Chapter Three
Talon Karrde crossed his legs casually, watching his crew work as the Wild Karrde poked her way into Coruscanti orbit. The last few months had been productive ones—supremely productive—and he and his crew had much to be proud of.
The Smuggler's Alliance, a ragtag organization born out of necessity after the Fringe was thrown into conflict with Grand Admiral Thrawn, was holding together better than people had expected.
It's certainly holding together better than Mara expected, but she's always such a pessimist, he thought as he glanced over at his second-in-command.
Mara was turned away from him, seated at the co-pilot's station and focused on her console; her red-gold hair had grown out some on their trip through the Rim and was drawn into a functional ponytail. Karrde watched her check their route in for the third time, and one of his eyebrows lifted slightly. While Mara was always precise, with a tendency to double-check, for her to make triply-sure was out of character.
He permitted himself a small smile.
He had solved a large piece of the puzzle of Mara Jade—or, she had solved it for him. After their adventure on Wayland she had told him of her past; rather more than she had told even Skywalker, he suspected. She had been the Emperor's Hand, and while her missions had been subtler than that of the Emperor's other tools, there were plenty of Imperials who would remember her, as Thrawn had. She had listed off no less than a half-dozen current Imperial Admirals, Governors, Moffs, and Generals who would remember at least her face; men who had at one point or another had occasion to run across the Emperor's Hand in her official capacity and likely believed her dead.
But knowing of her past, and now knowing why she had so hated Luke Skywalker, he found the larger mystery of Mara Jade far from solved. She had instead taken on new facets. Skeptical of the New Republic and everything it stood for; she had still accepted a job working for it. She also carried a lightsaber with confidence and practiced diligently with the weapon in the Wild Karrde's empty cargo bays, but she had been subtle in her public demonstrations of her growing Force abilities (or, perhaps, her increasingly restored abilities).
She had hated Luke Skywalker. Despised him with the same ferocity that she attacked all of her tasks with. Now…
Karrde watched her posture tighten slightly more. He probably wouldn't have noticed—it was undetectable to any but the most experienced eye—but he had plenty of experience reading body language. It was a necessary skill in his line of work.
She checked the ship's course for a fourth time.
He'd watched Luke and Mara interact aboard Chimaera, which was the first time he'd ever seen them collaborate. Even at the time he had known better than to tell her just how well they worked as a team. She had still wanted to kill them then, though some of the fire of her hatred had been extinguished. Then he'd seen Luke after the Katana battle, and watched the Jedi's singleminded determination to rescue her and his obvious relief at her survival. He remembered Luke's promise—on his honor as a Jedi, not as an agent of the New Republic—that Mara would receive the best medical care the New Republic had to offer. He remembered the proven sincerity of that promise.
He'd seen them stand as equals against Luke's own twisted clone and Joruus C'baoth on Wayland.
Most of all, Karrde had seen them together on his ship after the battle on Wayland. Luke, sitting beside her unconscious form, falling asleep in his chair before she woke. Mara's realization of his presence and surprise at his company; her waking him with an uncharacteristically gentle touch. Skywalker said something that had prompted Mara to roll her eyes at him, but then she had smiled. Not a polite smile, or a threatening smile (those Karrde had seen on Mara's face many times before Wayland) but something heartfelt, a smile that made her entire expression soften. It had been, Karrde thought, the first time he'd ever seen Mara really smile.
Karrde wasn't Force-sensitive himself (how useful that would have been), but he could see in the way Mara carried herself since then that something had been lifted from her. A weight she'd carried since long before they'd met was gone. Tension lines in her face had eased, making it easy to believe that she was still in her twenties and not the decade older he had first assumed. Surely, no one as young as she was would possess such cool competence. Not any more than they would carry around the weight of the universe, as Mara had so often seemed to.
But now Mara was tense again, tenser than she'd been since Skywalker had first come on board the Wild Karrde; since she'd pulled the Jedi's dead X-wing out of interstellar space. Karrde doubted very much she was nervous about meeting with Councilor Organa Solo about the Smuggler's Alliance. He'd seen her stare down men twice her size and chide experienced smugglers with language so pointed it would skin the paint off of bulkheads. She could handle the liaison job that he and Leia had pressed her into; she could be the bridge between the New Republic and the Fringe that would enrich them both. That certainly wasn't what had her back up.
