator? It's absurd!"
"It is, but it gives them ground for further enquiry. Still, you were right not to lie."
"Further enquiry won't uncover anything. I've taken nothing else from Dibasi."
"That's good to know — but you are not the fish they want to catch." Wermano's eyes are weary and disappointed. Must be hard dealing with retards all the time. "They want to look into Dibasi's relations with Ktii and Skados."
Alnam feels bad for bringing the senator into it.
"Your brandy," she underlines the word with her voice, "gives them a reason to look into them. Not a very good reason, but nevertheless." She sighs. "Ultimately, they hope to drag this for so long Ktii gets scared and steps down."
"Okay. But what's in it for me? Worst case?"
"They are not going to incarcerate you for receiving gifts from a senator," Wermano says with blessed, yet harmful contempt. "You were doing your job, weren't you? Good. There's nothing they can do about it. Koji got hurt during an apprehension. You were out of line, but understandably so. You will probably get a formal reprobation for stunning a surrendered party. It will take a trial to get there. However, Koji is party to the offense — so the court will view you in a more favorable light than him. Then, you will get your comeuppance for your thirst for brandy. That won't take a trial. You can sleep well, Agent."
.
.
.
That night, Alnam does everything but.
He killed a person — and this is what they are after. A stunning. And he had a legit fucking reason to use a stun gun — but no, they just have to make a fuss about it as though Alnam fried the feathered fuck.
In the end, the only thing that matters is who cares about what. Nobody cares about Fozatta anymore. Maybe his victims still do — but they can be counted as nobody. He's not instrumental to anyone's plans. Koji is — thus the fuss.
Alnam weighs if he should contact Doriana. What are you going to tell him? Bad people from the Galactic Courts are oppressing you?
It gets him thinking what Doriana even is. A G-man, that much is certain. Alnam used to think he works for the Chancellor, but he's not so sure now. No, technically, Doriana probably does work for the Chancellor's Office. And going back to his first encounter with Alnam — a very one-sided encounter — it looks like Mr. Doriana handles shady shit for the Chancellor.
Alnam is not wet enough behind his ears as to think the Supreme Chancellor is above shady shit. A Supreme Chancellor simply cannot be. But having met Palpatine in person... Alnam can't bring himself to think about the Chancellor doing shady shit. He knows it happens — but thinking about it is like imagining his parents having sex.
He hasn't heard from Doriana since the Fete party. It makes him very cautious around the Bank of the Core account — more so than he would've been had Doriana told him to go do a wet job for the good of the Republic. It makes him regret buying Yalgi and Ormi presents with that money even more than he regretted it immediately after buying them.
No way would the Chancellor himself give him this much money for just doing his — really well-paid — job. The more Alnam thinks about it, the more it looks as if Doriana is a top secret even to Palpatine. After all, no official list names him as a government worker — at least, no official list that Alnam has clearance to view. Perhaps: he's with a hush-hush office that cleans the Supreme Chancellor's mess. Doubtful Palpatine generates much — but his predecessors sure did. Now it's probably down to making sure no one close to Palpatine does anything to discredit him. No need to tout such an office's existence — and no need to disclose the details of how it operates to the Chancellor.
That's all very nice and well. Still doesn't answer what the fuck I should do.
The situation looks bad. Alnam finds himself distrusting Wermano — first as a mental exercise, than for real. Ven got her to "defend" Alnam in court — stands to reason she's his creature. So she might be trying to get you to frame yourself.
But that would be impossible, right? Stunning the fucker was wrong, but it's a minor infraction. Nothing to get him fired over.
What if they go with the conspiracy angle, though?
Even then, Alnam should be fine. He was given a task by his superior. The task was legit. If said superior had conspired with a crooked senator to keep another crooked senator in her position, there was no way for Alnam to know that.
Besides, Ven is in shit right now. You can always blame him for everything without any moral repercussions.
Funny thing: Alnam starts experiencing these repercussions without having done anything.
Yeah, pillorying Ven for the things he has done is something you should be ashamed of.
That's true. Sometimes, Alnam tries to feel something about what happened — what he did; he makes sure not to shift blame — to Fozatta. It's getting harder by day. The Fozman still hasn't made the news. Alnam thinks he's gotta stop checking all those ads-ridden news pages soon. He would have already, if not for the stunning case banthashit — it's either news or Ormi's social accounts. One brings fear and the other pain. Pain doesn't go with dealing with birdmen getting stunned, so he keeps browsing articles about Coru-scantily dressed stars and shockball player transfers.
He doesn't like how paranoid he's become. Guess murdering someone does it to you. Ven, Javirr, Bohm, even Mtoro — he's not sure he can trust anyone in the RDS. The worst thing is he is perfectly capable of coming up with logical arguments for trusting them — but none of them sustain his calm for long: they burn away, and the calm dissipates. Alnam knows it's high time he visited a shrink — who can tell what else he's gonna do if he keeps on going like this? He never schedules: too much shit, and different, unrelated shit at that, is happening.
Something has to be done about Bnagen. Alnam doubts she knows what fate found Fozatta — she has no way of knowing — but her staying on the loose bothers him something awful. She needs to be dealt with — for the good of the Republic, if nothing else.
