The horizon is burning. A pillar of thick black smoke is rising somewhere over Majontas.
"That's an air filter," the pilot says.
Tchadashi Muren rubs his brow. "Really?"
"I've seen one burning in oh-one. Same smoke. See how it's going up in thrusts? That means the blades are still working."
"Means they really want us dead."
Nobody replies to Alnam. There's nothing to say.
It's hot inside of the airspeeder. The body armor only makes the matters worse.
"It's not gonna do shit against an assault rifle," Alnam told Mtoro before boarding.
"It's been tested. We don't pay suppliers for armor that—"
"You need ceramics at least, not this shit. Even clone trooper armor can't always stop a shot from a blaster rifle."
Agent Ruad overheard them. "Hold it! Nobody is sending you against the assaults squads. Simply because there are no assault squads on the planet's surface, but even if there were—"
"Nobody's sending you, that's for sure," said Alnam.
Ruad's cheeks burned up, but he didn't say anything in response.
"Fuck it," Alnam says now. "Make room, Mtoro."
The other agents watch him as he removes the armor.
"Quit it, Vad," Tchadashi tells him. "You didn't complain during the Unbridger affair."
"Unbridgers didn't have orbital cannons."
"Neither are they going to," Mtoro says. "Our navy is up there."
Alnam can see that. Everybody can. The sky flashes up with a myriad of lasers every second. Once a minute, a major one occurs that outshines even the sun.
"Another one," says an agent from another department.
"What?" Alnam turns to him. "A battleship?"
The agent starts up a holoprojection — he's smuggled a device on board. "That's a cruiser, actually."
The picture is bad — pixelated — but you can just make out enough: a ship is falling, followed by a trace of fire and smoke. One of its wings cuts off the top from a building.
Just like that. Eight or ten floors gone in a second.
Could've easily been The Star of Onderon.
"Is it ours or theirs?" Mtoro asks.
"It's ours."
"What?"
"Ours. An Arquitens."
"Shit. Where was it?"
"Over the North Pole. Khwor District."
"They're really everywhere."
And Alnam? Alnam sighs with relief. It's not The Star. Not yet.
They land on a platform too small to contain all eight swoops and the airspeeder. Nothing to be done, though — they have to land.
They're gonna blow another hundred streets up before we get anywhere.
A cop is in charge on the platform. A welcome sight, this wide face with hanging red whiskers.
"Aight, gentlemen, listen up," he screams in a husky voice. "These bastards fried the local traffic control main nod, so our firefighter boys can't get there." He gestures towards the vision of hell that is the entire Farnaci Street. Alnam's never seen a fire this big — not even in documentaries about worst planets in the Republic.
"It's a mess, to put it simple," the cop continues. "We need your help. Get on these here speeders and try and de-jam the street. Now," he fires up a holomap, "look carefully. Herd the traffic towards Pannina, Custleki, and Ole. My boys will take it from there. Five more of my boys are right here, so do as they do. Officer Roy is the supervising policeman in this quadrant, you'll find him on the first channel of your radios. Don't forget your helmets!"
The transparisteel visor of the helmet is covered in microscopic scratches. It colors the world yellow and smells of hot plastic and faintly of someone else's sweat.
The swoop soars too sharply, but that's on Alnam: he hasn't flown one in years. Once he gets accustomed to the throttle and altitude, the machine falls in line.
"Don't go so high, number ten," the radio cracks inside the helmet. "You too, number two. Stay at the level 700 or so. You go higher, there's all the smoke."
They cannot possibly want us to go there, Alnam thinks as the line of swoop bikes flies closer to the nine-kilometer-long fire lane.
But they can — that's exactly where they are flying. Alnam wonders how many others have the same thoughts as he.
Nobody voices them, though.
Alnam doesn't notice when he turns the siren on. But the bike in front of his has it turned on, and the one in front of it, too. Must've done it one by one.
The sirens don't help — not today. The space raid ones are eating gigawatts of energy — there's little room for any other sounds.
Naturally, no one pays attention to the cop swoops when they near the colossal jam.
A hundred cars deep, no less, Alnam registers.
He looks back. At least, no more are flying from Pannina Street — he can see police vehicles blocking the way from it. No way the remaining is gonna be enough. When all the stuck aircars start going back... All Alnam can see is another jam — this one at the exit.
Improvement over this.
It's true. He looks up — squints up as much as the helmet and the speed allow. He's read somewhere about the building philosophy on Coruscant: nothing should collapse outside of its own perimeter.
Sure, but no enemy fleet should be in the fucking orbit either, yet here we are.
Not to mention that something did fall outside of the perimeter, hence the jam.
The swoop in front of him veers to the right. Alnam follows. Surreal seeing this many aircars all in one place. Like a tumor. Or an anthill — an anthill gone mad. Individual ants are trying to get out of this mess, but ninety percent of them end up blocking each other's way.
"Let's get the lower lanes further down," Officer Roy says. "But no lower than 100, okay? Number eleven and number twelve, on me."
Alnam's task is to keep the other lanes from following and recreating the same situation elsewhere. Thirteen swoops aren't doing any justice to this. To all this. Some police droids are flying around, but without the traffic control system, they are next to useless. Alnam feels like a droid.
He tries to keep everything in sight: the speeders, the other agents and cops, the pulsing black wall rising over the buildings. It's too much, every element is. He catches a glimpse of a face through a windshield every once in a while, and makes sure not to peer into them.
A fire ship flies over the burning row without dropping any water on it. Too high? Officer Roy confirms Alnam suspicions: they need to reroute the mass so that firemen can approach the buildings from the side. Why not just dump the water from above? Alnam thinks angrily. There must be a reason, for sure.
They can't see what they're doing. The smoke is bad enough down here. Imagine what it's...
A laser beam so bright it leaves an imprint on the retinae comes from above. Alnam doesn't see what it hits, but it can't be farther than a kilometer away. Once he makes sure it didn't hit him, the beam is gone from his mind: the mass of speeders comes into motion — more motion than before. Fucking hornet nest.
Alnam hopes they'll all go some other way. Not through him. But here they are, turning towards him — not so much as turning, but spreading towards him.
He backs off. "Requesting assistance."
"What's happening, number ten?"
"The crowd. It's getting agitated."
"You think I haven't noticed? Use your horn."
"Horn's not going to work here." Panic slips into his voice. Alnam hears it. His anger swells.
"Mine's not going to, either."
"Just send someone my way, will you?"
"Everybody has his task. You do yours."
"Listen here, I can't. Can't do shit, they aren't reacting!"
"Quit whining, you RDS crybaby. Do your fucking job or get out of my sight."
"Motherfucker," Alnam mutters when it's over and out.
He can hear the screeching of metal on metal from somewhere within the swarm. It's shaping up into a fucking stampede, and it can't wait to make him its part.
Time to run. Time to run. Run.
But somehow, he does not. A swoop could get away. He could get away — the future doesn't look like it contains any order on Coruscant.
Yet he doesn't run.