She checked the ship's course for a fifth time.
Karrde hid a smile. He wouldn't pry. He would, however, get the Wild Karrde on the ground before Mara destroyed some of his sensor equipment. He turned towards the comm station. "Dankin, do we have a landing window yet?"
"Platinum Clearance, Boss. We're up next," the Berchestian's familiar drawl came back. His face was turned away from Karrde as he fiddled with his station, emphasizing the lines of alien characters he had tattooed all over his reddish, bald head. "We've got an assigned landing berth now too. Imperial Palace, the same one we put down at the last time we were here."
"Higher profile than I would like, but convenient," Karrde conceded. "All right. Faughn, bring us in as soon as Coruscant traffic control gives us our entry vector. Nice and smooth, we don't want to make any bad impressions."
"Hah," Faughn scoffed from the helm console, up front next to Mara. With Aves off commanding the Last Resort, Gillespee's former lieutenant had accepted Karrde's offer of employment. Gillespee had been good-natured about it, but had informed Karrde that this was yet another favor that was owed to him. "I've been able to land bulk freighters since I was a teenager," Faughn's voice was stiff and unamused. "Or have you forgotten my resume?"
"You never gave me a proper resume," Karrde replied smoothly. "As I recall it, our entire interview was a dinner conversation. I asked if you were interested in Aves' old post on our bridge, Gillespee cursed me for stealing his people, and you asked if you could start right away."
"Never gave me a proper resume," Faughn mimicked, adding a lilt to his stentorian inflection, her attention still on her board. "I didn't need to give you a resume. Knowing you, you probably already knew my work history going all the way back to when Gillespee first had me piloting shuttles. At thirteen."
"Now that you mention it, I think Gillespee gave me a holo."
Faughn glared at him over her shoulder.
Chin laughed. "I'd love to see that, Capt'," the older man said with clear amusement. "I bet the crew would really get a kick—"
His words cut out as Faughn cranked the Wild Karrde's throttle, sudden inertia driving them all back into their acceleration couches—all except Mara. She just sat there, annoyingly composed, though it did get her to glance up from her panel.
Over the ship's comlink with Coruscant traffic control came an unfamiliar voice. "Uh, Wild Karrde, your entry vector is now open. Councilor Organa Solo is waiting for you at the assigned hangar." There was a pause. "Is everything all right up there? We just noticed a—"
Karrde waved his hand at Dankin. "Everything is fine, Coruscant Control," he replied, his voice firm as he tried very, very hard to keep his amusement out of it. "I suppose you could say my new pilot is breaking in my crew. We'll be on the ground in moments." He arched an eyebrow at Faughn. "Now don't make a liar of me, Faughn," he warned her good-naturedly.
"Moments it is," his helmswoman replied with a confident grin and the Wild Karrde flew towards the palace in a controlled (if somewhat hasty and no doubt concern-inducing for the poor people manning Coruscant Control) descent. Not that he was ever concerned with Faughn at the helm, she was as by-the-book as any smuggler he'd ever known, with a general aversion to unnecessary risks. She was, in short, the perfect smuggler for the new semi-respectable Smuggler's Alliance.
She was also new to the Wild Karrde and to his organization, which meant she needed a chance to strut her stuff for the old hands. Faughn wasn't usually a pilot; Gillespee had groomed her to be a communications and electronics specialist, which was exactly what Karrde had lost when he'd given Aves his own command. But every smuggler needed a reputation for being a good pilot, because no smuggler really respected one of their number who couldn't fly. That was why Faughn and not Mara was at the helm today. And because he might be losing Mara one day, and sooner than he'd like to.
The ship finished its swoop towards the landing pad, then held steady on repulsors meters above the ground before deploying its landing gear and settling smoothly between the marked lines. Karrde smiled. "Well done, Faughn," he said, more for the crew's benefit than for hers. He stood and straightened his outfit. "Come on, Mara, let's go meet the Councilor. The rest of you, finish your assigned duties and then take twenty-four hours liberty. Normal rules apply." He lifted a finger warningly at Dankin. "Comms stay on." There was a rustle of laughter as his crew needled Dankin over a certain unfortunate incident during their trip through the Corporate Sector, but Karrde's mind was already on the task before him. As Mara joined him, he could tell that hers was as well.
