Chapter 46: Gavin Azi'skar
Thellus Asteroid, Dressel System
"How is he?" Azi'skar asked.
"Still in a coma," Neris Oc'skar answered, fur twirling unhappily.
Klaes Oc'skar had been in the Agkaworza 'Yobod Hospital since the attack. Now, he had been in a coma for over a week. The doctors told Azi'skar that Neris and the kids had been there to visit him every day. Today, with schools re-opening, Neris was at his side alone.
How could I have missed the connection? Azi'skar wondered to himself. He stared down at Klaes who appeared to be sleeping serenely. Shidar said there were Mandalorians… We were hosting an auction where Mandalorian armour being sold. Sighing despondently, Azi'skar's fur swirled guiltily.
"Not your fault, Grum," Neris sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder.
You have no idea, Azi'skar thought glumly. Shidar told me… Shidar! Shtak. Biggest loose end in the kriffing universe.
o.o.o.o.o
Now for tying up that loose end…
"Grum Azi'skar, you want me to hire a prostitute to be one of my accountants?!" Aliz Tamari, the human mayor of Thellus, was incredulous. If humans could snarl like Bothans, she would have snarled.
Well, when you put it that way, it does sound stupid, but— "Yes," Azi'skar said firmly. "I am sure she can do basic math."
"Basic math?!" Tamari objected in a raised voice, her holopresence on Azi'skar's desk appeared increasingly flustered.
Azi'skar responded with a dismissive Spacer gesture, scoffing. "Don't most accountants use software programs nowadays? Basic math is all she needs."
"Grum, why don't you ask her to be your accountantthen if you are so certain it's a good idea?"
Good question. Azi'skar hmm'd to himself, fur twitching with uncertainty. "Interesting idea…"
Mayor Tamari's head jerked back in surprise, clearly thinking Azi'skar had gone completely senile.
o.o.o.o.o
Azi'skar stood alone in the doorway of Shidar's apartment. With shortages in personnel everywhere on the station, and the added security of thousands of Botha'ahir and Bothawui troops, the Grum of Clan Askar found himself venturing out without security more often.
"Accountant?!" Shidar yelped, even more surprised than Mayor Tamari had been. Her fur swirled nervously.
"Yes," Azi'skar growled impatiently. He almost drooled when, for a moment, he focused on her wide tasty-coloured eyes.
"Esh this… Esh this about the Mandalorians?" she asked, fur swirling with suspicion.
Azi'skar shook his head, focusing again. Kriff she's not… not a total moron. His fur swirled nervously for a moment, then stopped. Does she know how badly she can hurt me? I hope not.
The Grum of Clan Askar had expected her to be surprised, perhaps excited, but certainly not to connect the dots. If those stupid cops hadn't been laughing so hard, maybe I would have seen her intelligence. "Kiz," he admitted unable to hide his surprise. "Yes, it has somethin' to do with that."
Shidar paused, biting her tongue thoughtfully for a moment. "How much does it pay?"
"34,000 Zav a year, with the—"
"—34,000!" Shidar yipped excitedly, then coughed. "Grum," she added in a respectful tone. "But I don't know how to be an accountant."
"You will be on a team," Azi'skar said, "and I am sure you'll figure it out." He glanced nervously down the hallway, as if afraid other Bothans or perhaps Thellus humans were eavesdropping.
Shidar's fur danced with excitement. "Wait… Grav'shatrn is an hour away?"
"Yes," Azi'skar growled impatiently. "You will be relocating, of course."
o.o.o.o.o
The image of Mok Tarkin was burned into Azi'skar's mind. When he was not thinking of other issues, tying up loose ends, he was thinking of that man. That man who had personally participated in the attack.
Minutes before Liska Gyar'trek was assassinated, she had shown Azi'skar the telemetry captured by the Ovesk. It's last transmission prior to being destroyed. On Gyar'trek's datapad were the faces of seven human pilots, not even wearing masks as they launched this attack on Clan Otrek's flagship. Images of their faces, crystal clear. There was no doubt—the Tarkin's were behind this. At least, some of them were, Azi'skar told himself more cautiously.
Nearly twenty-five years earlier, shortly after Azi'skar left the pirate life, shortly after he became respectable (by some sense of the word at least), he and Liska had fought side by side with Mok and dozens of other Tarkins.