Roy sends someone — a cop — to help Alnam in ten minutes or maybe twenty. Not much they can do even together, but Alnam snaps out of his trance and starts doing something resembling crowd control. They go deeper inside the swarm, and after the second sortie, it becomes routine. The brain is out of the equation — Alnam's running on reflexes.
For hours, the jam's size doesn't change, and then boom, it's gone. Some magical shit. Alnam's too tired to be happy.
They get off their swoops on the same platform. Everybody is alive, no aircars have crashed since their arrival — at least that's what the cops say — and even the smoke wall has lost some of its energy with several dozen fire ships around it. Time for the next assignment.
This one is a walk in the park. Guiding people on foot into the shelter got nothing on flying a fucking swoop bike with the district traffic control busted. All he's got to do is stand on the corner in a stupid glow-in-the-dark vest and scream at people to hurry up to the next corner where Tchadashi sends them over to the next.
The leviathans keep swirling in the thermosphere. They have a CMN broadcast going inside the shelter — Alnam can hear snippets when the flow of people dwindles. A clone gunner manned a shot orbital defense cannon and downed two frigates before the cannon gave out. Our ships from the neighboring systems are in the hyperspace. The Supreme Chancellor's address scheduled for 5 Senate District time. Two Lucrehulks spotted somewhere Alnam doesn't hear. Things are looking grim. Alnam is grateful he's exhausted.
Not too exhausted to keep thinking about Yalgi and Ormi. This is the punishment. Say what you want, but you do what you've done, you're gonna get punished. Call it god or universal principle or whatever.
Bantha-fucking-shit. You shut the fuck up.
They're going to be alright. He did what he did, not they. Somebody's taking care of them — like he's taking care of these people here. Nobody's targeting schools or residential buildings.
Yeah, those are just collateral. An entire fucking street of collateral.
Air filters. Now that's fucked up. They keep blowing them up, the life on Coruscant goes extinct in a day.
How is it even happening? How did they let the Separatists into the Core?
This is what you get. This is the retribution.
Why am I the one getting it? All I've ever been is a tool.
Well, Lawrie is also somewhere around.
This is it. This is the end of the Republic. I was so worried about the clones and their orders, I stopped considering we might lose the war. And we lost it. I mean, we already did — their ships are in Coruscant's orbit. This is the end, and all you can do is hope your family is okay and that they won't execute all government agents once they take over.
He thinks about Palpatine. Always so sure. He infected us with his certainty, but look at him now. Just a hack. This is it, and my family may fucking die — they might already be dead — because we as the society trusted the wrong fella.
But is the Chancellor really to blame? Alnam feels an immediate twinge of guilt. You've met him. You know what he's like. Can you really imagine he was not doing a single thing in his power to prevent this?
And Alnam can't. He's just a man. A very smart man, but even he cannot control everything. Every little decision taken by the Senate.
This day is made by Senate's little decisions. From using Ranulph Tarkin for years as a boogeyman whenever the public raised the question of a proper galactic army to thwarting Palpatine's attempts to increase the GAR's efficiency. Those smarmy little cocksuckers caused all this. They cried democracy every time the Chancellor tried to do something.
And now we're here, and I doubt they are. Probably skedaddled as soon as they got notified about the Seps' arrival.
Palpatine should've gone full dictator. His only fault: he's too soft. Sometimes, at least. If only he did, we'd siege the shit out of the Outer Rim a year ago and this wouldn't have happened.
It's almost six PM when they finally send relief agents. Twelve hours in field have taken their toll on Alnam. On everyone, really. No banter in the aircar back to the HQ.
Alnam calls home the second he gets his comlink back. Fifteen attempts later, there's no answer. He can imagine how many people are trying to get a hold of someone this day.
It still squeezes the air out of his lungs. They are fine, he promises himself. The line is just overwhelmed. Billions of people are as scared as you right now.
He keeps calling Yalgi, Ormi, and the apartment. No response even when he can get a connection. Connections do not last.
He's got one missed call. Ormi. About an hour before they started out to Farnaci. Fucking Ruad and his fucking rules. What was the point? They gave them their comlinks back anyway.
Why is it just one? he thinks while also thinking how to not get into a traffic jam himself. There should be more. At least some would get through. Mine do.
What the fuck.
He's torn between taking a quick route — through Andoritora to Mal and to Velesi District — and going via Sidrona Ave, which is five hundred kilometers longer but two kilometers wider at any point than any of the above. Can feel his palms sweating on the Andoritora/Rubekli intersection. The steering wheel polish is fucked, he notes for some reason.
Sidrona it is. He goes at least fifty kilometers above the speed limit, but today nobody cares, he the least of all.
Why this route?
It's safer.
Or it puts more time between now and finding out—
Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.
He tries to stop calling home, but he can't. A minute doesn't pass without another failure. I'm gonna crash at this rate. Maybe it'll be for the best.
Why only one missed call, though? It can't be. Maybe they are rounded up? In a shelter? Do they confiscate comlinks there? Fuck. Why didn't I ask?
Of course they're in a shelter. Which makes going home pointless. You need to find out what shelters they can be in. Was Yalgi at school already when it all began? Fuck. What was it? Ten, no, nine... Fuck.
Another call, another failure.
They're gonna be fine. It can't be any other way.
Why?
Because I fucking say so.
It doesn't mean shit what you say.
They're fine.
Call Father.
An absurd thought. What other thoughts can he have on such a day?
They are going to be fine. Please let them be fine. I'll do anything.
Like what?
I didn't go to the lawyer. Then, after Skados. I promised and I didn't. I didn't fight for custody. It was good for us all. I'll do anything.
Seems like you've already played your trumps. Nothing to offer now. Not that there's anybody to offer it to.
But right now, he doesn't care.
I'll do it. I'll do something good. I'll... fuck, I'll atone for what I did. Let me take the punishment for it. Any punishment. Beat me into the ground. Just let them be okay, and I'll keep on making things right even when I'm broken. Just let them be okay.
It must be a hundred over the limit by now, compensated by the red lights and busy sections of the avenue. How long until some Officer Roy stops you? Slow the fuck down.
About 6:40 or 6:50. Alnam looks down at the dashboard and forgets the time as soon as he looks away. Realizes the radio is off and has been off the entire trip. He reaches out to turn it on, but a car flies dangerously close to his shitting even harder on the speed limit, and he snatches the wheel with both hands to stabilize the speeder.
What's it, a millionth time he flies into Obelisk Lane from the north. They used to go to Father's residence by Sidrona, that's why. Spaceport too, at times.
As he flies through the lane, Alnam's mind catches onto buildings rolling back. At least I'm not past the semi-circle. At least I'm not past the weird school. At least there's still a good kilometer to go before the broadcast tower.
But they all roll back too: the semi-circle, the weird school, the broadcast tower. Alnam grabs onto minutes, seconds now. He can see The Star already — it's hardly visible behind the other buildings, but visible still.
It's gonna be five or six minutes. That's how long I have left. Then I enter the apartment, and...