There is something else, though. The good of Krev Devin. Alnam can't define why he cares about the man so much for the longest time. Then it strikes him: he can't trust the RDS people. He can trust Devin.
All those lofty words about Devin's concern for the state of the Galaxy Alnam used to tell himself now sound hollow. It's much, much simpler.
It's a dog-eat-dog world, and Devin is a pack dog.
.
.
.
It can't be an RDS op: as an agent, he'd have to disclose his sources, and he can't have Krev Devin in the RDS custody. The thought of Lawrie is cockeyed, but Alnam still has it.
He goes to the 84 after work. Quite a detour: enjoy your five hours of sleep. He tries to make up for some of it in the taxi, but the lights of an evening Coruscant don't let him.
Sergeant Berzon is working the front desk. She's a Whiphid. The uniform looks grotesque on her.
"Well, I'd be damned!" she shouts across the lobby. "I'd be damned if it's not Vad fucking Alnam!"
There are no civvies in the lobby and almost no cops. Alnam still feels awkward.
"Hi, Berzon," he says. He can't recall the Sergeant's first name. "How are you—"
"Look at you, a big boy now! Came to laugh at our misery?"
"Try remember the good old days."
He fucking hates himself for sucking up to Berzon. He needs the CorSec for this one, though — so he has no choice.
"What good old days?" Berzon laughs. "You never liked it here, did ya? Always thought you were too good for us." She closes her gigantic maw with a boney rattle. "Ah, don't mind me. Just breaking your balls."
"Sure." He smiles and hates that smile. She may be breaking his balls — but he knows she really does think this way. "Cap's still in his office?"
"Cap?" The maw is ajar again. "My, you really don't know anything?"
"I don't know what?"
"Anything. Swauri retired. Half a year ago now."
"No shit."
Now that's a stupid thing to say to her.
Berzon doesn't disappoint.
"Duh, no shit, Alnam. Old folks retire."
"Who's in charge now?"
"Not me. That's for sure."
"I almost couldn't tell, Berzon. So who is?"
"Oh, look at you, a real big shot now! So important!"
"I always was, right?"
"No, Swauri is not the main guy anymore. No sir."
Alnam keeps looking at her until she answers.
"They sent somebody from the head office. Captain Calhoon is calling the shots in here these days."
"Is he at the precinct?"
"Oh, no. He's a busy man. You're gotta be lucky to catch him here. I doubt you have any luck left after getting your transfer."
"That's all I wanted to know."
Berzon makes an insulted sound when he walks past her desk into the station — without asking her for permission.
"You forgot where I work?" he asks her. His tone is too angry — he's tired of the fucking charade. It shuts Berzon up — should've gone with it from the get-go.
He feels no nostalgia walking the empty hallways of the 84. He had wanted to be on the force once — maybe to spite Father, maybe for some other reason. If there wasn't any, he sure came up with a few. But that desire ran off at some point — hard to say now if it was before the manifesto or after.
Things used to work back when he served here. His life used to work. But it also went downhill while he served here as well. Makes it hard to feel nostalgic about the place.
He finds Broussard and Iyes in the rec room, abusing the cafstim machine — as always. Deleny would've been preferable, but these two aren't too bad either — they have the lieutenant's ear.
"Look who's here," Broussard says. "That's a fucking surprise!"
Iyes checks his watch — as if he's been expecting Alnam and Alnam came late. "Fuck me," he says, "never thought I'd see your face again!"
They shake hands.
"Came to piss on us?" Iyes asks.
"Berzon asked me the same thing. What are they putting into your cafstim?"
"Pure, unadulterated hate for agencies' boys."
"She still on the post?" Broussard asks. His dark-grey moustache seems to have added a couple of centimeters since Alnam last saw him.
"Still is."
"Shit."
"Seriously, fuck her," Iyes says. "She should be out, if you ask me."
"Uh-oh. Someone's in for more sensitivity training, I see." Broussard puts his cup on the counter. SHOOT FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS... WHO SAYS I GOT ANY? the cup says.
"I'd take it, fuck it. Beats having to endure her fucking face. Seriously, Vad, I hope you're here to bring us the good news that we don't have to put up with these alien fucks at the precinct."
"I'm afraid I'm not."
"That's too bad. Imagine if an honest fucking citizen walks in and sees that fucking thing at the front desk. What is he gonna do? He's gonna turn back and never return. He won't report a crime, he won't do anything. We are at war with aliens..."
"And you are a xenophobe," Broussard says without interest.
"I am. I am — to the same degree a regular Joe is. It's not good for us to have fucking Sergeant Berzon representing the 84th. It blows all the fucking trust we try to build up."
"How is Deleny?" Alnam asks. "Don't tell me he retired, too."
"Ah, you know about the cap?" Broussard looks up from his cafstim. "Nah, Deleny is still with us."
"And he'd better stay, since he's the last fucking man here who knows what he's doing."
Alnam helps himself to a cup of cafstim. Chooses the cleanest-looking cup on the tray by the machine — its insides are still more brown than blue.
"I need a word with him."
"Ah," Iyes says, "official business?"
"No."
"He's away right now," Broussard says, "but you can wait for him."
Alnam waits. The boys are watching a culinary show on the holoscreen. They almost don't bother him with questions — new burger recipes are so much more interesting than his life.
