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Chapter 6

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"How you feeling?"

Karin looked over at Corran through bleary eyes. "Like I got run over by a speeder," she mumbled, dropping onto the couch beside him with a moan. He head felt like her brain was going to pound through her skull.

"I'm not surprised." He paused. "You should have warned us you can't hold your liquor."

"Pilots are supposed to be able to," she murmured, her face flushing. "I didn't want you to think…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"Tycho doesn't drink," he replied. "Well, not much anyway. I've only seen him drunk once, I think, but it didn't take much."

"Well, I'll remember that and commiserate with him when I get the chance," she retorted a little too loudly, and winced. "What did I miss last night?"

"You don't want to know."

She twisted around to look up and Janson and regretted it instantly. Jumping up, she just barely made it to the refresher in time to empty the contents of her stomach.

A moment later, she felt a hand on her back, rubbing in slow circles. "You okay?"

She got to her feet shakily, letting him help her stand. "I will be," she murmured, turning on the water to rinse her mouth.

After a few minutes staring at her ashen face in the mirror, waiting until she was sure her stomach wasn't going to rebel again, she rejoined the men in the sitting room. "What did I miss?" she asked again.

"Other than you hitting on Corran?" Wes asked her, arching an eyebrow.

She glanced between them both. "I—" She pointed at Corran, feeling her face grow warm. "I didn't," she finally managed to say.

Corran glared at Janson for a second before looking back at her. "Don't worry about it," he said after a moment. "You were drunk…it's no big deal."

"What…what did I say?" She didn't remember this at all.

The Corellian shifted uncomfortably. "It doesn't matter. We have other, more important things to discuss."

Wes sat down on the recliner next to the sofa, arms crossed, lower lip pushed out. "Sure, go ahead and spoil all my fun."

Corran glowered. "I will, if you don't mind. You are, after all, the reason we have something else to talk about."

Karin glanced between them, confused, but at the same time glad that they'd moved on to a topic other than her drunken transgressions. "What else did I miss?"

"It's not my fault someone tried to kill the girl," Wes protested, indirectly answering her question. He reached a hand up and rubbed gingerly at the back of his neck and she noticed for the first time that a bacta patch was affixed to his neck.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

"He's fine," Corran said. "Someone took a shot at Minister Cesra's daughter last night, and Wes played hero."

"Do you know who?" she asked, her mortification from moments earlier all but forgotten.

Corran shook his head. "I plan on finding out, though."

"You're a fighter pilot, not a cop," Wes replied, shaking his head. "Let's not get into anything other than whatever it is we're already mixed up in."

"First of all, once a cop, always a cop," Corran retorted. "And second, it's a little late to not get involved, seeing as I'd bet a year's pay that Cesra's going to be watching every step you and I take – and because of us, every move Karin makes."

"Would you have rather I let them kill Alisse?" Wes shot back.

"I love how you're calling her by name," Corran muttered.

"Well, I'm sorry, but 'her,' 'the kid,' and 'the girl' were getting a little annoying!" Wes exclaimed.

"Would you two shut up!" Karin finally yelled, hands over her ears.

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Hobbie scowled at the note Lana had left on the table in the sitting room. She'd "gone out for a bit." It was the kind of message a wife would leave for her husband when she'd left to run a few errands. He had little doubt that her early morning jaunt was nearly so innocent.

He wondered idly where, exactly, she might have gone, and just what her current absence meant for his life expectancy. She'd probably run off to tell whoever the men were that had shot at Alisse Cesra that they had a new target – him.

He scrawled out a quick note on the flimsiplast pad emblazoned with the hotel's logo, and then grabbed his jacket – and his blaster – and left the room, heading for the front desk. He needed to talk to Wedge, and it couldn't wait until tonight.

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"I trust you've learned something," Alek said as he walked into his outer office. He avoided working in the Secretariat building when at all possible. This, his home office, was much more comfortable and less prone to needless, time-wasting interruptions.

"Yes, sir." Daraf followed him into the office and remained silent until the door slid shut behind him. "It's actually quite interesting."

"I haven't time for embellishments," Alek replied, irritated. He was a busy man, and he had better things to do than play guessing games – like find out who had tried to kill his daughter last night. "Who is he?"

"His name is Wes Janson. I had Jana slice into the New Republic database. He's a starfighter pilot, a major in—"

Alek cut him off. "Rogue Squadron. Yes, I know. I'm…quite familiar with their roster, one of them in particular." He frowned. "The fact that he's here, using a false name…he's here for a reason, and he's not alone. Get a recording of last night's events. I planned on reviewing it anyway, to see if I could find out who shot at Alisse, but I want to see if I recognize any faces."

"Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?"

Alek was about to shake his head "no" when a thought occurred to him. "Actually, yes. Contact Mr. Kesag. Give him no indication that you know who he really is, and offer him a job as Alisse's bodyguard. See to it that he accepts the offer."