And what? They aren't there, you have to check the shelter. They aren't there, you have to check the school, the gallery, the subway, the bus stops, Yalgi's friends, Yalgi's teachers, Ormi's friends, I don't know what else, but you have to check it.
What if they aren't? Aren't anywhere? What if Yalgi is trapped under some ruins? What if he's suffering right now? What if my son is suffering right fucking now?
He punches the wheel. Again. Then again.
"Get a grip," he says aloud. The voice is alien, strange. Alnam flies under the archway and parks the speeder in the yard.
There are lights in some of the windows. No damage — none that is easy to see, at least. Their windows look over the street, not the yard, though. He couldn't bring himself to fly around The Star and look.
Maybe some people just didn't turn the lights off when they were evacuated, he thinks. He takes the stairs, and he hates himself for this familiar weakness.
The stairwell door shuts when he is already standing in front of the door. This time, all the noise does is remind him how he talked to Devin one flight down.
Devin, Alnam thinks, what's he up to?
He rings the doorbell.
Other doorbells come to mind.
He stands there, devoid of thoughts, devoid of breath. Whatever rages outside might as well not exist.
Then the door opens.
Maybe Yalgi says something, Alnam doesn't know. All he knows, all he cares about is holding his son. One of them is sobbing — or maybe it's both.
He's not so little anymore. Gained ten centimeters at least since one year ago. He's alive and warm and here, and that is everything that is important and ever has been and ever will be important. Alnam can die right now, and it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe he is dying — he honestly can't tell.
"Dad," he hears as he finally notices Ormi at the end of the corridor. What's she standing there for? As if they aren't a family.
"Dad," Yalgi repeats into Alnam's chest. "It's okay. Really. I'm okay. We went by that building, the big one on Candimitera, but it was like an hour after they blew it up. Seriously, it wasn't dangerous at all. There were police and firefighters there already. So many of them I could hardly see the building itself!"
Alnam lets him go — a little. How familiar his face is! How similar to Alnam's own! A few more years, and a younger version of himself will stand before Alnam.
I sincerely hope not.
Ormi is hugging him — both of them. Alnam puts an arm around her.
"Come in," she says. "Why are you standing on the threshold?"
Her voice is breaking, but there's a smile on her face, and it may be the best sight Alnam's seen in his whole life.
So he comes in.
"Why aren't you in the shelter?" he asks.
"They came over," Ormi says. "Two hours ago, I think?"
Yalgi solemnly nods.
"But they said the district is out of danger now, so—"
"Out of danger? Are they brain-dead? I thought the planet was out of danger, but look at it."
She touches his arm. "Come on. I don't want to go to a shelter. Mary — she gave me a ride home — she said her husband called her from one, and it's totally overcrowded."
"Overcrowded's better than dead."
"They're probably going to leave anyway."
"Why's that?"
They look at him strange.
"What?" he asks.
"You didn't hear?" Ormi asks.
"Hear what?"
"They got the Chancellor."
And like that, he falls into a dream-like puzzledness again.
"Who got the Chancellor?"
"The Separatists."
"General Grievous," Yalgi says.
"He's dead, the Chancellor?"
"They say 'kidnapped,' but..." Ormi bites her lip.
"Mom, he's kidnapped. They wouldn't kill him. Right, Dad? They wouldn't?"
Alnam gulps. "Shit. Can we... can we turn the news on?"
"It's already on," Ormi gestures towards the kitchen.
It is, and it seems like the viewscreen has never shown anything but this: fires, starfighters, and buildings collapsing.
"I don't know," Alnam says, "maybe we should go to the shelter. Or at least you two."
"Dad! I'm not going anywhere if you aren't!"
Alnam finds it in himself to smile. "I know. Then maybe we should all go together."
He opens the fridge. Thankfully, there are a few cans of beer in it.
"Give me one as well, will you," Ormi says.
He hands it to her without turning away from the screen.
The ticker: Task force to launch rescue mission on Invisible Hand — Cruiser falls in Fobosi, massive damage reported — Attack on chemical plant repelled — Reports of more Core Worlds under attack — Defense council: threat level raise in talks, population should be prepared — Reserve police droids employed in 62 percent of quadrants...
"Can I have one?" Yalgi asks.
Alnam looks at him. At Ormi. Opens the fridge again.
"Don't down it in one gulp."
What now? They're safe. As safe as possible. Should I... maybe Sanner... "Other Core World under attack." Fucking thank you. Can't specify which ones, you morons?
"The death toll is still rising," the anchor is saying, "with some experts putting it as high as four hundred thousand. The planetary government is yet to issue an official statement concerning it—"
Alnam takes a sip. Regrets it immediately: what if he has to fly tonight?
And by the looks of it, he might have to. Might have to right now.
Alright, they probably won't shoot down anymore. They needed it to create a distraction. How else would they kidnap the Chancellor? But... if they got him, then what? Then they've essentially won. The Senate pansies won't fight without him. Will sign an unconditional surrender this very night.
"At the same time, the defense council claims that the Separatist fleet is currently trying to retreat into the position for a hyperspace jump."
"Why aren't they letting them to?" Ormi asks.
"What, with the Supreme Chancellor on board?"
"Don't you think they might murder him if they feel desperate?"
Alnam does think so. Who knows what they do if they are desperate? I sure didn't know what I'd do.
Maybe send them somewhere. To a shelter or something. Then go hide on the lower levels. No way they're gonna find you there.
They cannot be intent on court-martialing all government agents, can they?
He's not sure. Who knows? They probably won't do it, but how can he be sure?
You need to run. Leave the planet while there's a chance.
A chance? There's no chance. You think they're gonna let a random civilian ship to slip through?
A new frame on the screen: a fuck-huge capital ship. Its belly — the operator shoots from the atmosphere. This must be The Invisible Hand.
"Poor Chancellor," Ormi says.
Alnam takes another sip. "He's a strong man. If anyone can survive this, it's him."
"But he's old. How can he—"
"Age's got nothing to do with it. From where you're standing, your old man's also old. Am I? Look, I met him in person. I know what I'm talking about. He can take it. Wouldn't surprise me if he manages to make them all turn on each other, all those Sep bastards."
He rubs Yalgi's arm. "How's the beer?"
A shrug.
"I don't know. It's okay, I guess."
"I didn't like it either when I was your age."
"Grandpa allowed you to drink?"
Alnam guffaws. "Not really. I found my ways, though." Hearing Ormi's sigh, he adds, "What? A teenager who can't find a way is plain dumb, and you didn't give birth to any dumb kids, far as I'm aware. My stories aren't gonna give him any ideas he doesn't already have."
"Well, he's already drinking, so, I mean..."
They sit against the viewscreen in silence as the world crumbles outside their apartment. Who knew it would be so peaceful?
"Is it smoke?" Ormi asks.
"What?"
"You smell like smoke or something."
"I was on Farnaci Street. Well, all of us. Huge fire over there. Entire street, pretty much."
"Can they do that? I mean, you're not firefighters!"
"We weren't fighting fire, we were controlling traffic. The automatic system was shot."
She just sighs.