Forty minutes in, Broussard leaves to the bathroom. When he comes back, he says, "The lieutenant's in his office, Vad. I'd hurry up if I were you."
Alnam does. Good thing he does — Deleny is turning the office lights off. Deleny gets out and jumps up a little when he sees Alnam.
"For fuck's sake," the lieutenant says, "what do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me like that!"
"Hi, Lieutenant. It's me, Alnam."
"I see it's you. It doesn't mean I'm glad to see you. What is it?"
"Can we talk in your office?"
"Can I go back to my wife already? I haven't slept for two days."
"It's urgent." Alnam thinks and adds, "Sir."
Deleny hesitates. Then he opens his office.
"I need men for an operation," Alnam says. "To make an arrest."
"Who?"
"Anyone you can spare. I'm not picky."
"Who are you going to arrest?"
"A bunch of CIS sympathizers."
"I was under the impression that's your people's job."
"It is, but it's a personal case. The higher-ups won't give me operatives."
"A personal case?"
"Yeah. I've screwed up a little. Let a guy escape. He's a suspect in an important case. Uh... Giburin Fozatta. I'm sure you've heard."
"Fozatta, huh? I read you put a crimp in his plans somewhere in the Mid Rim."
"I did. Well, me and my partner. But Fozatta himself? No sir. Got away. A really stupid fucking blunder on my part, I must admit."
"Don't tell me the DS isn't gonna spare some men to capture him — if he's so important."
"I wouldn't be here, sir, if they would spare any. The thing is, he's not one of these CIS people I mentioned. But I feel I can get his whereabouts from them."
Deleny raises his eyebrow. "You feel?"
"No hard evidence," Alnam shakes his head.
"No hard evidence means no order in your case, right?"
"Absolutely."
"And you want me to work in such conditions? To pull you out of your shit by drowning myself in it?"
Deleny will bite — Alnam knows. But: Deleny can't give it to him too easily.
"No, sir. That was not my line of thinking."
"What was your line of thinking, Alnam?"
"My line of thinking was to just apprehend a few people, question them, and let them go. All the while not giving them a hint the RDS is onto them."
The lieutenant chews on his lips. "I see. A fucking false flag."
Alnam frowns — it makes him remember Kram Midduk.
"How come they passed you over?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" The lieutenant feigns disinterest: digs into the flimsiplast and paper notes on his table.
"Berzon told me they send some Calhoon fellow from the head office. Why the hell?"
"They didn't pass me over. Livirr is the one they passed over and, let me tell you, fucked right in the ass — no lube applied."
Livirr is the homicide detective lieutenant.
"I'd say you deserve it more, but I know you're gonna kick me out for being such a brown-noser."
"You're damn right I am."
"Livirr is good; you're good. That's vice and homicide, but even the people from theft and purposeful damage are better than a carpetbagger."
"Even the air filter watch lieutenant is better."
"That's what I'm saying."
"Hmph. What you're saying isn't going to get you any place, Alnam. I can't do shit like this without consulting with the boys first."
"You say it like I don't know it, sir. Of course. And speaking about the boys, maybe I can rub their back as well."
The lieutenant's little eyes brighten up. "How so?"
"What if the RDS demand for good CorSec vice detectives suddenly skyrocketed?"
"So far, you didn't give me the impression you can do something like that."
"I can't. Besides, I don't want to drain the force. But I can start a rumor that the demand is growing, and if someone — say, the Carpetbagger Captain Calhoon — decides to check it, I'll be happy to assure him it is growing indeed."
Deleny peers somewhere behind Alnam. "Maybe we'd finally see a raise."
"I'd be glad to help."
"Go talk to the boys," Deleny gets up from his chair. "Whatever you promise, I can't agree to without their support."
.
.
.
The 84th's gifts: two police vans, four officers, and five droids. Broussard is the overseeing detective.
"It's not much, but you're not offering us much, either," Deleny tells Alnam.
The officers don't appreciate having to spend their free day like this. "Cheer up, gentlemen," Broussard tells them, "this is the single reason you even have a free day."
Alnam drives his own aircar. Broussard wants to give him a droid. Alnam refuses.
Everything must go without a hitch — or his own free day will be rained on, hard.
He got two addresses from Devin: one is the main base, the other belongs to one Kadrur, a Trandoshan. "He's stupid enough to put his address onto his ColdBlood profile," Devin told Alnam. "I double-checked: called him from a holobooth. Definitely him."
Alnam triple-checks: looks up if there's another Kadrur on Coruscant. Turns out, there isn't.
Devin isn't doing bad at all. Now he has not to shit the bed today, and he's gonna be golden.
Devin also brings the names of three more participants: Sklagani Marrt, Olgu Dalin, and Toj Mer. Alnam runs them through the RDS database — nothing. Then Broussard and he run them through the CorSec one. Dalin checks out: two cases of aggravated assault back in 8 and 11.
"Really makes you think how come this fucker is still in the City," Broussard says.
Alnam doesn't tell Devin's address to anybody — just that there'll be a Human in their custody.
The big day is Centaxday, 7:8. Two police vans fly forth from the precinct at 6 AM local. Alnam's car joins them at the Honorable Chu parking lot.
The cops must be slagging him off. Maybe even Broussard. Let them: at least they won't blab about today. At least they shouldn't — it would jeopardize Broussard and Deleny.
