"Horn Estate."

Myn scowled slightly at the clipped and excessively precise tones coming from the speaker. They reminded him of a time when he'd spoken this way himself – of a time he wanted to leave behind and never be reminded of. "Slane Transports, Sir," he said shaking off the ghosts of the past. "Delivery for Director Horn."

There was a moment of silence, presumably as the person on the other side of the com was running the name against a list of expected visitors. "I'm opening the gate now. Follow the lane." The connection was severed abruptly.

He shook his head at the apparent lack of manners of the upper crust's servants. Mustn't let my prejudices influence my behavior, he told himself sternly and powered up the old speeder his father had lent him. He waited for the olf-fashioned gate leaves to swing open and once the way was cleared he put his foot down on the accelerator pedal.
Rostek Horn's retirement home was surrounded by a surprisingly spacious estate. The narrow lane leading up to the central housing complex was lined with young Corellian Stone Oaks and wound itself through a picturesque park-like landscape of artificial gardens, even though most of them still seemed to be a work in progress. Neat gravel paths wound their way through young forest plantations, followed the banks of small ponds, crossed wooden bridges spanning creeks and led up to secluded pavilions.

This is going to be an impressive park when the hedges and trees will be all grown-up, he decided and cast a glance at a cluster of gardener droids which were planting colourful flowers in a number of geometrically-shaped beds.

The lane made one last turn around another of these oh-so-picturesque ponds and crossed what looked like an ancient stone bridge before opening into a small square in front of an impressive three-storied … Myn stared. 'House' didn't seem to be the apropriate term for the massive neo-classical edifice, but yet calling it a 'palace' didn't seem to be right, either. In his opinion a palace was a building of limitless arrogance, something that wanted to dominate and to make a show of its owner's economical assets. Rostek Horn's home was certainly impressive, but it radiated a humility that belied the size of the building. There was nothing flashy, nothing showy, nothing that said 'Look at me and how rich I am'. This humility, if not in size then in details, surprised him most. The social and economical elite of his home planet was known for a lot of things, but humility was not a term he'd have used in conjunction with this particular group of people.

The term 'oxymoron' comes to mind, he thought wryly as he sat down the speeder and opened the door. He came to face a man with severe features and average height who scrutinized him thoroughly and with barely disguised suspicion. The black suit with a razor-sharp collar and the white gloves provided a gross contrast to the man's stony features and haircut, both of which screamed military. Myn had the impression that someone had crammed an aging warrior, a tough man used to the hardships of the battlefield, into the foreign garments of a butler. Pity welled up because he could see the other man's discomfort even though he tried hard to hide it.

"You are obviously not Captain Slane," he said and Myn immediately recognized the clipped tones.

"Certainly not," he replied evenly, although he couldn't completely suppress the touch of dry amusement that wormed its way into his voice, and moved to open the speeder's cargo compartment where he'd stored the parcel. "I'm a friend of hers. Captain Slane had to attend to an urgent business matter and asked me to deliver the goods to Director Horn."

The man just stared at him for a moment, then he gave a curt nod and swiveled around on his heel. "Follow me," he barked and marched towards the main door which was already gaping wide open.

Myn matched his pace and entered the building, curious to see how a man like Rostek Horn lived. As he crossed the threshold he heard a barely audible chime and saw the black-clad man look down at a datapad. But then the surroundings captured his attention and he nearly gaped at the sight that greeted him.
He'd entered what he could only classify as a grandiose entrance hall. Columns of multi-coloured marble on both sides stemmed the weight of a broad balcony. Two winding stairs led up to the second of three floors, all polished marble and sparkling malachite, just like the spotlessly gleaming floor. The central element of the room, however, was laid into the floor - a large depiction of the old CorSec logo in black marble and red malachite. It was, as Myn noted with some bewilderment, one of the few decorative elements he could see. Other wealthy persons crammed all kinds of objets d'art into their homes, both to demonstrate real or perceived appreciations of art and their personal wealth, but he could see nothing of that kind - no paintings, no ancient vases, no sculptures. The only decoration visible in abundance were colourful flower arrangements which gave the room an aura of cheerful vitality.

Myn wondered at the impression the entrance hall had made on him. It's architecture was clearly designed to impress, to awe visitors with its grandness. It was impressive, no doubt about it, but yet its flowery adornments permeated a lust for life, almost like a mischievious twinkle of dry amusement in someone's eyes, that didn't match the architectural surroundings. Was that the motto of the house? Was the bulky edifice a collection of oxymorons designed to bewilder visitors? And what did that say about its owner?