"I'll wash it for you," she says. "Come on."
"Let's not hurry. Who knows if I'm gonna need a smoke-reeking jacket soon."
"But they are in retreat," she pleads.
"Everything's gonna be alright. Just... give it a moment. Let's try not to jinx it."
"I bet they're there," Yalgi says in a tone suggesting he's been wanting to say for a long time. "Anakin and Obi-Wan. I mean, they were in the Aradia system the day before last. So they said on the news. It's not a long flight from there, right? We looked it up in school. Before the extraction." (Alnam can't help but smile at this "extraction.") "It's really not far. They are up there, or they will be."
"It's possible," Alnam says. "Well, some Jedi certainly are."
"They showed the bodies," Ormi points at the screen, the can still in hand. "The bodies... that Grievous left. Those were Jedi."
"He's no match for Anakin," Yalgi says.
I hope so. Maybe that Y'Bith, Master Rfanzo from the Commission, can join them. He wanted to cross swords with the general, so let him.
Fuck, is the Chancellor really a goner? Hard to fucking believe. He always seemed like he'd be there forever.
"How do you lose the Chancellor?" he says. "Just how? Not anywhere, mind you, but on Coruscant. I met his captain of the guard. He seemed capable. You know, capable of something other than shitting his pants."
"I think the guards transferred him to a Jedi detail," Ormi replies. "It's some security protocol or other. They name-dropped it, but I don't remember. And they, those Jedi, they were trying to get him to safety. The Subway Double."
"What? There's no such thing. It's some disinfo shit."
"I thought it was an urban legend, but they straight up told us on the news. I guess it's not a secret it exists anymore."
"Whatever. How did they manage to lose him to starfighters in the subway? The top-secret government subway, of all places?"
"I don't know, but... it wasn't pretty for the Jedi. Oh, Vad..."
"Come on. Come on now. It's gonna be alright." He looks into her eyes. "I promise."
He puts his arm across her shoulders. Spills some beer on her in the process — couldn't put the fucking can on the table beforehand. It's fucking stupid, but maybe so is life.
"It's gonna be alright," he says again.
"Let's switch the channel," Ormi says.
"Huh? We're missing the soap opera?"
"We've seen this a hundred times over. This is all old footage."
"Maybe we don't want any new," Alnam says but switches to another channel.
Not that it helps. It's the same footage across the board — or similar enough to look same.
He makes sure to there's no beer in his hand before Ormi gets up. Follows her with his eyes as she leaves the kitchen.
"How're your friends?" he asks Yalgi.
"Okay."
"So the school flew you all back home?"
"Yeah. On these little buses. They could've used them to pick us up all the time, you know."
"And then have half of them broken down and the other half with empty gas tanks today? Be thankful they kept them hidden."
They watch the ruination on the screen some more.
"You were at a fire?"
"Uh-huh."
"Controlling traffic?"
"Yeah."
"Isn't that the police's job?"
"It is, but today, everybody was needed, I suppose."
"Do you have to go again tomorrow?"
"I hope they'll have dealt with that fire by then."
"There's more than one fire."
"I probably do. But hey, I get paid extra for that."
Yalgi nods.
"How's the beer?"
"You asked already."
"Oh yeah? Maybe you changed your opinion."
He keeps looking at his son.
"Listen, Yalgi. I'm sure it won't come to it—"
Yalgi throws his head back. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here. With Mom and with you."
"I know that. But... they have the Chancellor. I'm sure everything is gonna be alright, but on the off-chance it won't... I'm with the RDS. I don't think the Separatists are going to like that. So... if something like that happens—"
"Like what?"
"You're not a kid anymore. I'm talking to you like to an adult. If they take over... You will go over to your granddad."
"I said I would not!"
"You will. It's not up to discussion. He's always been... sort of... amicable towards the CIS. They won't touch him. But me... I don't know. They might. They might just, you know, put us on a trial collectively. Just for working for the Republic. And again, they probably won't, but if they do... Well, I just don't want you to believe everything they will say about me. About us."
"I won't go anywhere." Yalgi's voice is breaking. The tears in his eyes break Alnam's heart, but he can't go back. "I'm not abandoning my father like—"
He bites his tongue, but Alnam knows what he intended to say.
I wish you were right, he thinks. How I wish that.
He says nothing — just slaps Yalgi on the knee and leaves the kitchen.
He finds Ormi in her bedroom, with the door closed, smoking by the window.
"You took up again?"
"A day like this..."
She coughs.
"Ah, come on. Don't pretend for me," he says.
She makes a small laugh.
"You want?"
He shrugs, but takes the cigarette. It tastes something fruity.
"Been keeping them?"
"Just in case. A stressful day at work, you know. Not this."
"Turns out nobody's been keeping anything in case of this."
They smoke in silence.
"You know," Alnam breaks it, "if they take over—"
"Do you think they can?"
"I don't know. No. But if they do — I mean, they're closer to it than ever — if they do, we'll send Yalgi to Sanner. I want you to go with him."
"No, you should go."
"No."
"He's your father, Vad. And he can't stand me."
"Noooooonsense. He's always been jealous I got you, if anything."
"Vad... if they take over, it's going to be bad for you, right? The RDS, I mean?"
"Probably not. We weren't the ones making decisions."
"But you are constantly talking to senators, even to the Chancellor—"
"Do you know how many people he talks to on a daily basis? Hundreds. I'll be fine. But you will have to go. Just because we cannot risk it. And then, when it's obvious they won't touch me for doing my job..." And so much more, he thinks. "They don't really have..." He almost says: They don't really have the means to learn about that, though. "Or how exactly they're gonna touch me for it... you'll come back. And don't give me any shit about your work, Ormi, please."
"I wasn't going to. You think it's necessary?"
"I hope it's not. Yalgi's sure not liking it."
He puts the cigarette out — a half of it is still left.
Ormi notices it. "Wasting my cigarettes as you always have."
"I just care about my health."
In the corridor, he sees the handbag — thirteen grand, kell drake skin. Almost makes him throw up.
He peeks into Yalgi's room. The holo-poster — he can see Kenobi without entering, but not Skywalker. I wonder if you're really up to the task, brothers.
Alnam takes a step inside. Would be good to start packing, but good luck making Yalgi do it now. Maybe I should... should set a positive example. He walks towards the computer. Thinks if there's a suitcase large enough for it.
Yeah, sure. Maybe we can bring the furniture along as well.
Time to book the tickets. Good luck with that too.
He needs to look up the numbers of spaceports. Everybody's going to be calling those now. No guarantee normal ships will be allowed to leave anyway in the nearest future. Or at all. Alnam thinks. He has some smuggler contacts — back from when he was working in the vice squad. Needs to go to his apartment, though. No guarantee any of them is still on Coruscant and not in jail.
Unsure whom to call, he calls Father. The first call falls through without much trying. The second one connects. Alnam waits. Three tones, then five, then eight. What, is he too busy watching the news? Oh hell, maybe he's asleep. Could've called me before going.
"Mom!" he hears. "Dad! Come here!"