The morning sun cascaded down onto the Imperial Palace, illuminating the landing pad with a bright, almost searing light, but also hiding the identities of the three figures standing under the canopy overhanging the pad accessway tunnel when Karrde and Mara descended the Wild Karrde's ramp.
Despite not knowing exactly who they were, Karrde could make an educated guess. One certainly was Organa Solo herself. The second figure was less than half her size and had a figure which suggested voluminous robes—probably one of her Noghri guards. The final figure stood about Leia's height, and though Karrde couldn't be certain who it was he guessed it was likely Winter, Leia's personal aide. Karrde stepped down the ramp towards them, Mara following a half-step behind him. She wore her lightsaber openly on her belt, and he wondered (not for the first time) why exactly Skywalker had so blithely given away his father's priceless weapon.
He and Mara stepped under the overhang and the glare from the sun stopped being an issue. Leia stepped forward, offering her hand—and hesitated, just for a moment, as she noticed the weapon on Mara's belt. The hesitation was fleeting, given Leia's strenuous diplomatic training and skill, but nonetheless clear. "Good morning, Councilor. It is a pleasure to see you again" he greeted her as he accepted her proffered hand, drawing her attention fully back to him. "And Lady Winter, of course, elegant as always."
Winter inclined her head precisely. "Master Trader Karrde," she replied.
"Welcome back to Coruscant, Talon," Leia said, apparently fully recovered from whatever surprise the sight of the weapon had inflicted upon her. "You made good time; my last report said you were meeting with representatives of the Corporate Sector on Erysthes. That's a long way from Coruscant."
"We did, yes," Karrde said, declining to go into additional detail. "And Master Trader, did you say?" he said, tasting the words on his tongue. "An Old Republic title used for representatives of the major trading guilds," he mused, pretending to be surprised to hear the title used. The Smuggler's Alliance was, in many respects, not functionally different from trading guilds that had existed during the days of the Old Republic. This New Republic was long on ideals, but short on both new ideas and supplies. A galactic sized government always had trouble moving its cargo from place to place, and even more trouble protecting it.
During the days of the Old Republic, the trade guilds had used their economic (and later political) leverage to encourage the Senate to grant them permission to fully arm their freighters. Eventually, the trade guilds had been very nearly private militaries, deploying their economic, political, and military power to become some of the most influential institutions in the galaxy.
And his Smugglers' Alliance was their heir. For better or worse.
"It must have taken no small effort to convince Admiral Ackbar to allow its use, given his opinion of Smugglers," he said.
"Not as much as you might think," Leia replied, her expression neutral. "Gial has never liked needing to convert capital ships into bulk freighters, especially when the Rebellion had to make do with just such conversions in the past. And you have had stalwart advocates with influence in the New Republic Council."
That was interesting. "Oh?"
"Han, Luke, and Lando have all spoken in your favor at length," Leia said. "And the Inner Council takes their recommendations very seriously."
Karrde felt Mara stir slightly at the mention of Skywalker. "I see," he replied noncommittally, wondering if this meant he owed three new favors. He could be sure that Solo and Calrissian would both try to call in their markers, at least. "Then are the preparations for our formal charter and legitimate operations complete?"
Leia glanced at Winter. "There are still a few things to finalize, such as how exactly the Smuggler's Alliance will operate, what the New Republic will have the right to require, not to mention questions of equitable pay across such a loose organization," Winter said in her precise Alderaanian accent, even more pronounced than Leia's (by design, Karrde suspected).
"I'm not expecting any serious issues," Leia soothed calmly.
"I hope not," Karrde replied, letting his voice cool in turn. "Mara and I have managed to bring together most of the major independent shipping concerns into a unified bloc for the first time in centuries. If I have to go back to them and tell them the deal is off, well… unhappiness would be putting it mildly."
Leia seemed unruffled by his tone. "Our offer of secure, reliable maintenance facilities and the protection of the New Republic fleet against piracy should be quite enticing," she replied with all the smooth patience of an expert negotiator. "Plus, we won't skim off your profits."