He follows the cop vans to the Sheste Arcology. They keep going north at the interchange. Alnam dives thirty levels down and takes a tube going through the building on the right.
It's a three-hour flight. Plenty of time to think — especially if you turn the autopilot on. Alnam doesn't.
He hovers at the level 390. Devin's flat is nineteen floors up.
He checks the time. 8:23. An hour more in the Broussard time zone. He waits.
At 10:20, he calls Broussard on the police-frequency comlink Broussard gave him.
"Report," he says.
"All good with my team. Kafadokis yet to report. You?"
"Got the passenger."
"Easy?"
"Easy. Call me when Kafadokis is done."
"Will do. You moving out?"
"I am."
Alnam soars. Parks at the 410 parking.
The corridor leading to Devin's apartment reminds him of things. Of other corridors. Of Iqooda and whatever Kram Midduk's street was.
Alnam rings the doorbell. Devin opens up — at once. Looks sharp, too.
"You're under arrest," Alnam says.
"Wanna come in?"
The door slides shut behind Alnam's back. It's dark inside.
"How are we doing?" Devin asks.
"One down, one more to go."
"Who's down?"
"The Trandoshan."
"Okay. He's a talker, not a walker, though. The Quarren is the real deal."
"Two cops and three droids are onto him."
Devin nods.
Alnam's comlink goes off. Broussard: "Kafadokis got the guy."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. He's dead drunk, though."
"Okay."
"Where are you?"
"Trying to leave the quadrant. Traffic is out the ass."
"I'll call you when we reach the spot."
"Okay."
Alnam disconnects. Looks at Devin: "Your move now."
Devin procures a comlink. Devin calls.
"Get the fuck outta there," he huffs into the comlink. "Are you daft? Don't ask fucking questions now! Get outta there! It's the pigs! Ah, fuck you!"
He throws the comlink into the wall.
"Easy on the method here," Alnam says.
He cuffs Devin. They walk out.
"Don't want my picture on the database," Devin says as they walk up to 410.
"I don't think we got a holocam on us today."
Devin is nervous. This may be a problem.
Alnam pushes the thought as far down his mind as he can. No time for it now.
They're leaving the quadrant for real when Broussard calls him.
"Bad news," he pants into the comlink.
"What?"
"The spot is off-limits."
They have picked an old warehouse half an hour away from Bnagen's base.
"Fuck. How bad?"
"Completely. You're not gonna believe it — they're shooting a movie there."
Alnam thinks he's going insane. "A movie?"
"Fuck, a music video, I don't know."
"Did they see you?"
"They saw Officer Watsh. Not the vans."
Alnam tries to come up with something: an answer if not a solution.
Broussard beats him to it. "I'll call you once we find something."
"Any problems?" Devin asks from the backseat.
"Nothing major. What did the Aqualish say?"
"She mostly screamed. I don't know if the message got through her thick skull."
"It'd better. We don't want her to be there when we come."
Alnam hopes nothing goes south. Bnagen may have a ton of explosives in her office, ready to avenge her... parents? husband? whenever the dirty Reps come knocking on her door.
He doesn't lose his mind only thanks to the realization how unlikely it is.
"She was still giving me orders," Devin chuckles in twenty minutes.
"What, when you called?"
"No, yesterday's evening. Can you imagine that? What I should write. As if it matters what I write after the Jedi killing."
"And what does she want you to write about now?"
"The same old shit. Wants me to spin the holoshow so that it's some grand victory for the CIS. Like, the Jedi was going to deflect. She has no idea what she's doing."
Neither do I, Alnam thinks.
He calls Broussard an hour later. Can't wait any longer.
"How are we doing?" he asks when the detective finally picks up.
"There's a well at the Sortemos-Utzli intersection. If you go northwest from the First Year Plaza..."
"Okay, I'll find it. Is it any good?"
"We're not there yet. Mictaw says it's fine. What?" Broussard asks someone in his car. "There are no rooms there. Just an unused tunnel."
Might as well call it a day and go home with your tail between your legs.
Alnam orders himself to keep going.
"Are you kidding me?"
A hope there's more to this thing is still smoldering inside him.
"How are we gonna interrogate them?" he asks Broussard.
"How would I know? It's your operation. Should've thought of that."
"Of what? Of a fucking movie being shot in your warehouse?"
"Take it easy. Sortemos and Utzli. Level 73."
The level sounds good — for a change. Not much traffic. Maybe they'll find a spot.
Devin starts moving in the back. "What's that?"
"Don't worry. Just minor hiccups."
Okay. There are no rooms. It means: will be difficult to convince the Quarren and the Trandoshan it's official.
Okay. Alright. It's for the best. Let them think it's not official. Let them think it's something else that tries to appear official.
That's gonna lose you some fear points. If they know you aren't police... who else is going to go after them? Black Sun? Human supremacists? They're gonna laugh at it.
Alnam checks Devin on the rearview monitor.
That's actually good, he thinks. Let them know it's a special-service operation. Make sure one of them hears you are not from the police.
It might work. Yeah, it might. Especially if you keep it ambiguous — don't mention where you are from.
This is good. This may work.
He spends the next hour and a half arguing with himself if the plan's gonna work. Damn Broussard. Why didn't he check the bloody warehouse in the morning? It's not gonna work.