His heart sinks as he walks — runs — back to the kitchen. Yalgi: fine. No damage. No broken windows, no tongues cut by the beer can.
"Here," Yalgi says. "It's coming down!"
Ormi's hands are all over Alnam's back like she's patting him down. He makes way for her into the kitchen.
"What is it?" she asks, and Alnam can tell for certain his voice would be in the same sorry condition if he was to speak right now.
"It's coming down. Look."
Alnam finally glances at the screen. The ship — it is coming down. The Invisible Hand. General Grievous's ship.
And it doesn't look good for the Seps at all.
Neither it does for the poor fuckers it's going to land on.
"Where is it?" he asks. "Where's it falling to?"
"It's not falling. Look! Somebody's trying to stabilize it!"
"What are they doing, shooting this behemoth so low above the planet?" Ormi says.
"... Currently, the officials say citizens should not worry about the landing as it is fully under control. The trajectory of the ship is being calculated one thousand times per minute, Gar Jaborr, the vice-head of flight..."
"I hope you know what you're talking about," Alnam tells the talking head.
"... the corresponding districts are in the process of being evacuated."
"I guess we'll get notified."
"It's going towards the industrial ring," Yalgi says.
"Oh yeah? Since when are you such an expert on geography?"
"Just look! There it is."
Alnam looks. "Shit, I guess you're right. If that's the Senate District—"
"Yes! It's going to the north."
"Riiiight. I guess we don't need to pack up for now."
"We don't need to pack at all, Dad. They're in full retreat."
"They said it?"
"The newsman said it. The Separatist fleet is running away."
"They can return."
"No they can't! Their flagship is down."
The flagship is down, or heading thither. Breaking apart without waiting to land. Alnam can only pity those unlucky to live under its thousand-times-calculated trajectory so much: The Star of Onderon isn't there, so the relief is stronger.
Yalgi looks out the window, twisting his neck to get a better picture of the skies.
"You can't see it from here," Alnam tells him.
"I know, just maybe I—"
Alnam shushes him. Turns the viewscreen volume up.
"It has been confirmed," says the anchorman with a this-is-serious-shit fold permanently stuck between his eyebrows, "that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine is on board of The Invisible Hand."
"What the fuck were you shooting it for, then?" Alnam screams at the screen.
"— by the Republic task force."
"You hear?" Yalgi runs back to the screen. "We're controlling the ship!"
"It is predicted to enter the atmosphere in less than five minutes," the host says. "If you are currently in one of the regions marked with red," a map of the northern hemisphere appears, patched with red and orange rectangles all over the place, "please comply with the orders of the police and rescue ops."
"Doesn't concern us." Ormi sighs. "Those poor people who have to evacuate!"
"It's better than dying. Imagine how many didn't even have time to blink before these bastards shot them. What did they say, four hundred thousand?"
"Three hundred and twenty," Yalgi corrects him. "There, it says in the ticker. It's, uh, 8:05 PM, and now it's 8:09."
"Then they'll count it again and it will turn out the population actually grew today," Ormi says.
Alnam looks at her. Her arms are crossed on her chest, lips pursed.
"Hey, don't be like that," he tells her. "It's good that not as many people really died."
"You believe this? Three hundred thousand? On a planet of trillion? There are probably three hundred thousand just in our district."
Alnam chooses not to say anything.
"It's entering the atmosphere," Yalgi says. He's sitting ten centimeters away from the screen, but today, his mother has better things to be angry at.
The ship is burning. Fucking idiots. They just had to show off their big dick guns. Why, we can shoot this bitch down! Fucking pieces of shit. And not one of them will be charged with manslaughter of the Supreme fucking Chancellor, let alone all the shmucks who got a little bit rained on with molten metal. No, those morons will get medals and get to make sad faces at the funeral. Oh fuuuuuck. Who's even going to take over? Amedda? That's gonna go great in today's climate. Fucking retards. First they let this happen and then they get the Chancellor killed. He looks at the ship. Tries to imagine himself inside it. There's no way they can land it safely. There's simply no way. No one is that good. No pilot in the fucking Galaxy.
"Don't they have escape pods?" he mutters.
"For what," Ormi asks, "for droids?"
Alnam has to agree.
It's both beautiful and harrowing, watching the flagship fly to its doom. Like a meteor bringing mass extinction, it stumbles through air in flames. Now they got more angles — the public should get their Chancellor's death in full detail. Fire speeders are following it, but it's fucking obscene: they are tiny compared even to what is left of The Invisible Hand.
Yalgi protests when he switches the channel.
"It's just not right, son. To watch like that how our Chancellor dies? It's not right."
"But General Skywalker is going to save him!"
"We don't even know if he's there."
And for the sake of your childhood, I hope he isn't.
Things aren't much better on the other channels. The Alnams get a glimpse of the Sep navy in retreat: some ships managing to jump out of the fray.
Back to The Invisible Hand. Still falling — horizontally enough to consider it landing and to give hope. Alnam can't see how this hope is not false.
But at least I won't have to send my family away. Well, maybe I'll have to — just to be on the safe side, but... but it's not gonna be as urgent. The war... who knows what that is coming to. Just if Palpatine was to survive this day, we'd won. Fair and square. Their fleets are fucked, their last effort shat the bed, and we still have a leader who can outmaneuver the conversation club banthashitters to some extent and get things done.
Yeah, for about ten more minutes we'll have him.
It feels like a defeat. A personal defeat for him, for Vad Alnam. He couldn't do a thing for Palpatine, but for some reason, it sure feels like he should have.
I wonder if Skywalker of whoever's up there can do anything.
It doesn't look like it. What it looks like is that the damn ship is going to put a huge emphasis on crash in crash-landing. That's if it even reaches anything to crash into — at this rate, it may burn in the atmosphere.
Come on, buddy. I'm sure I wasn't the only one taking care of you. Time to work that off.
No, it doesn't seem possible for The Invisible Hand and its passengers to survive the landing. Not at all possible. But as Alnam watches, even he can tell it's stabilizing.
"Oh no, it's going to overshoot," Ormi gasps.
Alnam's newfound hope is gone: she's right. The news cameras show the landing strip way in front of the Sep flagship, but it's just going too fast. Nothing to be done about it. It's just physics.
It's going to overshoot and then hit the buildings beyond the strip. They've lost too much altitude to go for another try — even if there's another landing platform this size anywhere near. The engines won't let them go up. The engines — there are hardly any left on that thing.
"Just send a..." he hears himself saying. "Send a rescue ship or something. Maybe you can still transfer the passengers..."
"Not in midair you can't," Yalgi says in a tone so serious Alnam immediately believes him.
"The whole Galaxy watches as the cruiser containing the Supreme Chancellor is going in for a landing. Senators of—"
Alnam mutes the host.
"Turn it back on," Ormi commands.
"Just sensationalist banthashit," Alnam says but complies.
He was mistaken, they both were: The Invisible Hand isn't going to make it to the buildings past the spaceport. It will hit the landing strip — either in a good way or a bad, but it's gonna hit it.
