Chapter 3
A/N: This chapter is one of my favorites; hopefully you'll enjoy it!
Thank you, Forever-Luke, Wings90, Cosmic Balance, and Arya of Ellesmera for reviewing this chapter :) Your reviews definitely made my week!
Ten minutes later, Minna Arcasite had everything under control. She reviewed her mental checklist. Skywalker secured, blasters and other deadly weapons within reach (hers, not his), and no water in sight. Okay. It was time to begin OIDS, also known as Operation Intimidate and Demoralize Skywalker.
Luke Skywalker actually wasn't looking very intimidating himself right now. Not only was he disarmed and bound, he was looking rather dazed. The drugs still hadn't completely worn off yet, nor were they likely to any time soon. He was also soaking wet (the glass had been almost full) with a large bruise was forming underneath his left eye from where Minna had struck him with her blaster. She didn't want to chance the possibility of a stun reacting badly with the drugs. Naturally, head trauma was much safer.
Minna decided to put OIDS into action. She stood in front of Skywalker and put on her best I-kill-candy-pink-pittens-without-a-second-glance-so-don't-mess-with-me glare. He gazed up at her, but didn't exactly look petrified with fear.
Hmmm . . . either the drugs were still interfering with the self-preservation part of his brain, or he got death threats a lot. She suspected it was probably both, hence the start of Operation Intimidate Skywalker.
"Skywalker," she hissed menacingly. "You're now my prisoner. If I see you so much as look at my blaster, I'm going to shoot you with it." Skywalker didn't dispute the fact. Minna reached into her pocket and took out a list with a piranha smirk. "Now, I know that you're my captive and entirely at my mercy, but that's no reason for you to be bored." Skywalker was starting to look nonplussed. "I made a fun list that I'm going to read to you. Maybe you'll have some suggestions for me?"
Skywalker was really beginning to look concerned now. He probably didn't love the idea of being in the clutches of an armed bounty hunter, but an armed bounty hunter psychopath could be worse. Much worse. Good, she wanted him as off balance as possible.
"This list is titled '100 reasons why it's better to bring your bounty back dead than alive.' Skywalker gave her an incredulous look, but Minna ignored him.
"Number one. Dead is better than alive because ammunition costs less than torture devices.
"Number two. Dead is better than alive because it's more moral to kill a prisoner than it is to bring him to Admiral Talinia.
"Number three. Dead is better than alive because it's more fun to blast sanctimonious Jedi into oblivion when you know they're actually going to stay there.
"Number four . . ."
The lights of Conference Room D-29 were dimmed slightly, reflecting the secretive nature of what was occurring inside. Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian were sitting at the table and plotting. Or to be more precise, Wes was plotting, and Hobbie was attempting to talk him out of it.
The first stage of Wes's plan was to win Hobbie over to his side. He was loudly reminiscing about the last prank he had conned Hobbie into helping him with, to reawaken the sparkling sense of fun that he knew was hiding under Hobbie's gloomy exterior. "What about last Corellian Fool's Day? That was great! Don't you remember the look on Cracken's face when the possessed gelmeat scuttled out of his Commenorian bolo-ball cap?"
Hobbie didn't look anywhere near convinced. He was quick to retort, "Well, don't you remember the look on Commander Skywalker's face, right before he assigned us three weeks of kitchen duty? And don't you remember that night we invited ourselves to have dinner with him, and he threatened to take away my favorite blaster if I didn't make you behave? I'm still worried that he's going to remember that threat."
With the decreased Imperial activity, Luke was able to re-take command of Rogue Squadron on occasional missions, when he was not busy doing mystical Jedi things.
Wes made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, Commander Skywalker can usually take a joke. Especially when it's not played on him. Besides, Wedge is in charge of the Rogues at the present. Wedge isn't dating Cracken's daughter right now, and he therefore is not as concerned about staying on Cracken's good side as Luke was. And by the way, that whole thing was obviously a biased and unjust abuse of authority."
Hobbie looked at him incredulously. "You're saying that Luke was abusing his authority by punishing us for tampering with a superior officer's personal possessions?"
Wes chose to ignore that question. "So, are you in?"
Hobbie still looked doubtful. "I don't know, Wes . . . who was the one calling Wedge Commander Straight-Corners? Do you really think that he's going to be lenient on us? And besides, do you think it's appropriate to be playing pranks when Luke's just been captured by Imperials?"