He shook his head. He wasn't here to solve the apparent riddle that was Rostek Horn, former Chief of CorSec.

The man led him through the entrance hall and into a corridor that led to the back of the house. As he left the semi-darkness of the corridor and stepped out into the light Myn found himself in a medium-sized winter garden full of green plants and colourful flowers. Outside, behind the transparisteel viewport, a small garden was nestled to an old-fashioned brick wall that seemed to be much older than the house itself.

"Delivery for you, Sir," the black-clad man announced with a curt bow. "Courtesy of Slane Transports."

Myn concentrated on the third person in the winter garden and consciously stifled the impulse to snap to attention. He'd never met Rostek Horn before, but of course he'd known who he was. Former Chief of CorSec, aging but still powerful gray eminence of the Corellian political leadership caste, horticultural prodigy and - apparently - a bit of an eccentric. Horn was sitting in an old-fashioned cane chair reading a holozine on horticulture. He was dressed in rough gardener's pants and a baggy dark green shirt. Dirty work gloves lay on the low table right next to a mug with steaming caf and an assortment of pastries. He looked ... ordinary ... but when Horn's gaze met his own he could see the agile mind behind the grey eyes. He also noted how Horn's eyes widened in surprise for a split-second, but his self-control kicked in just as fast and he hid it behind a façade of cordiality.

"Ah," Horn said as he rose and a broad smile appeared on his face. "My Ithorian seeds and seedlings."

"Scan was clean," the butler announced and let the datapad slip into a pocket of his jacket. "No open or concealed weapons, Sir."

So that's what that chime was about, Myn thought wryly. Concealed weapons detector in the doorjamb.

Horn nodded. "Thank you, Tosruk. That'll be all for now."

Tosruk actually did snap to attention before he turned about and disappeared through the door. Myn watched him go, unknowingly sporting a look of pity. When he looked back at Rostek Horn he was surprised by the amused look in the older man's eyes.

"Charming fellow, isn't he?" Horn asked and let a lopsided grin stretch his wrinkled face. "I hope he didn't offend you."

Donos shook his head. "No, Sir. He was very … short with me, but that doesn't bother me."

"Very well." He looked at the parcel Myn was holding as if sizing it up. "I'm an old man, son, and my bones are creaking worse each day. Would you mind carrying that for me to the greenhouse?"

"No problem, Sir."

Horn nodded and motioned him to follow. A section of the transparisteel forming the outer wall of the winter garden shifted aside silently and the older man moved outside into yet another garden. This one, however, didn't have much in common with the formal gardens and flower beds he'd seen on the approach to the house. There was nothing decorative about it and several patches with various vegetables hinted at a more practical purpose. He didn't have much time to study this part of the estate more thoroughly, though. Horn waved his hand at a sensor pad and the door of the greenhouse swung wide open.

Myn entered and took a quick look around. As he'd expected he saw yet another mass of greenery, long lines of plant pots, a work table with console and and a collection of delicate instruments whose function he couldn't even begin to guess.

Horn gestured at the work table and closed the door behind him. "Put it down there."

Myn did as he'd been told. When he looked back at Horn, however, he felt a touch of unease creep into his senses at the scrutinizing look in the other man's eyes. "Captain Slane said you'd agreed on payment modalities beforehand," he said hoping that his unease wouldn't seep into his voice. "Is there anything else I can do for you Director Horn?"

"Indeed there is," Horn said and suddenly Donos had a premonition of impending doom. "There is really something I'd like to ask of you, Captain Donos."

Myn stiffened. "Sir?"

The older man chuckled. "Don't worry. I have this greenhouse swept for listening devices each day so your secret is safe. Your return to Corellia hasn't gone completely unnoticed, Captain. You have got guts and I admire that. There are some people here who would regard your previous affiliation as treason." His face was completely serious but there were undertones in his voice that suggested he found Myn's predicament somewhat amusing.

"But you aren't one of them."

One of Horn's eyebrows rose. "Why would you think so?"

Now it was Myn's turn to resort to irony. "A stalwart supporter of Palpatine's Empire wouldn't have sheltered the family of a Jedi."

Horn laughed again. "Touché, Captain." Then he sobered up and settled against a table with lines of pots. "But I am serious – I would like to ask a favor of you. And I have to apologize."

Myn just looked at him.

"I must admit an act of duplicity." He waved his hand at the parcel Myn had deposited on the work table. "These seeds and seedlings weren't as urgent as I made it out to Captain Slane. In fact … In fact I only placed the order for them, because I wanted to get a chance to talk to you."

Myn felt his eyes widen. "Me, Sir?"

