Chapter Two: Wine, Woman, and Song

"And this ravishing young woman is Angela Marshair," Kel Sunderson announced, parading the lovely teenager by the arm. Sunderson was a tall and broad-shouldered man with a classically handsome look—cropped blonde hair, blue eyes, the works. In his tailored silk suit, he dripped of wealth, affluence, and ambition, traits valuable to a nobleman from so esteemed a name.

Angela smiled pleasantly to the gathered nobles and merchant princes, affecting just enough of the image of an exuberant debutante to up her charisma. Acquiring the necessary items had been a matter of time—the invitations were easily forged with her name and she simply drew on her own background and family history to fabricate a reason for being on Bespin. Her gown for the evening was the dress that Ran had bought for her. Somehow, she managed to don it without crying.

But she put aside Ran and her Jedi training. Now it was time to play the role she had been born and raised into—that of a noblewoman. She curtsied gracefully to her host. "Lord Sunderson, I am truly honored to attend this grand party. With such auspicious attendees, I daresay I am a bit out of my league—though I would love to meet them."

Sunderson gave her a smile that was almost a leer. "Of course, my lady," he said to the neckline of her gown. He led her through the press of partygoers, introducing each and every one worth mentioning, from the CEO of the largest corporation on Tyrix Six to the only Wookiee merchant lord in the sector. Angela played up her charm, chatting amicably with all manner of people, subtly learning their motives and their ambitions. It merely took time and careful questioning, formulating her words into innocuous inquiries. Few could resist her kindly, youthful face or batting lashes.

Sunderson introduced her to one of his closer associates, an older man with a long curling beard that had long gone white. "And this is Count Recklia Pardu. He taught me all I know about wine tasting."

"You are too kind, Kel," the count said smilingly. He took Angela's white-gloved hand and gave it a courtier's kiss. "The Marshair family is known to me. You have connections to the Quintesara throne."

Angela nodded. "I am the fourth cousin, thrice removed, of the Esteemed Holy Queen Amara Quintesara."

"You have the Quintesara clan's eyes," the count noted. His brow furrowed in confusion, as if he recognized something. "By chance are you related to the Lady Andromeda Telandrin?"

The brown-haired girl blinked in surprise. "You know my mother?"

"Why yes. I funded the Alderaanian College for the Arts and Culture, where Lady Andromeda studied for two years. This was before the planet was sadly destroyed, of course."

"Of course."

"Yes, now that I look at you, you do carry a lot of her. The grace, the hair, the eyes. Tell me, how is your dear mother? Does she still like Antaran grapes? She always did have such expensive tastes."

Angela stiffly answered, "My mother and I are not on speaking terms, Count Pardu. I have not seen her in over a year."

The old count shook his head emphatically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Lots of young ones are leaving their families to strike it out on their own, making their own money, or so they say. It is a sign of the times, isn't it Kel?"

The stately nobleman nodded crisply. "I came from such stock myself, my dear count, as you no doubt know."

"Indeed I do! But this lovely young lady is using up her time on a rundown old count like me. Do show her your private stock of brandy, my dear Kel. She's the daughter of a Telandrin—that clan's always been able to hold their liquor!" The count walked off to another part of the party, laughing all the way. It sounded like a cackle. From the familiar tone with which the count had delivered that last bit, Angela figured there was a double entendre behind his words.

But she had other things on her mind and let out a sigh. The count had come to the wrong conclusion about why she left her mother, but she would not disavow his theories. It was not a memory she wanted to think about. When Kel Sunderson offered to take her to the wine cellars, she nodded absently and allowed herself to be led by the arm into the dark, chilly chambers. There was no dust atop the shelves of bottles, nor upon the kegs of wine and beer. But the gloom held an eerie quality that made her hackles rise.

"No plaster or duracrete?" she asked, noting the hewn stone from which the cellars were made.

Sunderson gave her a lustful look. "Of course not. I like things…traditional. Ah," he took a bottle from a rack, turning it in his hands so that he could read the label, "a '64. A good year, so my father told me. Shall we break open a bottle?"

"It's a bit cold for a drink," she noted dryly, crossing her arms under her breasts meaningfully. She did not need the Force to know what was going on in Sunderson's head.