Yet, now the Tarkins had killed thousands of Bothans over stock market manipulation. Thousands of his own people. His own Clan. Two of his friends. The betrayal incensed Azi'skar. He hid it better than most Bothans would, but deep down, he felt furious. He could not wait for the he moment Clan Otrek gets their act together and lets him in on their response. For now, though, time to go to Bothawui.
o.o.o.o.o
Now on a transport to Bothawui-4, Azi'skar looked forward to showing his youngest son the Combined Clans floor. He was meeting as part of the Combine Clans' Urban Development Committee, where he was lobbying for additional funding for rebuilding the Agkaworza 'Yobod Distric. Funding in addition to the handsome sum Botha'ahir is already paying for their new little military post.
"Dad," Zoc whined, "don't understan' why you esh takin' me to Bothawui. And why can't Sanda and Q'afillip come?"
Azi'skar blinked incredulously as he took a sip of Kothtri. Maybe Zerir is right. When he finished the sip, he gulped it down and smacked his lips. "Zoc, I am taking you to the Combined Clans building. If you want to hold a wrench your whole life, then I won't endorse you as my successor, simple as that."
"Successor… This is about what you said before. I thought Zerir said—"
"—Zerir does not tell me who I appoint as my successor," Azi'skar snarled, fur on end. "She's a competent Captain, but very naïve when it comes to politics," he growled confidently. "Besides Zoc, everyone makes mistakes. You are only eighteen—"
"—Seventeen," Zoc interrupted, fur twitching with annoyance.
"I know," Azi'skar growled cautiously, "but you're almost eighteen."
o.o.o.o.o
Awaking to his buzzing datapad, Azi'skar sat up straight in his seat. He looked out the window. Outside, the gas giant of Bothawui loomed nearer and nearer as the passenger line swung closer into orbit. Huh. Already out of hyperspace. He looked down at his datapad, removing it from his jet-black Clan Leader Robes. It was a message in Bothese, in both Bothese Cyrillic and High Galactic:
"Agkanota: Pam Grum Gavin Azi'skar, gin-oksa woks lo do yen 3-sk tshamer. Агканота: Пам Грум Гавин Ази'скар, гин-окса ўокс ли до ен А-ск тшамбэр." [Emergency: Clan Leader Gavin Azi'skar, please report to Chamber 3.]
Chamber 3… that's where the Diplomatic Security Committee meets. What do they want with Clan Askar?
"What is it dad?" Zoc asked.
"I guess I am showing you another committee."
"Which one?" Zoc yawned in a bored voice.
"The Diplomatic Security Committee," Azi'skar growled, fur swirling nervously. What could the twelve chiefs of the Diplomatic Security Corps and the Clan Leaders on that Council want with me? What did I do?!
"What do they do?" Zoc asked, then looked at Azi'skar's neck. "Why esh… Why esh you lookin' so nervous dad?"
o.o.o.o.o
"THIS IS AN ACT OF WAR!" yelped Voresh Koy'lya, the Clan Alya observer who represented all of the interests of the minor Clans of Krant, and members of larger Clans who made Krant their home.
Azi'skar's fur was flat as he entered Chamber 3. This is so bad.
It was one thing to intentionally commit an act of war and actually know what had been done. It was quite another to be dragged into a Combined Clans meeting on something—
"—ACT OF WAR?!" snarled Yuvik Lon'tannen, leader of Clan Tannen, his heterochromatic eyes flashing angrily. "CLAN AEAN IS HOLDING OUR PEOPLE HOSTAGE! YOU EXECUTED ONE OF OUR MARINES!"
Oh shtak, Azi'skar gasped in sudden realisation. The Spacer Coalition. I signed that treaty and now whenever Botha'ahir finds itself under attack, I am an ally.
"Clan Alya has done nothing!" Voresh yelped back, his fur flat at the accusation. "Our reports indicate that your Marine committed suicide! Is it Clan Aean's fault that you brainwash your people into committing suicide when captured? Your forces have injured one of their members, likely crippling him for life!"
Zoc's fur swirled nervously as he stepped into the room, looking at the furious members of the Diplomatic Corps and Clan Leaders seated around the round table.
Behind them, on the main viewer, was aerial footage of a green suburban scene. The drone footage panned amidst the colourful tiled cookie-cutter houses: smoking wreckage, nets strewn through trees, and one house which was, bafflingly, enshrouded in a net as if someone had caught it. There were also destroyed walkers are those walkers? Azi'skar wondered to himself. Kriff it. Kriff Clan Tannen. Kriff Clan Onel. Kriff Botha'ahir. What did those stupid dome heads do?