"Sir, are you certain that that is wise? Do you really want to entrust Alisse's safety to this man?" Daraf's expression made his displeasure with the idea quite clear.

That was, however, one of the things Alek liked about this man – he did not hesitate to call him on any decision whose merit he doubted. Alek didn't always agree with his reservations, but he appreciated the opportunity for discourse. "Yes, I'm certain. He risked his own life last night to save hers, clearly without any thought of the possible consequences. I highly doubt he would put her in jeopardy. And I much prefer to have him where I can keep an eye on him."

He thought for a moment. "Move him here as soon as he agrees to take the job. Move his brother to the guesthouse, but I want Alon – Major Janson – in the room across from Alisse's. And get me that recording immediately." With that, he sat down, an indication to Daraf that they were finished for the time being.

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Walking down the back stairwell, Hobbie fingered the note, trying to decide how to get it to Wedge without Lana's multitude of spies picking up on it. He'd been careful to shield what he was doing from any camera when he'd written it out – sadly, this spy stuff seemed to be rubbing off on him – but he was almost positive she'd have someone watching the desk. Whatever mistake she'd made last night, she wasn't stupid and he wasn't about to underestimate her.

If anything, the events of last night had made him even more inclined to be careful around her. She was dangerous – he had no doubt of that. And she'd just made him a threat. He sighed. He'd just managed to get himself in even more trouble – and it wasn't even his own fault.

He saw a man wearing one of the hotel's uniform shirts and was hit by inspiration. Stopping the man in the doorway he said in a low voice, "I'm in a hurry, but do you think you could drop a message off at the desk for me for one of the other guests? Just so long as they get it in the next hour or two…" he trailed off.

"I can deliver it myself in about half an hour, sir," the man replied, a fake smile pasted on his face. "I have several stops to make."

"Thanks." Hobbie made a show of pulling several credcoins out of his pocket in the hopes that anyone watching him from a hidden camera or some such would think it was only money changing hands here, and slipped him the note and the tip. The fake smile disappeared almost instantly, to be replaced by a genuine one. No doubt he rarely got that much of a tip for anything.

"Thank you, sir," the man replied, pocketing the note and the coins.

Hobbie nodded to him and hurried on, to keep up the pretense of being in a rush.

Blast it. This spy stuff was wearing off on him.

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Lana kicked at the table leg, scowling. "How could I have been so stupid!" she exclaimed. "Force! I'm such an idiot!" She began pacing around the room.

"Calm down," Landis told her, seeing her wince as foot connected with the table. "This is very easily taken care of." He glanced pointedly down at the blaster he was cleaning.

She stopped mid-stride. "How? By putting him out of our misery?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Antilles would pull his people out in a second."

"I don't understand why we even need them here. It's more dangerous than helpful. Klivian was proving that before you all even left Corsucant."

"You know why we need them here," she said testily. "I want Hobbie where I can keep an eye on him until I have the proof I need."

"You just called him Hobbie." He elected not to point out – for the time being anyway – that Klivian was the one she really wanted here, and with him dead she'd have no need of the rest of Antilles' squadron.

She gave him a sharp look. "I did not," she protested, shaking her head stubbornly.

"Yes, you did. You called him by name." Landis tilted his head to one side. "Are you sure you can do this?" he asked gently.

"I…of course I am. It's nothing. He calls me Lana."

"He also doesn't know who you really are. Lana, we can get someone else in here if we need to. Cracken will understand. All things considered, he probably expects it."

"I'm fine. This…I have to do this, if for no other reason than my own satisfaction. I'm going to make him pay for what he did."

"You have considered that he's not going to want people to know what you're trying to find out, right? What do you think he's going to do when he realizes what you're really doing?"

"I've thought of that. I know what I'm doing, and I can handle him."

Landis shook his head but sighed. "You're the boss." There was no arguing with her when she got like this. He reholstered his blaster. "Back to work."

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"A gentleman asked me to deliver this to Mr. Aaltack," the bellman said, holding out a folded piece of flimsy.

"He's in the refresher," Inyri murmured, frowning. "Can you give it to me or do I need to get him?"

"No need," he said, placing it in her hand.

As she opened it, she reached into her pocket for money for a tip. Brewer's Mall, 1400. I'll find you. Frowning, she almost asked what the "gentleman" had looked like. But she remembered just in time that she there was a good chance that she wouldn't be able to recognize the description. That, and she didn't want to tip off whoever was watching them if this was from one of their squadmates. "Thank you." She handed him the coins, and then stepped back into the suite and closed the door.

She went and knocked on the refresher door, waiting until Wedge called for her to come in. Before saying anything, she shut the door, locking it, and turned on the sink and the shower. "Special delivery," she said softly, handing him the note.

Holding it at an angle that made it impossible for any cameras to see the words, he read it and frowned. "I don't know what that is," he murmured.

"Well, I think we'd better find out," she said. "Don't you?" She glanced at her chrono. "Two hours, twenty minutes," she told him.

Wedge made a face. "I hate Intel work."