"I don't see why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves in private, my dear." He moved to trap her with his arms against a keg of Corellian ale.

She deftly slid away and waved a hand before his face. "I don't have time for your third-rate come-ons," she said stonily. "You're pretty bad at it, anyway. You're going back upstairs, with the bottle, and you'll leave me be." The Force wrapped around the nobleman's lusty mind, twisting his priorities around. He numbly left the cellars, the bottle in hand.

Angela shook her head, disgusted at Sunderson's antics, and went back upstairs a few minutes later.

Divorced from Sunderson's attention, she went about the party hall, intent on working over the guests on her own. She came across a group of businessmen discussing the virtues of various markets. One of the men she recognized from some obscure fiscal magazine her father subscribed to: Brejak Camden, a noted seller of digital security systems and related droids. More importantly, his security systems were used throughout Bespin's upper class.

"The Federation will be the way to go," Brejak was saying loftily, with all the authority of a veteran investor, which he was. "One merely has to see the advantages—the military, the private corporations, the various shipyards, even the Jedi. Yes, it will be the Federation that will determine market prices for the next generation."

"But it is weak yet," Angela said, cutting into the party. Everyone in the group turned to look at her, the newcomer. She pressed, "It would be wise to invest only a small percentage in the Federation—to get it running—but you should transfer your main funds to the stronger companies for now."

Brejak gave her a critical, studying eye. "And who might you be?" he asked with that same hauteur, seemingly unimpressed by her.

She curtsied. "I am Angela Marshair. You are Brejak Camden of Camden Electronics."

He bowed. "You have the advantage," he said cordially.

"Not so much. I only know you by reputation, for you are one of the finest business-minded individuals working the markets."

"You admit this, yet counter my opinion of the Federation's merits?"

"I do not deny that the Federation will ultimately win the markets. But you must surely see the wisdom in exploring other avenues for more immediate profit."

Brejak seemed intrigued. "What other places would you suggest?"

"The Corporate Sector Authority," she replied easily.

"Bah! Its market has not altered in the past two years. It's on the decline."

"Not decline, Brejak—but it is stable, for now. Even in the aftermath of the Yuuzhan Vong war, its stocks have remained unchanged. And they've opened some new trade routes in the past few months."

"I've not heard of this."

Angela smiled to herself. She and Ran had helped the Corporate Sector Authority with some smuggler problems a few months ago, which resulted in the opening of those trade routes. It was well-kept secret, for the Corporate Sector Authority wanted to use them as a trump card when the Federation finally got on its financial feet. "Trust me, they're there. They'll be using them soon, too."

"Hmm."

"I tell you, Brejak," she said with conviction and intelligence glimmering in her eyes, "the Corporate Sector Authority's market base will be on the rise. You should really consider investing in some of their trade routes."

"I understand what you are saying, Miss Marshair," Brejak said, sipping his brandy, "but I tell you—the Federation will soon be on its feet, and then where will the market turn? No, as immediately profitable as the CSA and other such options might be, the Federation will have the more lucrative routes in the long run. In such delicate times, it is wiser to invest slowly and with care."

"Then play both sides," she countered. "Strike up a five-year contract with the CSA, for surely five years will be enough time for the Federation to cement its power. And it should be early enough in the Federation's existence for you to stake claims on the more profitable routes."

He toasted his glass to her. "I like the idea, my dear. Perhaps a three-year contact instead of five? Just to be on the safe side, of course."

"It sounds reasonable, and it will give you enough time to build a little nest egg."

"You have a remarkable grasp of economics for your age," he commented.

Angela affected a flushed look of embarrassment. "My father owns a research company that deals in computers and electronics. My mother's family happens to handle trade and finance—their firms and corporations make billions in a year. The combination of science and economics proved beneficial for my family, and so they want me to learn their way of doing business."

"They did a fine job, if you're the product of their ambitions," he praised.

She nodded in gratitude. "You're too kind, Brejak." She raised her glass of wine to her lips and drank delicately. Then she changed the topic to one more relevant to her quest. "So how long have you known Kel Sunderson?"