He rubs his forehead. "Seems like they managed to extinguish the fires somewhat, huh? Yeah, yeah, look, it doesn't burn as much."
And then the ship hits the ground, leaving a trail of dust, smoke, and who knows what else behind. Another angle: the ship trying to outrace the cloud.
It cannot hold. It just cannot. It has to break apart in a million pieces. The speed and the impact...
Somehow it does not. It holds as it screeches down the strip. It holds as it knocks down an air control tower. And it holds as it stops.
"I guess it was Skywalker after all," an astonished Alnam says.
Cameras fly over the downed Hand like flies above a corpse. Well, it is a corpse. The corpse of the Separatist movement, right here, on this planet.
"Are they alive?" Ormi asks.
"It doesn't look too bad," Alnam replies. Too hastily.
You moron, he thinks, what are you going to tell your son if they all died?
He's not a baby anymore. He can accept life's truths or if he can't, it's time for him to start.
That's how we ended up here, eh? By accepting life's truths?
Rescue ops speeders swarm the crashed cruiser. The anchors on every channel run their mouths without saying anything. It goes on forever. Then a camera flies, practically falls to a hole in the starship's side — so fast it nearly knocks another one off.
There, from that hole, they emerge. Two Jedi and the Chancellor himself. Alnam finds himself in a dire need to genuflect.
A ramp is brought to the hole. The anchors blow up with euphoria, and it seems like Alnam can hear all of them at once. They all look fine — the Chancellor, Skywalker, and Kenobi, and even an astromech droid accompanying them.
"I think we just won the war," Alnam tells his family.
Doctors rush to the survivors of The Invisible Hand, but all three dismiss them. Journalists aren't so easy to deal with. Now it's all about close-ups: Skywalker and Kenobi, but most of all Palpatine. (Some fucktard decides to be cute and films the droid for a minute straight. Minus one household watching EENC.)
Palpatine waves his arm, and the commotion dies down.
"First of all, I offer my deepest condolences to everybody who has lost their loved ones this day."
He is speaking softly, but each word rings.
"I ask you to honor their memory with a moment of silence."
Note that: Yalgi gets up without Alnam or Ormi saying a word. They all stand in silence, even though it's not easy: Alnam is going to remember this day as the day of relief, not the day when an incomprehensible number of people died. No, that too, of course, but not first and foremost.
"Second of all," Palpatine raises his head, "I thank everybody who put their lives at risk to protect our Republic. We are all indebted to you. Personally, I owe my life to General Skywalker. Anakin," he turns to Skywalker looming in the background, "I cannot express my gratitude. You have saved me and you have saved the Republic, for I bear some good news for you as well," he says as he turns back to the cameras. A reassuring smile lights up on his lips. "Today, aboard this ship that Anakin so masterfully landed, he also struck what I consider a deathblow to the Confederacy. I witnessed his duel with Count Dooku and I can confirm that the count is no more. Far be it from me to gloat, but the Separatist movement chose to attack a peaceful planet, and not for the first time today, and their sound defeat is a proof that breaking the laws of war is a poor way to overcome your enemy. Anakin, please step forward."
Alnam leans back on the couch as Palpatine shakes hands with a visibly embarrassed Skywalker. The boy's alright. Probably just wants to get home and shag his senator.
The boy is really fucking A-alright, isn't he?
"We won?" Yalgi asks — half the viewscreen and half his parents. "We really won? If Dooku is dead... I mean, he is dead, right? That's what 'no more' means?"
"It is," Alnam replies. "Looks like... well, Dooku wasn't the only one who could lead them. The parliament remains, I guess. But..."
Ormi gets up. Hard to tell she's blushing because of the beer she's had or something else.
"I think this will be the end of their Human support," she says, reaching for the kettle. "Now they are going to look like a horde of alien savages trying to get revenge for all the wrongs they've suffered."
"Yeah, good point. Yeah, actually... actually, who are they gonna make the new head of state? Those slimy fucks from the Federation? Grievous — if he even survived today?"
"Come on," Ormi smiles at him. "Keep your adrenaline under control. The swearing time in this house is over."
"Sure, sure. Still — they have nobody of Dooku's magnitude. They can't pretend any longer that they have any authority to demand change in the Republic. Dooku, at least, was a failed Jedi Master. You can spin that as a straight shooter. But all those corporate bug people?" He gets up and crunches his back — much to Ormi's cringe. "Those, pardon my Huttese, greedy sons of bitches? Nah. It wasn't any flagship that crashed, it was the last semblance of their regime's legitimacy."
And because of beer or otherwise, he whirls Ormi in a dance — as far as the kitchen allows him.
He fears her laughter will be nervous — like it's been in his presence for the last three years; the laughter that made him mad with weakness and desperation whenever he thought about it. But now, it is not. At least this time, it is not. It is a good laughter. Like in the old times.
Her face is close to his — probably closer than it has been ever since said times. How could I let all this happen? he asks himself, and for now, all this doesn't include most things he let happen. He knows it will — forever, until the day he dies — but now, it does not.
"Let me prepare the caf," she pulls away from him. If she said anything else... He almost wishes she did, because this makes it all more...
More, yes. It makes it more.
"Yal?" she asks, and watching his son's expression change from absolutely, one-honest-hundred-percent childish to trying-a-bit-too-hard serious, Alnam realizes: very, very soon it's going to be Yal, and not Yalgi. Ormi calls him that already, but he's not quite there yet — but soon he will be. And you better save money for the safest swoop you can find for that moment, he tells himself.
It's not the time nor the place to think about money, though.
"I remember, you know, when you used to hate caf. You remember that, Ormi?"
"They're gonna hold a press conference at 2:30 PM SDT," Yalgi — still Yalgi, for now — says. "It's..."
"Late," Ormi tells him.
Alnam leans on the counter next to her. "Come on. You're literally making him caf."
"And you literally gave him beer. On a school day, no less."
"What, that was after school anyway! I never have school until eight in the evening, hello!"
"Tomorrow is a school day too, you know."
"You cannot be serious! No way they're gonna let us go! What if there's, like, structural damage to the building? It can be dangerous."
"Yeah, the whole fleet was firing at your school." She holds Yalgi's shoulders and ruffles up his hair.
"No, Ma, come on! You're not sending me in tomorrow, are you?"
Ormi looks at Alnam. "What do you think?"
No words can describe his gratitude.
"I don't know," he says. "Today was a pretty big deal, buuuut... You can't overestimate the importance of education."
Yalgi stares at him half in disbelief. Ormi is smiling. It is a good moment.
.
.
.
"Will you stay?"
Her voice is soft. Yalgi's in the kitchen, and the kitchen is near.
"You will, right?"
A million responses flashes in his mind.
In the end, he simply says, "Sure."
.
.
.
That press conference is really putting a spanner in his works: he's done showering, and he still can hear the viewscreen in the kitchen.
He toys with the idea of turning his comlink off, but that would be a really shitty thing to do.
Oh, no. We cannot have those, now can we?