An expert negotiator with a smuggler husband. A smuggler husband who knew exactly the value of all three of those things. Karrde smiled, feeling the smile go a bit broader than was strictly necessary. "As we have discussed in the past, Councilor, there should be sufficient common ground for us to make this work." He accepted her acknowledging smile, knowing that despite the performative contest, in this they were allies. "Finally," Karrde turned to the last member of the greeting trio, "Mobvekhar clan Hakh'khar," he greeted the Noghri, feeling himself tense as he fought not to stumble over the pronunciation of the alien name. He hoped it was Mobvekhar, but there was no way to tell under the robes, and he wasn't sure he could tell two Noghri apart even if he could see them. "As a guest of your Lady, I humbly appeal for your protection."
Leia's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Mobvekhar's robe hidden form didn't even twitch. "As a guest of the Lady Skywalker, you have the protection of the Noghri," the Noghri said.
"Thank you," Karrde said. He'd asked Mara how best to deal with the Noghri on the trip in from the Corporate Sector. He relaxed a bit as her suggestion seemed to work; the aliens made him even more nervous now that he knew how dangerous they really were. "Now that all the formal preliminaries have been conducted on this wonderfully-appointed landing pad, shall we head to your office to smooth out the details?"
"Yes, Master Trader Karrde," Leia replied respectfully, though he caught the edges of a smile on her lips. "We shall."
Three hours into the meeting Mara had gone into maintenance mode until a minor disaster struck. Winter and Karrde had done most of the negotiating at the beginning, the aide acting like a set of impenetrable deflector shields between Karrde and Leia as they finalized details on how exactly members of the Smuggler's Alliance would go about making maintenance requests, what kinds of requests would be allowed, and which were forbidden. But shortly after lunch Han had called, sounding overwhelmed, and there had been a crash, the sound of something breaking, twin reedy cries, and a Wookiee yelp of alarm on the other end of the comlink. Leia and Winter had taken one look at one another, Leia gave a rueful smile, and without a word Winter had swept out the door, long robes flowing behind her. Somehow she managed to make even a hurried rush look elegant.
The negotiations continued in Winter's absence, with Leia ably taking up the slack. So far the meeting had gone well; Mara was quite impressed by the generosity of the New Republic's offer and she knew Karrde was also, even if neither of them allowed it to show. Given Leia Organa Solo's Jedi training and heritage, trying to hide such feelings from her was likely futile… but then, people had said the same thing about Darth Vader, and Mara had managed to hide things from him on more than one occasion.
After quickly agreeing that certain cargoes (slaves in particular) were strictly verboten and that no immunity for those crimes would be extended to members of the Smugglers' Alliance, Leia and Karrde had moved on to discussing shipping assignments. Ultimately, the Smuggler's Alliance had two benefits for the New Republic: access to a large number of independent shippers who would take Republican cargoes to their destinations, and access to information from the Fringe that didn't make its way so easily to the center. But the New Republic wanted to be able to guarantee delivery of certain vital cargoes, and that would mean forcing smugglers to take jobs now and then. Just putting that in the contract would make most of them ornery.
She was sipping her cup of spiced caf and contemplating the problem when they both looked at her. "What do you think, Mara," Karrde's voice was polished smoothness, as usual.
"You can't force smugglers to take a cargo," she replied after she finished her sip. "They're contrary by nature. If you tell them they have to do something, they'll say no just to prove you wrong."
Leia smiled at that.
"Mara's right," Karrde told Leia. "But maybe there's another way." He went on, explaining how the old Smuggler cartels, under Jabba the Hutt and others, had assigned runs to this or that smuggler, with sliding scales for pay depending on the value of the shipment, the cost to the smuggler, and how far out of the way each route was. Emulating Jabba wasn't something that Karrde would normally suggest—Jabba's business ethics had been execrable—but when it came to managing the Fringe Jabba had definitely been talented.
Mara wasn't really listening. She and Karrde had worked out all the details of the plan on the trip from the Corporate Sector back to Coruscant. She was quite sure that even if the original proposal didn't work Karrde and Leia would find one that did. It wasn't that complicated as things went. Really, the only hitch in the entire plan (from Mara's perspective) was Mara's role as Liaison. That would ultimately make the relationship between the Smuggler's Alliance and the New Republic her responsibility. Her responsibility.