"Since he was a boy," the merchant answered. "He was a crafty one, even then. I knew that he'd grow up to be a remarkable player of the game, and indeed he did. His parents helped fund some of his earlier investments and projects, but in the end, he's raked in about twelve times more than what he started with. And that's yearly. He's even outdone me, and I've been a top profiteer for years."

Angela grinned inwardly; the merchant had just given her the opening she needed. "Is that how he came by his collection of relics? I hear he has quite a number of impressive pieces."

"Oh, no. Most of that is made up of family heirlooms. He's quite proud of those, especially that strange stone rod. He claims that his ancestors took it from the tomb of some conqueror forgotten by time. I think it's all stuff and nonsense, but there you go."

"He takes good care of his collection, then?"

"Of course. He has millions of credits invested in it."

Angela peered into Brejak's eyes and let a tendril of the Force slip into his mind. The sensation she felt hinted that he knew more about the collection than he was letting on. It was time to expedite matters. With a wave of her fingers, she bent his will to hers. "Tell me, dear Brejak, what else do you know?"

His eyes glazed over. She had him. The merchant spoke automatically, unable to shake her compulsions. "Sunderson bought the security for his collection from my company. Aside from him, I alone hold the access codes to disable the alarms rigged on the glass casings."

"You will give me those codes. Send them via my comlink later tonight." She drove her command deep into his mind. "For now, you will act like this conversation never happened." Brejak nodded numbly, stood, and left her alone at the table. Angela finished the rest of her wine, ducked into a corner away from prying eyes, and turned on her comlink. "Ooroosh, Kanig, where are you right now?" she whispered.

"Kitchen," the Aqualish gurgled. "I'm amazed how much food these rich folks eat."

Angela bit back a smile, keeping her mind focused on the task at hand. "Do you have a feel for the terrain?"

"Pretty much," Ooroosh replied. "I know where the collection is located, if that's what you mean. Sunderson's apparently showing it off to some friends, and I had to cater."

"All right. I'll be able to get the codes to bypass his security in a few hours. You two get yourselves out of there. I'll meet you at the hotel in about an hour."

"Why the delay?" Kanig inquired.

"I want to get a bit more to drink, of course. I haven't tasted a bottle of '64 Corellian since I was sixteen." With that, she signed off.


Later that night, in the hotel, she received the transmission from Brejak. She had Kanig store the codes in a datapad. They returned to the Sunderson estate under cover of darkness, dressed in nondescript civilian clothes. Angela had hidden a lightsaber—Ran's lightsaber, for her own had been destroyed—under her sleeve, tied to her forearm by two leather thongs.

They crept over to the mansion's wire fence, where the maintenance access box hung from an iron pole. "All right, let's shut down a few lights," she whispered, opening the box and typing in the necessary codes. There was a dull hum as the fence's security systems shut down. There was a click further ahead—the main gate had unlocked. She typed in another set of codes, turning off the security cameras outside the mansion. The other pieces of security could not be accessed from the exterior of the building; they would have to infiltrate the mansion itself before they could do that.

Angela looked to Kanig, who held a pair of electrobinoculars to his eyes. "See anything?" she asked.

"Some guards are looking around. They're coming this way."

"Perfect. Ooroosh, get ready to jump them. And be quick—we have to slice their comlinks before their superiors figure out what's going on."

A few minutes and one short, bloodless scuffle later, they stood above a pile of unconscious bodies covered with bruises. Angela and Kanig made short work of the guards' communications equipment, reversing their voice modulators—which originally were supposed to reduce static. Now those same modulators altered any voice speaking into the comlink to sound like any person they wanted, namely the guards. Such modifications were tricky, but Angela and Kanig proved up to the task. Their anonymity secured, the party strode boldly toward the mansion. They made their way to the side, beneath a large glass window.

"That's where the collection is," Ooroosh said.

Angela nodded briefly. The window was almost ten meters up. "I can make that jump. Wait for me to drop a cable to you." With a Force-assisted leap, she grasped a window ledge. Her lightsaber ignited with a snap-hiss, painting the darkness with its blue glow. Now came the tricky part. Doubtless cutting open the sealed window would trip an alarm, but she hoped her strength in the Force was enough to dampen the sound.