He flies into Nouane Ave — a nice, wide street cutting through Netchor and Fobosi. Will deliver him right into Kee-Piru Street. He'll get to Sortemos from there. These skyscrapers overhanging it bring good memories: of rain. Of Ormi.
He doesn't allow himself to remember them now.
Broussard calls him when half of Nouane is left.
"It's okay in here," he says. "Level 73."
It is okay in there. The well is at least a hundred meters wide, but there are almost no speeders. Alnam tries to figure out what part of the underlevels the well is leading into. It's on the tip of his tongue, and he decides to leave it there. Not many speeders around — good enough for him.
He sends his aircar down to the level 73. There it is: more of an open gallery in the well's wall than a tunnel. The cop vans are landed inside. Hard to spot without flying into the gallery — but not impossible.
He lands the speeder. Looks at his wrist: 3:05 PM. Then he gets out.
Three officers are smoking by the vans. A police droid stands between them — as if it's a member of their group.
"Took you some time," one of them says to Alnam.
"Everything good? Good. Where's Kriss?"
Broussard gets out of the farther van.
"Your boys are here. That's the third one?" he says as he looks over Alnam's shoulder.
Alnam glances at Devin. "Yup."
"So he's really a Human? What the fuck."
"He probably got a bad case of alien fever," the droid steps in. "The stupid asshat."
Alnam is so taken aback he turns to the officers for clarification.
The droid notices. "My memory is going to be wiped tonight anyway. This is why I say fuck it. I'll live the remaining hours to the fullest."
"What's our plan?" Broussard says, lighting up a cigarette. "We don't have rooms to interrogate them here."
"I noticed," Alnam says. "We'll have to use the vans."
Broussard takes a puff. "I don't know. Questioning the apprehended in the vans is against the security code."
Alnam tries to be calm.
"We are not following the codes today," he says.
"It's one thing to bend the rules a bit," Broussard says, "and another to risk our lives."
"They might jump you," a young officer confirms. "What then? Are we supposed to shoot them without hitting you?"
"What's your proposition?" Alnam turns to face the fucker. "We don't do anything?"
The cop spits. "Your op, your fuckup."
Never should've trusted these clowns.
"Open up the doors," Alnam tells Broussard. He starts walking towards one of the vans. "Where's the lizard? That one? Let's start with him."
The cops stand looking at each other. Finally, one comes to the van.
"I don't know," he says as he takes a keycard off his belt. "Be careful, alright? They're cuffed, but it's... it's a Trand. He can bite your face off even when cuffed."
The backdoor opens: one half rises, the other hits the ground. Alnam gets in.
The Trandoshan is chained to the floor and the ceiling of the van. Not much room to wiggle. Shouldn't bite Alnam's face off.
Alnam gestures the cop to shut the door.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you for a long time," he says. "You know that?"
"I didn't do anything."
Looks straight in Alnam's eyes. Defiant. Knows there's nothing on him.
"Oh yeah?" Alnam says, sitting down on the bench opposite the Trandoshan's. "I don't think so, Kadrur."
The reptilian doesn't blink. Alnam makes sure to blink openly, like On Some Questions of Interrogating Various Species prescribes.
"I didn't do anything."
"I think you did many things. You like the Confederacy, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? You never talk about it with your friends?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You never go on the Shadowfeed?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Never visit Brotra Street, 8?"
The Trandoshan's nictitating membranes flash: closed-open.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says.
"Too bad I do, then. You're in deep shit. There's another van outside. Whom do you think we got in it?"
Another haw-flash. "How should I know who you got there?"
"Well, think, Kadrur. Just think."
Alnam lets him marinade for two minutes. Then says, "So? Whom do we got in another van, dude?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Alright."
Alnam gets up. Bangs on the van door.
When it opens, he is faced by two officers with guns in hands. At least, they have the decency not to point them at him.
"Fuck's sake," he says as he walks down the door, making sure the Trandoshan hears him. "You people and your toys. Makes me glad I'm not with you anymore."
He waits until the officer closes the door and opens the second van for him.
The Quarren is in a bad shape. His tentacles are flaccid.
He says something in his language and then adds in Basic — maybe to interpret: "What the fuck..?"
"Hi, Olgu. Ready to talk?"
More Quarren gobbledygook.
Did they get the one who doesn't speak Basic?
Well, he knows three words, at least.
"Come on, talk to me, man. You must be fucking dying for a bottle of beer."
Tentacles liven up as though galvanized. Alnam is left to wonder if beer or fucking caused it.
"We got your whole organization, Olgu. You didn't think you could escape us for long, did you? The sooner you start talking, the sooner I might be able to get you some beer."
No reaction.
"Fuck," Alnam says out of curiosity.
No reaction still.
"We got Kadrur — you know, the Trandoshan fellow. He's in the other van. Kadrur, right? We got the Human. Still need to get his name, but I bet you can guess whom I'm talking about. Bnagen is being watched. You remember Bnagen, right? Don't tell me you don't."
The Quarren attempts to raise his head. "Q... quester."
"What?"
Tentacles give another wriggle. "Asker... No. Schib... Black send. Black letter."
"Blackmail?"
The Quarren grunts.
"What are you on about, Olgu? You were blackmailed into this? That's an interesting twist. How about you tell me more?"