But today, it's easy to deal with this kind of thoughts.
He gets out of the bathroom.
No press conference on the screen — some fatso instead.
"Who's that?" he asks Yalgi as he takes a sip of the cooled caf from the cup on the counter.
"Dunno. I'm just waiting for the conference."
The fat guy talks about the only thing that can be talked about today.
"And it was a ploy — now, listen to me, this is important — it was a ploy to bring Count Dooku over to Coruscant for him to either face trial or be killed, and we see that's exactly what happened, he got killed. Now what does it mean, uh, for the CIS and the Republic and all of us? And I'll tell you: what it means is that we are going to see further desentientization of alien — so-called alien — races. If you look, if you look at the CIS leadership, what you see is a swamp, a right swamp of disgusting warmongers and profiteers. And I'm not saying because I'm a speciesist — no, sir. I'm not. You can... You can walk up to any Neimoidian you see in the streets, really, to any one of them, and ask them... show them a picture of Nute Gunray and ask them if they find this guy good-looking or, or trustworthy-looking... They will tell you they don't. I've done it! I've done it myself, and you can do it too. It works with any of the members, any species, they all, they all look morbid."
"What is this crap?" Alnam asks. "Why are you listening to this, huh?"
"Isn't that what you and Mom were saying?"
"What? That they brought Dooku here to get him murdered? I don't want my son repeating any of this nonsense. Wait for the conference on another channel."
Yalgi makes an annoyed face before switching.
"What is this filth, anyway?" Alnam asks no one in particular. Then he takes another sip and leaves the kitchen.
The conference comes and goes. He watches parts of it. Nothing to write home about — seems like Palpatine's said all the important stuff back at the landing strip. Alnam listens even to him with half an ear. You're getting impatient. What are you, seventeen?
For all intents and purposes, he might be. Such day is today. He wrestles again with the desire to turn the comlink off. Sees a message from Mtoro: asking him in the nicest terms possible if he and his family are alright and telling him she and hers are. He reassures her everything is fine, but leaves the comlink on.
Luckily for him, Yalgi gets tired pretty quickly — the Jedi at the conference is some boring old fart and not one of the heroic rescuers, and there's only so much military talk a boy his age can take. The caf isn't of much help, and Yalgi goes to sleep by 1 AM.
"He took it well," he tells Ormi.
"You mean all of this in general?"
"No, I mean me staying."
"And why wouldn't he? If there's anything we did right, it's... it's keeping it as family-like as we could."
"Well, just... You know. No funny remarks."
She opens her mouth, but closes it immediately. Alnam's in too good a mood to pry. Too horny to pry, if we're being honest.
It's bizarre — getting dropped back into this routine after so long. Just sitting on the bed. Watching her take her earrings off. Rub some cream or other into the back of her hands. It's all so normal, almost as if he never left.
She feels it too. She must, because she goes about it — about everything — as if nothing's ever happened. As if the last time they had sex was yesterday. No kinky shit you might expect from a reunion — and it's good.
Lying next to her afterwards is even better. Feeling his arm growing numb because of her head resting on it. Just enjoying the warmth of her breath on his cheek and of her hand on his chest. It is a good moment.
But at the same time, it is a moment that has come and will pass, and Alnam doesn't now have it to look forward to.
"You know..." he starts, but nothing he can say after suits this moment.
She doesn't ask — remembers he's not at his most verbose right after.
And so they lie. Together. For now.
She takes a breath several times before she decides to speak. "It was so horrible."
"Yeah? I thought it was pretty good."
"Oh, stop being like that! Always with your jokes. Also it was not just pretty good, and you'd better remember it if you want it to ever happen again."
Okay, time for serious talk.
He rolls on his side to face her. "Yeah, I know. I cannot... describe how I felt while I was..." His voice cracks, but he manages to hide it with a gulp — not that he needs to hide it. "While I was flying home today. That was the worst I've ever felt."
It is true. He doesn't know what to make of it.
"Trying to reach," she says, "everybody with the comlink network down..."
Alnam panics for a second: he forgot to ask her about her mother, but then remembers Ormi talking to her some time past the landing.
"Your colleagues okay?" he asks.
"I still couldn't get Bailada. She just doesn't pick up. I'll be calling her again in the morning, and I'm... I'm so scared of what I may hear."
"It's really horrible. But you saw it. This is going to be the end of the war."
"I don't know. Grievous escaped."
"So what? His allies will start dropping like flies. You'll see. I imagine first Sep planets will start begging us to accept them back either this week or the next. They don't have power anymore, Ormi. The Outer Rim is ours. We defended our capital. Our Chancellor is safe."
"At what cost?"
"At a terrible cost. I'm not saying it's not. But this operation was the stupidest thing they could do. It burned all the legitimacy they had. Nobody wants to be associated with these fucking terrorists anymore. They had questionable ethics prior to this, but now? Are you kidding me? Do not you worry. This isn't gonna happen again. Not on any planet of the Republic, let alone here."
She looks unconvinced, but Alnam knows she'll overcome her fear. If he can, why not her?
"I didn't ask you about your colleagues," she says. "Are they alright?"
"It's fine, you don't even know them. Mtoro is okay, and she's the only one I care about anyway."
"Vad!"
"What? I'm joking. I mean, I've seen more or less everybody I work with leave home today safely."
"Yeah, but on the way home? And their families? You know, when I think about calling Bailada tomorrow, when my stomach really sinks? It's not when I think about her husband or daughter telling me she's gone. It's when I think about her telling me they are. I... I don't know if I'll be able to... to function if I hear her like that. I cannot even imagine what it feels like. Even to hear that. That people whom I barely know died. And to live through it, I cannot—"
He covers her head with his hand. "Hey, she's gonna be alright. And her family too. It's horrible how many people we lost today, but with how big Coruscant is, the chance of somebody you know dying, it's miniscule."
"I know. It's just that she doesn't answer."
Some more time falls under the good time category. It's good — no, great — thinking and worrying about nothing like this. At the back of his mind, Alnam knows there will be things to think about and things to worry about — there already are, really — but aren't there always?
Ormi breaks the silence first. "That friend of yours, Jezideg — is he okay?"
"Yeah. Now's the time to talk about other men."
She smiles.
"Well, I haven't seen him in a while."
"He's still on Coruscant?"
"I don't know," he sighs.
"You invited him over for a dinner and you don't know if he's still on the planet?"
Well, quality time is over.
"I don't know." He rolls back on his back. "He's... he's not an easy man. He's struggling with an addiction."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"Pretty bad. It's, uh, it's glitterstim."
"Oh. Can you help him?"
"I don't know."
"But you worked in vice."
"I didn't really help people. Was more focused on putting bars between them and the rest."
"I mean, yeah, but... You invited a drug addict to this house?"
"You did. I know him. He wouldn't... you know, get high before coming to a family gathering."
"I thought he was weird."
"Banthashit."
"I did. I didn't know he was an addict, but I thought he was weird."
"Weird like what?"
"Like a dork."
"Have you even seen him? A dork? The guy's a decitonne of muscles."