Her responsibility.
Why was she doing this, she wondered? Because Karrde had asked her to was one reason. She had spent the better part of five years in the worst parts of the Outer Rim, constantly moving, getting in and out of trouble over and over. Sometimes Isard's agents—who had never given up on catching her, she thought sourly—would catch her scent somehow, usually because she'd let herself get drawn into some local drama or other. She always had, one way or the other; even when she'd found a place that felt safe, found people she'd begun to think she might be able to call friends, something had always happened that sent her on to the next place. Often it had been a surge of Force power, complete with nightmares and the Emperor's voice. Only once before Karrde had she allowed herself to become truly comfortable and that memory was a painful one; she bit her lip and forced the image of Gorb and Jorshmin's dead bodies back out of her mind. Karrde had taken her in, provided her sanctuary, given her life purpose again after five years of aimless wandering. She owed him more than he would ever know.
Karrde and Leia were still talking. On reflection, Mara realized one reason she had accepted the Liaison position was simply because Leia had asked her, and if Mara had said no, Leia probably would've badgered her until she said yes anyway.
Leia Organa Solo, she thought. Biological daughter of Darth Vader. While Mara had intellectually processed the fact that Organa Solo was Darth Vader's daughter, it had not really fully sunk in for her until that moment.
Mara found herself searching for hints of Vader in Leia's diminutive countenance. She thought of the times she and Vader had sparred and jockeyed for space and Palpatine's attention. Vader had been inexorable, pushing onward until he won—or he decided he no longer cared. Maybe that was a hint of his legacy, she thought as Leia launched into another spirited round of debate. The maddening sense of inevitability that surrounded Leia, her ineffable confidence that she would eventually get her way, no matter the obstacles between her and her objective... Vader had possessed that same sense of surety.
Vader had possessed that same sense of surety except when it came to a certain Rebel pilot who had driven him to distraction.
Her mind moved from Leia to her twin. Did Skywalker possess it too? No, she decided, with Skywalker it was different. He didn't know he would get his way no matter the obstacles, he hoped he would, hoped with such optimistic ardor that she couldn't help but hope with him.
That she couldn't help but hope with him?
Luke had asked her if she would do this too; become the Liaison for the Smuggler's Alliance. Leia had been sure that Mara would take the position. Luke had merely hoped.
It struck her again how utterly ridiculous all this was. Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa Solo. The talismans of the Rebel Alliance. More than Mon Mothma or Gial Ackbar or Garm Bel Iblis they had symbolized the Rebellion; had been the emotional anchors of the entire enterprise. And the two of them were probably the only two people in the whole New Republic who really, unambiguously trusted her. Who had demonstrably trusted her not just with their own lives, but with the lives of Leia's children. She still wasn't sure what to make of that. How did she reconcile her childhood, here in the Imperial Palace, trained by faceless Royal Guardsman, emotionless tutors, and the Emperor himself, and her subsequent life as the Emperor's Hand, with the unhesitating acceptance offered by these two people?
Stars above, she had literally told Leia that she was going to kill her brother, and Leia had barely blinked. Barely even hesitated! Had helped break Mara out of prison and sent her off on a dangerous mission—armed!—with that same brother! Leia had not only never believed her, Leia had known she wouldn't.
Skywalker hadn't ever really believed she would kill him either. He'd been a party to that breakout. He'd made sure she was armed and unrestricted. He'd trained her in the Force, to help her regain the abilities that she had lost—regain them in a way that she would keep them as her own, not gifts of the long-dead Emperor or Skywalker's own Jedi powers. But he hadn't done any of it because he knew she wouldn't kill him… no, he'd done it all because he'd hoped.
By the time they had reached Wayland, she'd been hoping too.
She buried that thought deep. The last thing she needed was for Skywalker to decide that she had gone soft.