She took in a calming breath and slashed the glass clean through. In that same instant, she reached out with the Force, using one of her favored techniques—illusion. Specifically, she created the aural illusion that there was no alarm blaring like a mynock in heat. She extended her illusion out to cover the entire mansion, sweat beading on her brow with the effort. Her strength in the Force was tremendous indeed, but even she had limits. She was now reaching them.

"Where's that damn security box?" she mumbled, trying to split her attention between maintaining her Force illusion and locating the box. She saw it hiding on the far wall and quickly typed in the necessary codes. The alarms and security traps in the collection room hummed as they powered down. With the alarms deactivated, she gladly released her illusion and pulled out a liquid cable dispenser from her belt. "Here," she whispered to her comrades outside, lowering a long rope.

The three regrouped and made short work of the glass casing around the key they sought. "It's really not much to look at, is it?" Kanig commented as they lifted the stone rod out of its pillowed bed. "Kind of heavy, though."

"It is made out of stone, you know," Angela pointed out. "We better get out of here before we're missed." They moved to the window, ready to leave, when they heard the door creak open. "Sith spit," she swore, ducking behind one of the casings and motioning for her comrades to do the same.

Two security guards entered, glow rods sweeping light across the darkened room. "I swear I heard something up here," one of them said. "Check out that side."

Unfortunately, "that side" was near Angela's hiding place. As soon as the guard's light shone upon her, she sprang into action. Her lightsaber boiled forth, chopping through the first twenty centimeters of the glow rod, plunging that half of the room into darkness once more. "Everyone out, now!" she shouted, punching the guard in the face, knocking him into another display case.

She took her own words to heart and plunged headlong out of the window, tumbling and twisting in midair, and, with the assistance of the Force, landed softly on her feet. Ooroosh and Kanig both rappelled from the window, hanging onto the cable with loose, yet efficient, grips. The guards leaned over the window ledge and fired their blasters. Angela batted the shots harmlessly aside. Then she and her comrades rushed off into the night.

Little more than an hour later, they were flying out of Bespin's orbit with their engines on full power. Angela cursed profusely. "What's wrong?" Kanig asked, surprised at her outburst. "The mission was successful, was it not?"

The brown-haired girl grunted. "In the strictest sense, yes, but I was forced to draw my lightsaber. I've basically identified myself as a Jedi thief, which won't sit well at all with the Jedi Order, Bespin's government, or the Federation. What a mess."

"It's a concern that will have to wait," Ooroosh commented, pointing at the scanners. "Two marks coming in fast at seven forty-five—six Headhunters, unmarked. Seems Kel Sunderson has a little private fleet." Without waiting for orders, the Aqualish left the cockpit for the gunwell. Kanig quietly took the scanners and Angela wrapped her fingers around the controls.

"They're only seconds away from firing range," the Zabrak said, watching the scanners.

"Try and scramble our energy readings and registry numbers," the brown-haired girl said. "It would be stupid to let them track us that way."

The Zabrak tapped a few buttons on his console. "Done and done, Angela." Red blaster bolts splashed over the Nebula Dancer's shields. Kanig sheepishly noted, "They've reached firing range."

The battle was on.

"Use ion weapons only, Ooroosh," Angela said. "I don't want to leave any bodies behind us."

"Copy that," came the reply. It was followed by the rapport of laser fire, blue streaks of ion bursts slashing the blackness of space. After the first exchange, he proudly announced, "Two down, four to go."

A series of ship-shaking explosions stole the momentary elation Angela felt at his words. "Better make those last four quick ones," she muttered, sending the Dancer into a punishing barrel roll. She was nowhere near as skillful a pilot as Ran had been, but she was good enough to at least run some evasive maneuvers. Another explosion sent shudders through the ship. "Kanig, plot us some hyperspace coordinates and get us the hell out of here!" she said.

"Stop moving around like that!" Ooroosh complained. "Get me in line with them—I said in line with them!"

"Hold your starships, buddy," she returned hotly, reflexively spinning the ship into a hard port turn to avoid colliding with an oncoming Headhunter. "I'm trying to keep us alive here!"