Wes gave Hobbie a patronizing stare. "Don't be ridiculous, Hobbie. I'm sure that Luke doesn't want all of the enjoyment to leach out of the world just because he's absent for a little while. And Commander Straight-Corners is only uncompromisingly rigid in important things. Wedge knows the value of fun as well as anyone else. Besides, Luke and Wedge hate Cracken. Why? He'll never let them go on leave. Doesn't that prove to you the veracity of what I'm saying? Besides, you're assuming we're going to get caught. Don't be such a Msstian fog."
Hobbie remained unyielding. "I didn't know that you knew what veracity meant. You have the emotional age of a six year old."
Wes was impressed. Hobbie was trying to stall him with an insult war? They were making progress. "I'm sorry, Hobbie, but that's not going to work." Wes gave a theatrical sigh. "You're either with me or against me."
Hobbie looked incredulous. "Haven't you been listening? I'm against this whole thing!" At least Hobbie wasn't threatening to tattle to Wedge yet.
Wes considered threatening Hobbie with the water blaster that he had stashed under the table, but he didn't trust Hobbie not to run off while he crawled under there. He tried one last time, with a wounded air. "Hobbie, I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, we might receive a small chastisement—" Hobbie snorted at that point— "IF we're caught, but if avoiding kitchen duty is all you care about, you'll never achieve any form of greatness."
Wes turned away. "Well, I'll leave you to wallow in the mundane drudgery you call life. Goodbye, Hobbie."
"But, Wes. . ." Wes turned back, raising an eyebrow. Hobbie looked torn.
Wedge Antilles chose that moment to walk though the door. Wes groaned, and Hobbie looked supremely relieved. It was already time for the Chief-of-State's meeting. Wes had no idea how holocrons worked or what Leia Organa Solo was going to do with hers, but she had ordered them to be there. All of them.
"Something wrong, Wes?" Wedge asked.
Wes replied sweetly, "Of course not, sir." Blast it, Wedge always ruined everything. Officers tended to.
Wedge looked more than a little bit disbelieving as he took a seat. "Are you sure?"
Wes adopted a tragic expression. "I just can't seem to hide anything from you, Commander Antilles. The truth is, my dear Aunt Eludia has Jervallsnick's Gland Disorder. Hobbie was just telling me that his grandmother died from it nine years ago."
His face changed from grief-stricken to reproachful as he looked hard at Hobbie. "Thank you, Hobbie. I really appreciate the comforting and encouraging words that you have chosen to share with me today."
Wedge seemed to buy that. Wes wondered how people as gullible as Commander Antilles (and come to think of it, Commander Skywalker before he had the Force) ever made it up the chain of command. But then, he also wondered how Cracken was so gullible as to leave his favorite bolo-ball cap out on his desk.
Wedge asked innocently, "Could you give me her HoloNet address? I would love to send her my condolences and well-wishes. Your family is my family, Wes." Oh. Maybe Wedge wasn't that stupid after all.
Wes was spared the necessity of an answer when the door opened again.
Booster and Corran appeared to be deeply involved in a heated argument about the freshwater use trends on Corvis Minor, of all things. Booster was forcefully jabbing the air as he ranted about icebergs, but Corran was disputing Booster's speech just as emphatically. Mirax looked at them in annoyance as she sat down across from Wedge. Booster and Corran sat on either side of her and continued to shoot death glares around her head.
A frowning Iella Wessiri wandered into view. Wes smirked as he saw Wedge sit up a little straighter. But his snickering was cut short. Wedge covertly shoved him off his chair (well, as covertly as was possible considering he was shoving someone off a chair) and offered it to Iella, who accepted it with a smile, while Wes scrambled to hide the water blaster.
He discreetly placed it under Hobbie's chair, then picked himself up and crawled out from under the table to come face to face with Han and Leia Organa Solo. Han gave Wes a strange look. You would almost think that he didn't see veteran X-Wing pilots skulking under furniture much.
For revenge on Wedge, Janson pulled over a chair and forcibly interposed it between Wedge and Iella. Wedge and Iella both scowled at Wes, but couldn't say anything.
Leia sat down at the head of the table, with Han at her immediate right. She held up the holocron. "Here's how it works. Only a Force-user can access it, but I can share the memory with all of you by touch. We're going see the viewpoint of a third-person observer, but we'll be aware of Luke's thoughts. Now, everybody has to hold hands."
Before he was sucked into the memory, Wes's last thought was that it all looked rather like some form of absurd séance.
On Drinn Loekai's base of operations, a ship called Lacrimosa, Luke Skywalker was waiting in a small lounge while one of Loekai's lieutenants gave him a background check—the most nerve-wracking part of any infiltration. Of course, the lieutenant wasn't checking for criminal activity but for government ties or other threatening connections as well as verification of basic paperwork.