There was a knock on the door to Leia's office. "Come in," Leia called, apparently expecting whoever it was. Mara half turned and watched as General Airen Cracken came into the room. The head of New Republic Intelligence himself, she thought. He was a bit older than she remembered from his Imperial file, and his once-bright red hair had gone completely grey. His face bore deep worry-lines, as she would have expected of a man who had spent his career matching the likes of Ysanne Isard in battles of wits and skulduggery.
"Councilor Organa Solo," Cracken greeted her with a nod.
"General," she replied with a royal smile of her own. "I'm glad you could make it after all."
"It took some doing," Cracken responded wryly, "but I couldn't very well leave you to handle Karrde here on your own. He can be slippery." His attention moved to Karrde and Mara. "Karrde. It's been a while since Thyferra. Good to see you again."
"General, it is always a pleasure, of course," Karrde said. "I don't believe you know my associate. This is Mara Jade, my second-in-command and the proposed Primary Liaison between the Smuggler's Alliance and the New Republic."
Cracken's sea-green eyes regarded Mara for a long moment. "Miss Jade. We've not been personally acquainted, but I've watched your career with great interest." He smiled, the expression friendly—but Mara recognized the keen awareness of an intelligence professional in the presence of a potential asset behind the smile.
Mara stiffened, then forced the reflex down. Cracken didn't seem actively hostile, which was about all she could ask for from the head of New Republic Intelligence, given her history. "General Cracken," she replied evenly. She held his gaze, not challenging exactly but not retreating either.
After a moment, Cracken gave her a curt nod and abandoned the pretense. She respected that—Isard would have dragged it out. "I don't suppose you'd be more forthcoming about your Imperial operational history with me than you were with Colonel Bremen last year?" he asked.
Mara could see Leia's frown out of her peripheral vision—apparently this was a line of inquiry that Cracken had been supposed to avoid—but she couldn't blame the General for asking. It was also a question she and Karrde had spent some time preparing for on the way to Coruscant. "As a member of the Smugglers' Alliance," she began, her tone stiltedly formal, "if it should become operational, one of my obligations will be to deliver to the New Republic information useful to NRI." Her clear green eyes were calm as she gave the rehearsed answer. "That would include any information acquired through Fringe sources, regardless of how it was acquired."
Cracken's eyebrows rose. Leia's did likewise. "I see," Cracken replied, sounding thoughtful. "So, the answer is yes… if the Smuggler's Alliance is formally employed." His own eyes narrowed. "Do you have information that would be useful to the New Republic?" he asked. She understood the intent behind the question: she might be using the lure of her knowledge of the Emperor to encourage the New Republic to hire the Smuggler's Alliance, despite not having anything truly useful. Again, she couldn't blame Cracken for asking.
"I cannot be certain what is or is not useful to the New Republic," she answered stiffly. "But I already gave you Wayland."
"I believe that Mara has earned the right to a little trust, General," Karrde put in.
"I would agree," Leia put in from the side, her voice calm but carrying just the slightest ring of commanding reproach.
"Trust is a valuable commodity," replied Cracken evenly. He watched Karrde and Mara, then turned his gaze fully to Karrde. "We know each other, Karrde. We've worked together before. I do trust your word, as much as I trust the word of any member of the Fringe." He looked at Mara. "And I trust the judgment of Councilor Organa Solo and Jedi Skywalker, both of whom have vouched for you, Miss Jade."
Mara's lips pressed together, her eyes flicking briefly to Leia. "I appreciate that," she replied a bit stiffly. She couldn't help but notice that Cracken trusted Karrde, Leia, and Skywalker—but not her, despite his friendliness with Organa Solo. That actually raised Mara's opinion of him and of NRI in general. She could think of numerous occasions when Imperial Intelligence or the Imperial Security Bureau had gotten into trouble for trusting people solely on the basis of who vouched for them.
"As do I," Karrde said, much more convivially. "If I may, General, I have a suggestion."
"Go ahead."
"The Smuggler's Alliance will need its own liaison with NRI, someone to serve as a go-between between our organization and yours… someone who will know how valuable a piece of information is, and have the independence to work with my people to follow leads."
Cracken's eyes narrowed slightly. "That would make sense. Who do you have in mind?"