"No... Black sender..." More mumble in Quarren. "S..." He looks at Alnam with hope. "S... sender. No. No. Ssssolicitor. Solicitor."
"You want a solicitor?"
"Yes. Solicitor."
"Get outta here, man. Who do you think you are, Eriadu nobility? The best you're getting is a public defender."
This is fucking pointless.
He gets out. Revisits the Trandoshan.
"How is your guesswork going on, Kadrur?"
"I don't—"
"Who's the Human guy?"
A small pause. "What Human guy?"
"Your pal we got. What's his name?"
"I don't have any Human pals. You got a wrong T'Dosh."
"Yeah? How do Aqualish make you feel?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know, your pal actually had the sense to ask for a lawyer."
"He's not pal. I don't befriend Humans."
"I'm not talking about the Human. We'll get back to him. Your other pal. It was an uphill battle, really. He had to use all Basic he had and probably more. But he managed. And you, Kadrur? Don't want a lawyer?"
"I don't have any lawyers. I'm poor."
"What about a state defender? Or are you not a citizen?"
The Trandoshan is silent.
"What? Are you or are you not? It's a simple question. Even a fucking lizard should be able to answer it."
Alnam can't tell for the life of his what changes in the Trandoshan's eyes. They stay reptilian and cold — but they are differently reptilian and cold now.
"What?" Alnam asks. "Don't like being called a lizard?"
"You monkey fuck. My ancestors hunted yours — you know?"
"And look where you are now: readying your cloaca for monkey dicks. How does that feel? You look at me and think, 'Shit, what a fucking speciesist.' Believe me — I'm nothing compared to judges who're gonna handle you. They have, you know, a droid pick up the jury, but it's all bantha. It does as it's told. You won't see a fucking non-Human face in the courtroom. And then what? Do you think they're gonna put you in a nice and cozy Trandoshan block? Nah. They'll send you off planet. New regulations. An asteroid filled with Human supremacists."
"I didn't do anything. What for, jail?"
Hard to say if he's starting to get worried. Proceed for now.
"You tell me. The boys outside — they got a fucking lizard. When they get a fucking lizard, they're not letting it walk. So it's either a triple murder of a nice Palpatine-voting Human family on the upper levels — or whatever you really did."
"I didn't do anything."
"The judge won't give a shit, Kadrur. You're not a Human. You're not even a citizen."
"I am a citizen!"
"Do you think it's gonna help you?"
"I'm not born yesterday. You're bluffing. Get fucked."
Alnam throws his hands up. "As you wish."
He gets out.
"Okay," he tells the cops. "Time to talk to the Human."
He gets into his aircar. Starts up the rearview monitor.
"So what's your story? How did you get into this little club?"
"What club?" Devin says.
Alnam throws his arm over the backrest. "Oh, you know, the alien let's-show-it-to-the-Republic club. Does it ring any bell?"
"Can't say it does."
"Cut the crap. We got your friends."
"Really? I got none."
"See these vans over there?"
"Yeah, I saw you jump from one to another. You the only investigator here?"
"In a sense." Alnam lets that sink in. "So tell me: how did you get involved with these guys?"
"I don't even know what guys I'm involved with."
"Do I need to spell it for you?"
"If you think I'm able to read."
"You're making it worse for yourself."
"Given that no order was presented, I think it's bad as it gets already."
"Order? Someone's been watching too many procedurals."
"No, I know how it should go."
"When were you last arrested?"
"Never said I was. Just that I know how it should be."
"You're not under arrest."
"Meaning I can walk away?"
"You can — but that would be theft of government property." Alnam points at the handcuffs.
"What is this? I can tell you're doing it off-radar. What do you want?"
"Huh. I guess you're smarter than your fellows up there."
"I told you. Got no fellows here."
"Oh yeah? Does the name Kadrur say anything to you?"
"Dunno. It's a song?"
"What about Olgu Dalin? Tuu Bnagen?"
"You got the wrong guy, chief."
"Not a bell?"
"Am I supposed to know these people? All I know is you took me outta my bed, and here I am, answering your questions — clearly not to your pleasure. To me, it looks like you really got the wrong guy."
"And to me, like you're making it difficult."
"Only 'cause I can't make it any other way."
"Come on. Don't give me this crap."
"Would if I could."
Alnam takes a notebook and a stylus out of the glove box and gets out.
Back to the Trandoshan. Give him no time to use whatever tactic he's devised while he was waiting.
"Who was writing the texts for you?"
"What texts?"
"Those fantasies about clones shooting up civilians. Who wrote them?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. You got nothing on me."
"Your Human friend was smarter than you. He realized at once it's not your run-of-the-mill taking into custody. If it was, cops could've done it."
A small head shake. Starting to understand?
"Who do you work for?"
"Really, Kadrur? That's the best question you came up with?"
"You're not government. Then what are you?"
"Who told you I'm not? Government is exactly what I work for. We are just so tired of having to deal with the likes of you within the law — you can't even imagine it."
"Law? Deporting us is law?"
Getting angry. Careful with the jaws.
"It is — if the law says it is. Suck it up. Now tell me: what are you kids up to?"
"I don't know—"
"Don't give me this banthashit. I know it's Nanny Bnagen who's behind you all. It's her that I want — not your sorry asses."