"When you're a dork, you're a dork, no matter how much you weigh. So you didn't call him?"
"No. Not yet."
A sigh. "It's all so horrible."
.
.
.
He gets home by eight in the morning. Can he call it home? Should he? Should he ever have?
Got a call from Ruad while on the way. The little super-agent's voice doesn't suggest there's going to be a continuation to the redness of his cheeks, but Alnam remains on guard.
"Can you be here at noon or 1 PM?" Ruad asked him.
"No problem," said Alnam.
"Good to hear it. The worst is over, but there's some paperwork to do."
As there is some space between Coruscant and Nal Hutta.
He gets home alright. Is it fair? So many didn't. A few thanks to him.
Yes, that Devaronian — Sorval Uerre, there's no point avoiding his name — he's not going to get home. Not ever. He's not going to have a beer with his family nor is he going to have a family. He'll never know what it's like to hold your son for the first time. He'll never know what it feels like when you're too busy for him and get angry and then guilt catches up with you. He'll never be with a woman anymore. How is that fair?
It's not, and no amount of "good deeds" is going to fix it. The notion itself is absurd: no matter what he does, it's not going to make things right. He may adopt a little Devaronian war orphan, but it will not be in any way related to the fact he killed another Devaronian. It's not going to bring him back or make him feel good in the afterlife if there is an afterlife. All it's going to do is make Alnam feel less bad about himself. Any "good deed" would be a supreme act of egotism.
So what, do nothing? Go on with your life?
Well, he did just that with Fozatta. Life went on.
When did it all go wrong? When did I?
Would be easy to put it all on the RDS, but the RDS was also his doing. Someone who would never murder an innocent would stay away from it.
And, let's be honest, it wasn't the RDS that pulled the trigger. Not on Fozatta, not on Uerre. You may think back to Kram Midduk and his hit piece all you like, but that's ultimately a load of banthashit.
No, you've always had it in you. To do these things. Or maybe not, but you found it in yourself all the same. Didn't take a lot of convincing.
So what do I do? Just accept it? Say "Nothing I could do?"
Already have, buddy.
He opens the windows in his apartment. I could blame Father or Lawrie or whomever, but... none of it makes sense. All they ever did was give me an opportunity. A test of character — and I failed.
Or did he? Who's to say? Didn't he do what he did to protect? The vulnerable and then his family?
It all sounds empty. Other things sound good, though.
Why shouldn't have I? Why? Because of moral codes based on ancient dogmas? Why cannot I do as I please? I mean, really?
This seems like a bad direction to be going — but he's well past the last fork, and has been for some time. This seems dangerous, but no amount of logic he puts into it can discern why.
I was protecting people. Those girls Fozatta raped and would rape.
But he lost his power. He couldn't rape anyone after Skados VI. Nobody would buy into his promises any longer.
He was a degenerate scumbag. You really think he'd stop just because he couldn't do it from the comfort of his office? No, he'd just switch to back alleys and parking lots. I removed this piece of shit from the streets. I'm not gonna pretend it was a sizeable change. No, this planet didn't even notice. But I put a stop to his preying on anyone.
And whom was Uerre preying on?
I was defending my family. You take any culture in the universe, it's gonna be a virtue. Yes, I care about my own father more than some random Devaronian cocksucker.
Oh yes, Father, the famous saint of Sanner.
Never said he was. He's done his fair share of shit. Doesn't make us not family.
So it's alright to kill?
Not saying that, but... the reason we ban killing is so that the society stays stable. That's it. But just because I don't kill everyone I don't like doesn't automatically stop somebody from killing me or anybody else 'cause he doesn't like us. If it's survival of the fittest, why shouldn't I make myself fitter?
Because killing is wrong?
That's just going back to religious dogmas. It is wrong because the dominant culture — the Human culture — tells us it is. But go ahead, look at many others. Wookiees, Trandoshans, they don't see violence as something inherently bad. Sure, I'd rather live in a society where there's no violence, but that's a pipe dream. So why should I accept the role of a victim?
Yeah, yeah. Father's especially big victim in all this.
He's not. But he's still my father.
Alnam checks his comlink. No missed calls. Whatever you can blame him for, being overbearing isn't that. He calls Father — the call connects no problem, but nobody answers.
Two times in a row? Over two days?
Alnam checks the time at RT. Should be slightly past 10 PM. Maybe Father's sleeping habits changed over the years, but Alnam can't remember when he last went to sleep later than him.
He's planning on something stupid. No, something retarded — like coming here and addressing the Senate.
Some defense mechanism in his head prevents him from believing it, but not for long. A minute later, he's sure this is exactly what's happening.
Why wouldn't he pick up if he was in the hyper? Well, maybe he doesn't want to tip me off he's coming. But come on, some degree of worry about your only child's wellbeing?
Mother called him this morning; woke him up, in fact. Said it must've been the two-hundredth call and sounded the part even if Alnam only found four missed calls from her then.
I don't like it. What if he already was on Coruscant?
Why would he be?
Well, here comes the woman from Telos. Alnam doesn't believe for a second nothing is going to happen to her in ISB custody. Father said no, even appealed to her children, but...
But didn't Krev Devin disappear?
That's something he doesn't want to think about, but what choice does he have?
He promised Father touching Devin was where he would draw the line. For Father to listen would be one uncharacteristic move, though.
And you just know you will shit yourself before confronting him about it.
No point drawing that line now. You're tied to him too tight, so you can only go on.
Going back to Fadrina Rell, the junior representative from Telos IV, Alnam thinks why Father would need to arrive personally to deal with her. This question doesn't matter anymore, however, because now Devin is front and center of his attention — and there's no getting him out of there.
This fucking comlink. Who fucking knows what RT put in it? Would Father really shy away from listening to your conversations? And when he heard how concerned Devin was about Uerre...
Nah, it's banthashit.
Still, he gets up and walks to the apartment comlink. Maybe I should call him from it — just to gage his reaction. Various questions, you know... The message machine light is on. Alnam can't tell what his organism is going to do the next moment — collapse or go into a frenzy.
Why is he calling this comlink? he wonders pressing the button.
But it's not Father.
It's Krev Devin.
"I know I'm gonna be disrupting whatever you got going, but I can't do anything else. They killed Sorval, so... This is the only way. I'm sorry. It's all my fault."
Alnam's heart is racing his thoughts.
Who killed Sorval?
What's his fault?
He's alive. Means Father...
What's the only way?
Suicide?
Who's they?
What is he gonna do?
Does he know?
Does he know?
Does he know?
He looks at the time the message was left. Yesterday, 2 PM. From a number he doesn't recognize. He takes the RT comlink out and compares this number to Devin's anyway. They're not the same.
2 PM here is 2 PM at the HQ as well — so this was sent well after the attack started. What was going in Devin's head? That the Seps somehow killed Uerre?
Or that it was me?
Only one way to find out.
And so he calls back.
A tone. Then another. Then—
Fighting the dryness of his mouth, Alnam says, "Hey. It's me."