Karrde held his hands out wide. "Your Agent Wessiri. My people already know her and respect her. Thanks to her collaborations with Booster and Mirax Terrik she has an excellent reputation on the Fringe, and the handful of smugglers who worked in Corellia during her time with CorSec say she was both honest and capable. Intimidatingly so." He nodded at Mara. "She and Mara would work well together, I think."
"You are asking a lot," Cracken said. "Miss Wessiri is one of my best field agents."
"And she will continue to be," Karrde replied.
So Agent Wessiri is notable to both Karrde and Cracken, Mara thought. Unlike much of Karrde's crew, she had never met Wessiri. Karrde had in the past mentioned that she would be a good intelligence partner for the Smugglers' Alliance, but beyond a few offhand mentions of her being a thorn in Ysanne Isard's side, Mara had no mental picture of her. She envisioned an odd mix of Cracken and Isard, middle-aged, hard-bitten and wearing a blaster-resistant nerfhide jacket. Mara wondered if she had kept her old CorSec badge.
Cracken examined Karrde for a moment, as if searching for a sign of some nefarious plot. He apparently didn't find one. "I'll consider it."
Leia looked between the three of them, her gaze lingering on Cracken and Karrde. "Will this arrangement work then?" she asked. "I believe Master Trader Karrde and I have already worked out most of the particulars for the Smuggler's Alliance's obligations as a transport organization and the New Republic's for maintenance and escort. If you two agree that we have here the foundations for the intelligence side as well, then I will begin drawing up the final contract."
"You will ask Agent Wessiri if she will take the position?" Karrde pressed Cracken, apparently intent on securing all the commitments he could with the momentum he had.
"I will."
"And if she says yes, you will give her the position?"
Cracken hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. "Yes, I will," he repeated. Karrde glanced at Mara, but she sensed no deception from the General and gave Karrde the barest of nods.
"And if she says no, then you and I will work together to find another suitable candidate?" Karrde pressed.
"I'm sure we can find someone in NRI you will approve of in that eventuality."
Karrde turned to Leia. "If you would put that on the record, Councilor, then I am satisfied with the preliminary arrangement." He looked at Mara. "Do you have anything to add, Mara?"
"No."
"Excellent," Leia said with obvious satisfaction, making a few notations on her datapad, then hitting a few buttons on her computer. She placed the datapad down on her wooden desk. "I will run the agreement by Mon Mothma and the Inner Council at the meeting tomorrow, but I'm not expecting any difficulties there either." She offered Karrde a thin smile. "Fey'lya does not much care for you, Talon, but I don't believe he wants to make an overt enemy of you either." She offered him a small, almost teasing smile. "Yet."
"How Borsk Fey'lya feels about me is his business, not mine, Councilor," Karrde replied coolly. "Mara, shall we return to the Wild Karrde?"
"Actually, I was hoping Mara would stay for a bit," Leia put in quickly. "It's not business related," she assured them both, "I'd like her help with a personal matter."
Mara wasn't sure if that made her more or less concerned. More, she decided. Definitely more.
"Mara?" Karrde asked.
She hesitated only for a moment. "I can stay."
"All right," Karrde said. "Then, General, perhaps you'd be willing to accompany me for a meal. We could discuss the details of the arrangement between the Smuggler's Alliance and NRI."
Cracken sighed. "Very well. I know a place that's secure."
Karrde offered Leia the slightest bow of his head. "Councilor, it's been a pleasure as always."
Leia smiled back. "Master Trader Karrde," she acknowledged smoothly. The tone was polite and friendly—and also a clear dismissal. Karrde and Cracken glanced at each other, then Karrde turned to exit, his gaze meeting Mara's as he did. As his second-in-command, especially over the last few months, they'd worked hard on their non-verbal communication, and she could read him perfectly. Good luck, his expression said.
The Imperial Palace was replete with small hideaways, and the one that Cracken brought Karrde to was smaller than most. Tucked away at the end of one of the Palace's long, isolated office hallways, Karrde got the distinct sensation that he was being watched. Glancing around at the isolated tables and seemingly distracted diners, he suspected that he had been lured into the heart of New Republic Intelligence. He wouldn't be surprised if everyone there, from the servers on up, was in Cracken's employ.