Alnam gives the lizard a moment to think about it.
"Just don't give me shit addresses, will you? Brotra, 8 — that one I know. Iqooda, 417 — I know that one too. Where is she?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Come on, man. This won't save you. I told you — there's no law here. We're absolved of our sins preemptively. We can do whatever we want — as long as it helps the Republic."
The Trandoshan doesn't answer.
"What are you thinking about?" Alnam prods him. "Wondering if this Human cocksucker can get you outside and shoot you? I can. Why else do you think we brought you to this place?"
The Trand hisses in contempt. "Like you have the guts."
He looks in Alnam's eyes.
This time, Alnam doesn't blink.
The hiss dies down. The Trandoshan lowers his gaze.
"I won't tell you shit," he says weakly. "You can fuck off."
Difficult to break. Be careful: don't actually break him — or you'll have to deal with Bnagen sooner rather than later.
"Who wrote the texts?" Alnam asks. "It was Bnagen, right?"
The Trand is silent.
"Wouldn't it be a chivalrous thing — to say it was you? Not that I would believe it, now that I've spoken to you folks. Unless you're faking how bad your Basic is now, there's no way you wrote them."
No answer.
"What do you think I'm gonna do to those of you who don't talk?"
No answer.
"Alright. You don't wanna talk, don't talk. Maybe Basic is too profane for your reptilian throat. Fine."
Alnam writes in his notebook: Coruscant. Tears the page out and shows it to the Trandoshan.
"How does it look?" he asks. "Am I close or am I close?"
The Trandoshan looks at the flimsiplast, doesn't answer.
Alnam writes: Fucked off to her planet. Same routine, same answer.
"How did she learn about the contingency orders?" Alnam asks aloud. "Huh? Who told her? This guy?"
He writes: Wilhuff Tarkin.
"Or this one?"
Notluwiski Papanoida.
"This one?"
He lingers for a second. No more safe names come to him. Fuck it. He writes a made-up one down.
"So what? It's not Senator McLaren, either? Well, fuck me. I guess my work of fifteen months has been for naught. Or it's you, Kadrur the lizard, who is full of shit? Which is it?"
He goes back to Devin.
"Who's writing your texts?"
"What texts?"
"The contingency orders texts."
"Can't say I know what that is."
"It's either Bnagen or you. All the rest of your crew are virtually illiterate. Bnagen isn't here. Can you smell the opportunity?"
"I certainly can, but what the hell... To give you someone I don't even know? Nah, sorry, man. Doesn't sit right with me."
"You don't even have to talk. Just nod if you see a place or someone you know, okay?"
Alnam does the notebook thing again. Devin shakes his head at every page. Says he doesn't know these people. He's not a bad actor — there's actual concern and sadness in his voice. Look at him — just a poor fucker who got whisked out of his home and who now really wants to help the investigation.
At one point, Alnam writes: Westport, at southern exit. 11:30 tonight.
He shows the page to Devin.
"I don't think I know what this refers to," Devin says. "No, definitely not. I told you, I'm not the guy you need, chief."
Alnam goes through a few more pages before he gets out of the aircar. Walks to the wall-wide window into the well — to throw the flimsiplast pages away. He watches them get lost in the air swirls several levels down.
Broussard comes to the edge, too. "How's it going?"
"Could've been better."
"Can get worse if the boys catch the wind."
"Will they?"
Broussard looks away. "Not in my interest. It's your business, not mine."
"Thanks. I'll remember it."
"You need any more time?"
"No. I got what I could out of them. Let's get them outside."
Droids line the arrestees up by the edge.
"Uncuff them," Alnam commands. "We can't have government property go to waste."
None of the three try to run or do anything else stupid. Even the Trand looks scared into some degree of obedience.
"Alright, you maggots," Alnam says, "today is your lucky day. I'm letting you go instead of fly. You may wonder why I am so generous. That's because I'd still have to write a report on each of you who doesn't return to his place tonight. That's a requirement we're working on removing, but so far, you're still too much of a time waste. Go and pray we don't return for you. One more fucking text comes from whomever is writing them — and we will come. We know where you live, and we'll know if you move."
The Trandoshan gives a slight chuckle. Perfect.
"What's so funny?" Alnam gestures at one of the droids: "Give me this shit!"
"Sir?"
But Alnam takes its shock baton from it without clarifying. Even with a baton, the Trandoshan looks intimidating — but once Alnam starts moving, there's no going back, and there's beauty in it.
Takes the Trand two hits to fall to his knees. He doesn't fight back — only tries to protect his head with his arms. Alnam considers striking him for the third time, but turns to Devin instead.
"What's your problem?"
"None—"
"We can't have anyone saying we species-profile. You look funny at me, you get this thing up your ass."
He only hits Devin once. The man doesn't fall, just staggers.
"And you?" Alnam looks at the Quarren. Olgu Dalin stands trembling — whether from hangover or fear.
Alnam can't bring himself to hit him. He just threatens the alien and throws the baton under the droid's feet.
.
.
.
They leave the trio in the tunnel and go to Brotra, 8. Droids go in first, but nothing detonates.
No one is inside the office rooms.
"One of those fucks told them," the young cop says. He makes sure to keep his tone respectful — now that he's seen what Alnam's capable of.
"Good," Alnam replies. "Or did you hope for a shootout?"