"Yes." Horn sighed. "And since you have an obvious interest in keeping a low profile, and since the favor I want to ask of you is of sensitive nature, I had to find a way to do so without alerting certain people."

Donos felt the sense of doom growing to a hard knot of ice in his stomach. "What kind of favor is this?"

"It'll take a bit of explanation, so please bear with me, Captain, if I have to go far back in time." He crossed his arms and his eyes took on a far-away look. "It's been nearly thirty years since I walked into my office and was surprised by the news that Palpatine had ousted Fliry Vorru and had him shipped off to Kessel. Back then it came as a total surprise to all of us and the surprise was even greater when he made Dupas Thomree Diktat. Noone really understood why he was promoted while Vorru was flung into the galaxy's worst prison since we'd considered him to have been little more than Vorru's lackey. With hindsight, however, it becomes obvious that Thomree had supplied the Emperor with information on Vorru's activities and when Vorru had become too much of a nuisance Palpatine had struck."

"It strikes me that trying to plot against a Sith is asking for trouble," Myn remarked but despite his worries he felt his curiosity rear its head.

"At that time very few people knew of Palpatine's Force talents," Horn reminded him gently. "So the idea of scheming against the Emperor didn't have the aura of foolishness that it has today. Vorru tried it and got bitten so he served as an example for other people who might have thought they could take the Emperor's place." He shrugged. "Anyway, now Thomree was Dikat and had almost unlimited authority over the Corellian system as long as he stood loyally to Palpatine. That support, or rather the personal connection he seemed to have to the Emperor, was what kept some very influential people from moving against him. You need to understand this, Captain: Thomree had been a non-entity in the circles of power on Corellia before. He had no connections to the elite, no wealth to base his political career on and he most certainly didn't belong to the right social caste. 'What does that lowly middle-class scum do in our midst?' some of the upper crust said when Thomree wasn't present. But he was all too aware of the disdain the rich and powerful felt for him so he was keen to consolidate his position while setting up his own connections.
"As the years went by Thomree's position solidified both through his surprising political acumen and the multitude of deals he made with various people. On a personal level his reign has been a terrible tragedy for many people, most of which were either Rebels or at least sympathizers, who paid the ultimate price for their beliefs and ideals. He used Corellian and Imperial resources to ruthlessly hunt down and destroy any kind of opposition within the Corellian system both to secure his own position as well as to demonstrate his loyality to the Emperor who accorded him an unprecedented amount of autonomy within the Empire in return. And this has proven to be a blessing for the system, not without a lot of dark spots, but the bottom line is the Empire didn't put its nose into Corellian affairs unless they had a fundamental interest in them. This has made all kind of arrangements possible that avoided official Imperial policies."

"Such as sheltering the family of a Jedi Master."

"Among other things." Horn pinched the ridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "A more thorough Imperial scrutiny might have uncovered the heritage of my stepson and wife. But there were more such things, which I won't talk about for various reasons, all of which would have been impossible if the Imperial presence on Corellia had been any greater than it had been already." He opened his eyes again. "But there was one opponent Thomree couldn't conquer, not with all of his ruthlessness and aggressiveness or his underhandedness, and that opponent was age. He knew the nexu were just waiting for him to make a mistake or for the right circumstances, the right moment to make their move. So he made a decision that's been a very big surprise for everyone: He announced that another nobody was to take his place as Diktat and that nobody was Daclif Gallamby."

Myn winced. "I take that move hasn't made him any more popular with the elite."

Horn snorted. "You bet. They'd begun to joust for the pole position in the race for Thomree's succession when he dropped that little thermal detonator right into their midst. But despite having been poleaxed so harshly they couldn't do anything about it since the Emperor's favor was what kept the Diktat in power. And when Thomree died, quite unexpectedly and under circumstances which are still rather mysterious, that favor also included Daclif Gallamby. His rivals couldn't do anything but choke back their fury and wait.
"And then, suddenly, one of the pillars of the system that had worked so well crumbled. When Palpatine died at Endor the whole of the Corellian political caste was thrown for a loop. Nobody had an idea how to continue and for some weeks there was only chaos and confusion at the top. By and by, however, some people realized that they now had the chance to settle old grudges and remove that random parvenu from their midst. And," he said wryly, "take his place as Head of State, of course."

Donos crossed his arms as well and frowned. "But since Gallamby is still residing in the Governor's Palace I suppose something happened that thwarted these plans."