The General settled them into a booth and drew a screen across the opening. Cracken then placed a small device in the middle of the table and activated it, then leaned back in his chair, watching Karrde suspiciously. "I assume this isn't about the Smugglers' Alliance," he said calmly.
"Not directly," Karrde admitted. "I wanted to volunteer my services."
One of Cracken's greying eyebrows lifted. He crossed one leg over the other casually, his gaze steady on Karrde. "Volunteer?"
"Free of charge," Karrde promised.
"And what, do tell, is so important to Talon Karrde that he's willing to volunteer his services free of charge to the head of New Republic Intelligence?"
"I want to do what I can to help the New Republic liberate Ukio from the Empire," Karrde replied, his tone calm.
That surprised Cracken, whose expression narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
Karrde smiled. In this particular case, he knew, honesty was the best policy. Besides, once Cracken heard what he had to offer, the General would have no choice but to play. "I owe it to a friend."
Cracken waved his hand. "Go on."
"Samuel Tomas Gillespee," Karrde continued. "An… old friend of mine. He has been instrumental in helping me bring together the Smugglers' Alliance, and keep it together. Those who do not trust me, trust him." Karrde glanced around, checking to see if anyone was being obvious about observing them; no one was. "Gillespee owns land on Ukio. His retirement estate, in fact. He lost it when the Empire occupied the planet during the Thrawn campaign. I can think of no better way of repaying him for all he has done than seeing it restored to him."
"And what do you think you can do to help?" Cracken asked slowly.
Karrde didn't answer. The waiter brought their meals and both men went quiet as the excellent-looking platters were placed in front of them. Karrde took a bite and was surprised at how good it tasted—surprised, and slightly suspicious. "I suppose every meal here comes with a free listening device?" he asked.
Cracken's face offered the ghost of a smile. "On the contrary, Karrde. This is the only place in the Palace you can be assured it does not."
"Ah," Karrde nodded. That made sense, then. This wasn't just a normal hideaway, it was NRI's cafeteria. The food was good enough that the intelligence agents wouldn't be tempted to eat off campus, and no doubt every single employee, not to mention the entire supply chain, was kept both well-paid and off-book. That Cracken would take him here was curious—it suggested that he was more trusted than Cracken had let on. Or that Cracken wanted him to think he was.
It didn't really matter, but these games could be quite fun.
"In that case," Karrde continued, forking another bite of the meal before leaning back casually in the chair, which was quite comfortable, "I believe that Mara and I have a lead on an item that the New Republic will very much wish to acquire."
"A lead? From where?" Cracken's tone was challenging, but there was that telltale tightening of his back and sharpening of his gaze which betrayed his sudden interest.
"A disgruntled employee of Rendili StarDrive, as it happens," Karrde said, taking a sip of his drink. He placed the glass down with a soft clink, then lifted his eyes to Cracken. He knew the General didn't trust him, not really, and Karrde didn't blame him. But Karrde had chosen to throw in with the New Republic, and that meant there was no longer any room for half-measures. The marriage between the Smugglers' Alliance and the New Republic was the future of the Fringe, he was certain of it.
After all, if it was not the future of the Fringe, then Karrde himself had no future to speak of.
For all the importance of the shipping relationship he'd spent the morning negotiating with Leia and Winter, it was the intelligence side that he truly cared about. And that meant he had to win over one General Airen Cracken. It was important that Karrde present him with an appropriate dowry, to cement their working relationship.
"And what item did this disgruntled employee offer you?" Cracken asked, allowing Karrde to continue. Karrde appreciated that—spooks, more than most, knew the vital importance of proper presentation.
He lowered his voice and leaned in close. He waited for the General to lean towards him in return. "The key to Ukio, General Cracken," he promised, smiling smugly.
His explanation was short, but it did not need to be long. By the end of the first sentence, Cracken's normally staid composure had broken—only for a moment, but that was moment enough. By the end of the second, Cracken was leaning back in his own chair, an expression of amused astonishment on his face.
By the end of the third, Karrde lifted his glass back up off the table and offered it for a toast. "All I ask is for Gillespee to get his land back."
Cracken laughed. "And you'll never let us forget it, will you."
Karrde smiled. "Of course not. I am a businessman, General. I always pay my debts, but I also always make sure I'm paid what I'm owed."