"And I'm trying to keep them from killing us," he countered. "Get me in line!"

"Fine!" she said, pulling the ship into a loop and then twisting it back around so that it was tailing two more Headhunters. "Any time you're ready, Ooroosh." A barrage of ion bolts tore through their foes' shields, sending crackling blue lightning dancing over their hulls. They sat motionless in the starry abyss, completely disabled. For the moment, the field was clear. It would take time for the final two Headhunters to engage, but Angela noted that they were coming in fast.

"Coordinates set for Hoth," Kanig announced. "Punch it!"

Angela did not hesitate. Streaks of blue-white light stretched around them and they vanished into the void of hyperspace. They were safe, or so they thought.

Just as soon as they started breathing a collective sigh of relief, the ship shuddered and the blue-white tunnel of lightspeed fell apart around them. "An interdiction field," Kanig groaned. "Where did it come from?" They only had to look out the viewport. An Etti light cruiser loomed before them. It was one of the smaller capital-class ships, but the scanner readings indicated that it was heavily armed for one of its size. A bulbous interdiction globe hung from its ventral side.

"It's identified as the Fortune of Demise," Kanig said, looking at the readouts. His eyes widened. "That's one of the fleet ships under Admiral Adguard!"

"Out of the frying pan, as you humans would say," Ooroosh commented.

Suddenly, blips lit up the scanners in an erratic array. "Starfighters coming in—eight X-wings," Kanig reported. "By the Core Worlds, Adguard's really after our hides." Ooroosh was already firing, bolts of energy surging forth.

"Adguard, that damn monkey-lizard," Angela growled. Six Headhunters from a private citizen was one thing, eight disciplined military starfighters and a capital ship was entirely another. "We have to get out of here. Kanig, plot us another jump. Ooroosh, hold them off. I'm switching life support power to engines and transferring half power from weapons to shields." Her fingers danced across her console, and there was a resonant hum as energy flowed along new routes. "Angling deflector screens double-rear. Here we go."

The Dancer burst ahead with renewed speed, turning tightly to skirt by the oncoming X-wings. They looped back and established hot pursuit. Angela was not worried about them. Ooroosh held them at bay with the ion cannons and the Dancer had some of the finest illegal shield generators that money could buy; they were notoriously fast at regenerating. Even eight X-wings would not be able to bring them down easily.

But the Fortune of Demise could. Huge bolts of energy sped toward the Dancer, and while Angela was able to dodge most of the shots, the slightest graze sent rumbles throughout the transport ship. The ship could not withstand attacks of that magnitude, so she flew in close to the cruiser, right under its main cannons. Big weapons like that would tear the Dancer like a hot knife through butter. But flying this close meant that the only lasers she would have to worry about were the point-defense blasters—which were about as strong as a starfighter's. Those weapons splashed laser fire into the Dancer's shields, but did little more than send a few trembles through the hull.

"Lady, I understand what you're doing," Kanig said with surprising calm as he wrapped his hands around the armrests of his chair in a deathlike grip, "but you'll forgive me for thinking you are the craziest female in the sector."

Despite the grim situation, Angela laughed. "Trust me, compared to what my Master used to do, this is sane." The Dancer's nose tipped up and the ship was soon in a hard climb, running only a handful of meters from the surface of the cruiser. She sighted the interdiction globe and made a beeline for it, maintaining her closeness to the Fortune of Demise.

"You're not thinking what I think your thinking," the Zabrak moaned.

A mischievous grin that would have done her Master proud split her lips. "I'm one of those Jedi who go by instinct, Kanig. No thinking involved. Ooroosh! I'm routing power to weapons. Switch to blasters and take out that globe." The only acknowledgement she received was the bright light of laser fire splattering against the Fortune's shields. But the Aqualish's assault did not relent, and by the time the Dancer flew past, the globe's shields had failed and numerous power cables and support beams had been obliterated.

"That should kill that interdiction field," Angela remarked. "Do we have a course?"

The Zabrak, still unnerved by her stunt, shakily replied, "Hoth jump is set."

She clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I don't do stuff like this too often." With that, she pulled a lever and settled back as the stars stretched behind her.