"Yes, Gallamby got lucky. Again. The Emperor's death had far-ranging effects across the whole galaxy but nowhere were these effects more drastic and more immediate than in his own Imperial Court. Palpatine had gathered numerous people around himself - the nobility of various Core Worlds, Admirals and Generals, political advisers, CEOs of the galaxy's largest companies and their families. And all of them had been orbiting around the single center of gravity that was the Emperor. With him gone a violent power struggle was inevitable since most of these people would have sold their siblings, parents and grandparents for more influence and power.
"Some very influential court members realized quickly that they'd become victims of the imminent outbreak of violence and so they decided to cut their losses and rescue not just their lives but also the considerable wealth they'd managed to amass. And since Corellia was drawing assets of the Imperial Navy at that time like a glowstick attracts Fireflares they decided to settle down here for they hoped the relative autonomy of the Corellian system would insulate them from the effects of the power struggle and prove to be a base from which the reconstruction of the Empire could be promoted." Horn let out a bark of dark laughter. "Of course the latter idea was quickly smothered in the infighting between the various factions in the Imperial Navy."

"So they made a deal with Gallamby to rescue their influence and wealth," Myn muttered as his mind was starting to discern a pattern in this complex net of schemes and dependencies. "They supported him against his rivals in exchange for his loyality to the Empire as an idea and a little distance to its management at that time."

Horn nodded. "Exactly. These newcomers were an unexpected influx into the landscape of Corellia's leadership and the considerable riches they brought along directly translated into political influence and therefor power. And once again the old elites were checkmated because they couldn't compete with the likes of the Yelanya Vandarvi, Rodrig Talesh or Parin Lias-Simms - not economically and not politically. But this time Gallamby used the backing he'd received to cleanse the planet of his rivals. A number of them are rotting in various prisons, some have been locked up in their own estates and have been placed under PSS guard and a few have been driven into exile. In the end Gallamby had effectively crippled any kind of opposition within the Corellian elite and had stabilized not only his rule but also the planet in a time of utter chaos. It did come at a price, though." Horn didn't bother to hide his contempt. "The Imps who came to Corellia were deeply scared of the Rebellion and wanted nothing better than to eradicate it. Lacking the ability to do so, however, they turned to the easiest and oldest solution mankind has to offer - they shut it out."

"How so?" Myn's forehead creased into a bewildered frown. "You mean they made Gallamby go even deeper into isolation than before?"

"Not quite." Horn chuckled at the look of utter incomprehension Donos sent his way. "It's much simpler but a lot more embarrassing. They simply decided to bury their heads in the sand and make all of the Corellian system do the same. They reasoned if they totally ignored the Rebellion it would ignore them, too. Out of sight, out of mind." He shrugged. "They certainly have enough money to spin themselves into a cocoon of self-deception. These people are living in a world where the Empire is still gloriously ruling the galaxy, where no discontent exists, where the Emperor's New Order has brought peace and love and harmony to the galaxy." His grey gaze drilled itself into Myn's eyes. "The price Gallamby paid was the almost total isolation of Corellia from the systems flocking to the Rebellion's and later the New Republic's banner. This doesn't mean just political issues such as diplomatic relations of any kind but more specifically economical restrictions. Trade with companies or planets within Republic space is not prohibited per se, but any contract between a Corellian company and a person or firm in Republic space is subject to approval of a special supervising board. And if the board members perceive a contract to provide the Republic with any kind of strategic advantage they can ban the company from signing that deal."

"And do they do it often? Refusing their authorization, I mean."

"No, not really." Horn looked contemplative for a moment, then he shook his head. "Not that I've heard of. But this reviewing nonsense is nothing but flexing of muscles and isn't the crux of the matter here. In fact companies below a certain annual revenue aren't even subject to it.
"The crux, Captain, is that the Corellian shipyards are prohibited to sell their products within Republic space at all. This means a large number of planets and systems, some of which had been regular and loyal customers for centuries, were suddenly lost when the law was announced. At first that was the matter of considerable controversies but a few cash injections at the right places lubed the gears and with the Empire being a reliable customer worries about loss of revenue quickly vanished into thin air. Until recently, that is, and this is also the reason why I wanted to talk to you."

Myn raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He didn't see where he could fit into all of this political hullabaloo.

Horn wrung his hands as if he couldn't find the words he needed to say. "Since the death of Grand Admiral Thrawn the imperial factions have begun fighting each other for supremacy. And orders for new ships, both from the Imperial Navy as well as private companies, have dropped by a good thirty percent in just six months. To make matters worse several sectors with thousands of systems have switched sides and are now members of the New Republic. As such they're effectively lost as customers. The shipbuilding companies themselves are threatened in their existence if it gets any worse. And since these yards are by far the largest employers on Corellia, we're talking about fifteen to twenty million jobs here, we're suddenly on the verge of a considerable economical crisis. Gallamby's afraid that a massive loss of jobs could spark a rebellion."