To prepare for the mission, Luke had dyed his hair jet black and tinted his eyes metallic silver. His features were partially obscured by a complex geometric tattoo in gleaming emerald ink that wound its way down the left side of his face. He was also wearing a nerfhide leather vest that he suspected General Cracken had lifted from Han Solo's own wardrobe.
Of course, the real clincher was that everybody expected Luke to be more menacing. Amazing how much taller one tended to appear with an ignited lightsaber in hand.
The lieutenant returned. "Everything seems to be in order," he said, slightly grudgingly. This was certainly an odd one. Smuggler types weren't typically the ones so painfully eager to blast someone out the airlock for incorrect paperwork. "You can take up temporary quarters in room B-08 tonight. Someone will notify you tomorrow morning what time and where you'll have your interview." He paused, and added, "Go right out of that doorway and take a left at the second hallway."
Luke nodded briefly, and was about to step out of the room, when a woman came face to face with him. It was a person that he did not expect to see— Mirax Horn. He quickly rearranged his stunned expression into something less conspicuous, but not fast enough.
The lieutenant asked Luke, "Do you know her?" He sounded more puzzled than suspicious— so far.
Unfortunately, the only thing that popped into Luke's head was to hit on her. Corran was going to KILL him, Jedi Master or not. He gave Mirax an intense stare. "Are you from Iego? You must be an angel."
Mirax looked dumbstruck for a moment, and then beamed. "Maybe," she smiled suggestively, "You cuold come and figure it out . . ." Luke could have grinned. Mirax certainly was sharp.
The lieutenant looked pointedly at the ring on Mirax's finger. "Aren't you married?" he asked.
Mirax shot him a dirty look. "Mind your own business." She turned back to Luke, and they exited together.
As they were pulled back out of the memory, Janson saw Corran stand up, irate. "I can't believe Luke . . . Luke . . ." he sputtered.
Mirax gave him a quelling look. "We were acting, you know," she reminded him. "Remember when you kissed Erisi Dlarit to keep Kirtan Loor from noticing you?"
Corran looked back at her, shocked. "Luke kissed you?!"
"No! Well, maybe a few times, just to make sure his identity was safe . . ." At Corran's horrified look, she relented. "Of course he didn't."
Corran looked slightly mollified, but only slightly. "I kissed Erisi before I was dating you. How do you know about that, anyway?"
"Well, you weren't dating her at the time either. Winter told me."
Booster interrupted them. "Was this memory useful in any way?"
"Not yet," Leia admitted. "But the next one might tell us something important."
"How many are we planning on viewing?" Janson groaned.
Leia reached for the holocron. "We have time for at least a few more."
Luke Skywalker made his way back from Mirax Terrik's quarters with a smug smile on his face. The two of them hadn't done anything, of course (except talk) but it did add authenticity to his story of being a lowlife drug dealer. He happened to glance at his reflection off the shiny metal hallway, and gave up.
Luke was actually a very good spy, but his acting talents had pretty much three settings. They were called innocent and naive farm boy, straight-backed Commander, and serene Jedi. He had those three down cold. Unfortunately, none of them really fit this situation. But as it turned out, it didn't really matter. As Luke stepped around a bend in the hallway, he was forcibly jolted out of his thoughts by a shocking sight— even more shocking than seeing Mirax.
There was a slender cloaked form, perhaps five paces from Luke. It was having a whispered exchange with a hulking mass of nerfhide and muscle, unmistakable, even at profile, as Viin Nord. While it was odd enough to have seen #37 on the New Republic's Most Wanted list just ambling through the hallway, even at a smuggler base, that wasn't what shocked Luke most.
It was her!
She was turned away from him, but he knew. He didn't know her name, or exactly who she was, but he recognized her. There was that same fusion of ambiguity and purpose and not-quite-malice that made up her Force aura.
He had seen her dozens of times on Coruscant. Even her face, once. And he had known it was not chance. Her feelings weren't clear, but a great many of them had been directed towards him. What could she be doing there?
Before he had time to try and puzzle out an answer to that question, she stiffened and turned. She saw him and motioned hastily for said criminal bounty hunter to leave. He gave her a meaningful nod and Luke a long glance, then disappeared around a corner. The woman faced Luke. The dark lustrous fabric of her cloak draped in heavy folds around her face, concealing her features. But he knew it was her. And he knew she recognized him. His cover was blown.
Luke regained his senses and took those few quick steps toward her. Before he could see her face under the shadows of her cloak, she whirled and tried to flee. Luke caught her arm, but she yanked it from his grasp. "Who are you?" he yelled after her.
He received no response but the muffled clatter of rapidly fading footsteps