Why are you trying to provoke him? he asks himself.
The cop doesn't get provoked, though.
They find four computers — all without hard drives. No interesting documents lying around, either. They check all the adjacent rooms — nothing and no one.
No Bnagen. And definitely no Fozatta.
.
.
.
He picks Ormi up at 8 PM. Flies to a fuel station on the way to the spaceport and refuels. She gets worried they won't make it in time, but they do.
Alnam can swear Yalgi's got taller by a couple of centimeters in these three weeks. His face and arms are tanned, and he doesn't tell his parents all about Alderaan at once — there's some wistful incompleteness to his stories. Alnam forces himself to shelve his happiness for now.
He spies Devin in the crowd near the exit. It's dark inside the arrival hall — the lights are minimal, and the sun setting behind the surrounding monads is more interested in painting the hall in the most tender tints of blue and orange than in giving light.
"Oh," Alnam says, "is that..?"
"What?" Yalgi is quick to ask.
"Uh... probably not. Or..? No, you know what, I'll go and see."
Now Ormi looks at him angrily. "What is it?"
"Just an old acquaintance. I think. I'll go and check, okay? Yal, how about you buy us all some ice cream?"
He hands Yalgi a couple of credits and walks to Devin.
Devin sticks out of the crowd — at least by a head.
"How are you?" he asks Alnam, and his words hit like a punch, like a charge of a stun baton.
"Are you kidding me," Alnam says. "I wasn't the one—"
"It's fine." Devin's — Krev's — voice is steady — as if it can't be any other way but fine. "How did the base search go?"
"As expected."
Alnam manages to get a grip. Last thing I need is to fucking cry.
Devin nods. "Went pretty good on my side, too. Ah, whom am I kidding? It went fucking great!"
Alnam looks at him, not sure if he's fooling around.
No, doesn't seem to be.
"You did it. They're scared fucking shitless, I'm telling you. The bitch thought I might've been the one, you know, to set them up, but the fucking lizardman came to my rescue! You should've seen it! He almost tore into her! Told her how I took one for the team and everything. How you didn't break me. And then — guess what? — she came to her senses. I guess she remembered how I saved her ass. Well, I told her I'm not going to write anymore for her. She tried, you know, to kind of argue, but I shut her down."
"What's she gonna do about her ring?"
"Ahh, we are to lay low now. We have agreed to meet up in a month, but who knows if we—"
"Okay. Okay. Good."
"Only I don't know about new posts. You said — and they heard — you're coming after us if new posts appear. They'll know it's me, right?"
"What? Do you mean to tell me you're gonna post more of those? Now? What's the point?"
Devin shrugs. "I mean... you're right. I know it's not working. But... that's not the end, is it? I still can do a few things, right?"
"You can and you will. Maybe even with Bnagen and her crew."
"Not exactly what I want."
"We'll see. After all, you're one of the three—"
"Are you going to introduce us to your friend?"
Alnam feels cornered — as if it's not his wife asking this but an anticorruption officer.
"Sure," he smiles at Ormi, "as it turns out, it is a friend. Uh, this is my wife, Ormi, and this guy is Yalgi, our son."
Devin makes a bow to Ormi and extends his hand to Yalgi. Yalgi has to grab all the ice cream cones with his left hand while he's shaking hands with Devin with visible satisfaction.
"Very nice to meet you," Devin says.
"And this is..."
"Jezideg. Jezideg Kossar," Devin comes to his rescue.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Kossar."
"Just... Jezideg, please."
"We met on one of my missions," Alnam says. All of a sudden, the situation thrills him instead of sucking all his hope out. What that was even about?
"Right!" Yalgi almost drops his ice cream. "You're the music guy!"
"Do you even listen to your father's work stories?" Alnam asks with fake strictness. "The music guy was Nautolan. Does Mr. Kossar... Uncle Jezideg look Nautolan to you?"
"Sometimes, I feel of the sort," Devin says. Ormi laughs — ruining Alnam's joy a bit. "But no, I'm really not a music guy. I'm a... an art guy."
"Really?" Ormi asks. "An art guy as in a painter, or..?"
"No, no. I just... sell Mon Cal paintings."
What the fuck is he doing?
"Really? You never told me you had friends in the business, Vad!"
"I met him last year. Not much time to tell you."
"Dad, you didn't tell this story! Dad! You never told how you met Uncle... Mr. your friend!"
"It's a story for another time."
"Are you staying for long on Coruscant, Jezideg?" Ormi asks. Alnam sees it's just small talk — but for some reason, he feels as if it's not.
"Uh, well... for a while, I guess."
"It's just that we're talking in a spaceport."
"Huh, right. No, no, I'm not flying away yet."
"Dad," Yalgi pulls at Alnam's arm. "Dad, maybe Mr. Kossar can come to dinner this Benduday? Dad? You could tell us that story then! From two standpoints, no less!"
Ormi looks at Alnam quizzically. "Well, at least someone in the family's got good manners. Really, Jezideg, it will be a pleasure — if you can tolerate the Coruscanti cuisine."
"Uh, thanks, Ormi," Devin smiles, "and you too, Yalgi, but..."
The man took a beating for you. And from you. Don't you think you owe him?
"Hey," Alnam says, "it's alright. Really, you should come."