"Money and economical interests mixing with politics. Same old combination as always," Myn muttered darkly and grimaced. "But I still don't see where I do fit into all of this."

"I'm coming to that," Horn said and put on a placatory smile. "But before I do this I must ask you treat this with utmost discretion. You may, of course, discuss it with your family, but it must absolutely not get beyond this circle of people. If it did get out the damage could be far greater than any of us could possibly imagine. It could mean a civil war."

Dread bubbled up in Myn's stomach and boiled there like the molten lava in the heart of a volcano. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his voice still shook slightly as he said, "Understood, Sir."

"Very well then." Horn turned around and opened a drawer from which he pulled a nondescript datacard. He turned back to Myn and held it up for him to see. "Diktat Gallamby is very afraid of what a massive economical crisis could do to his rule. Not that I am a fan of him, far from it, but at the moment the alternatives to keeping him in power are far worse so I agreed to act as intermediate. As a result he's been toying with the idea of removing the trade restrictions and open up new avenues of trade with the New Republic. This, however, would not go down well with his imperial benefactors so he's kind of caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand he knows that he can't afford to let the shipbuilders go bancrupt as that would mean millions of unemployed and a rise of discontent but on the other hand he's afraid that the old imperial families could try to remove him if he deviated from the path they'd put him on. As a result he's trying to keep things under wraps for the time being and set up some non-official links to the New Republic in a deniable manner." He held out the datacard to Myn. "This contains a personal message to High Councilor Doman Beruss, representative of the exiled Corellians in the New Republic. It's encrypted and can only be accessed by her via iris scan and voice profile matching so don't attempt to open it or it will self-destruct. The favor I want to ask of you is to go to Coruscant and hand over this datacard personally, but without anyone noticing. If the press got wind of it Gallamby would deny any knowledge of this and denounce it as Rebel propaganda. And there would be consequences for you and your family."

Myn bristled and the dread turned into instant fury. "I didn't think you'd result to blackmailing, Director," he snarled. "And there I thought you'd be different perhaps. My mistake."

Horn held up both hands in a placatory gesture. "No, no. You've gotten this all wrong, Captain. Gallamby doesn't even know you and he doesn't know that I am asking you to be the messenger. And I don't think this is blackmail since you can say no to all of this. But please consider this: At the moment your return to Corellia hasn't been noticed by the wrong people and I have made sure that certain information won't be reaching them. But we don't know the future. All it takes is a case of dumb luck, a speeding ticket or maybe some bureaucratic form that lands on the wrong table, and you're suddenly getting the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of people. If you, however, do me this favor the Diktat would be indebted to you and if, for whatever reasons, you ran into trouble here because of your service with the New Republic he would have a very good reason to protect you."

Myn dithered. On the one hand the security he could gain by having the Corellian Diktat indebted to him was tempting for he was all too aware how vengeful humans, especially Imperials, could be but on the other hand the job wasn't particularly safe for he had to expose himself to potential scrutiny of New Republic Intelligence. Which would be dangerous for Kirney. Stuffed if you do, stuffed if you don't, he thought morosely and decided to play for time. Did he really want to get involved in this ... political mess? "I don't have a ship," he muttered but even to him it sounded like a lame excuse. "And using a commercial flight might attract exactly that kind of scrutiny you're trying to evade."

Horn didn't even hesitate. He'd obviously thought things through in advance. "I can provide you with an inconspicious Hermes-class Fast Courier registered to a Corellian rental agency."

"And what do I say when asked for the reason of my visit?"

Horn smiled. "I have a number of new creations and their DNA code I need to send to Galactic Association for Horticulture on Coruscant for patenting, anyway, so I could mandate Slane Transports."

Myn's shoulders slumped. "I don't know," he muttered. "It's ... I need to ... I have to …"

Horn moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Captain. Go home. Talk you your family. Sleep on it," he said gently and slipped the datacard into a pocket of his pants. "If you have an answer Captain Slane shall contact me and report problems with the payment. I'll arrange a meeting then."

Myn nodded as if in trance and remained in this detached state until he parked the speeder in his father's garage. Only then the enormity of what Horn had told him hit him and he felt his hands starting to shake. He put both of them flat atop the padded cover of the speeder's dashboard and rested his forehead on them. He stayed like this for a small eternity before he dared to leave the speeder and move into his parents's house.