Chapter Six - Dejarik
Obi-Wan had spent his days since Chancellor Palpatine's rescue restless and uneasy. His thoughts were full of warring concerns and distractions— the stress of the war, Anakin's increasingly mysterious behavior, and his reunion with Sabé. Now, more than ever, the temptation to disappear inside their love was deathly acute. If not for the war...
But even that excuse was wearing thin. With every passing hour the war felt more and more like a fruitless exercise, a veneer for something more sinister. Obi-Wan spent long hours in deep meditation, tuning himself to the Force, straining to catch a glimpse of that dark, elusive something just out of his reach.
He heard the news that the king of the Naboo had been killed in a speeder bombing the same hour he received his orders from the Jedi Council. General Greivous had been spotted on Utapau. He was to depart within the day.
As soon as he could, he got a message to Sabé.
This time, he did not meet her at Dex's. The botanical enclave of Bimmissari was a favorite refuge of many of the Jedi, with endless squire kilometers of indoor gardens. Though he sensed her almost as soon as he arrived, it too him almost a full half hour of walking to find her.
She sat in a quiet, shadowed gondola, wearing a pale, sea green gown that clung delicately from her shoulders. Her hair hung loose in long, rich chestnut curls and he swallowed, feeling the old familiar ache of separation already rising inside. Her profile was troubled, not distraught, which surprised him a little.
He cleared his throat and she turned her head, a serene smile brightening her expression considerably. He hastened to her and embraced her.
"Are you sure we won't be seen here?"
"Reasonably. At this late hour, what small risk there is does not concern me. Sabé, I am sorry about your brother."
Her expression darkened again and she pulled away. "Do not grieve for Richard. He isn't dead."
"He isn't?"
Sabé sighed and went over to her bench again, where Obi-Wan joined her. "He sent an encrypted message to us only a few moments after the attack. It was embedded in the official communiqué about the attack itself. Not easy to find for most, but Dormé and I would recognize Yané's techniques anywhere if she wanted us to."
"What did it say?"
"That he expected this might happen. He wanted to test our intelligence on this terrorist organization that has been plaguing our family, and to encounter them on more even terms."
"So he used a body double."
Sabé nodded. She stood to her feet, agitated. "I want so badly to be angry with him. He knowingly sent a man to his possible death. But how can I be angry for that when Cordé and Versé died under nearly-identical circumstances three years ago? I bear no ill will against Padmé for that."
"Padmé's measures were a precaution," Obi-Wan said. "Richard's were a provocation. I am very sorry for it."
Sabé nodded. "That is the difference."
"What will he do now?"
"He will wait. He said that he does have plans in motion, but no more than that. I hope for the soldier's sake that those plans are successful."
She fell silent. Obi-Wan looked over at a violently orange roojah and regretted what he needed to say.
"You're leaving again," she said quietly. He turned to her in surprise.
She laughed softly, despite her sadness, and sat down beside him again. "There are more forms of perception than just the Force, Ben Kenobi. There is a war. You are a general. You weren't even supposed to be here right now." She reached up and touched his beard lightly. "Also, you have a terrible sabaac face."
"I know there was a reason I didn't care for that game."
"In that case I have a few Correllian friends I'll be sure not to introduce you to."
Obi-Wan's chuckle was fleeting. "They're sending me to Utapau. We have a lead on the location of Grievous."
"A good one, this time, I hope. Perhaps you and Anakin will be back sooner than you think."
"Anakin isn't coming."
Now it was Sabé's turn to be surprised. "I would have thought the Council would want him for such a crucial mission. He is their shining star, after all."
"More like a hurtling comet. His friendship with the Chancellor and his new duties will keep him here."
"And you don't care for that."
Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at her.
She shrugged. "I don't care for Palpatine either."
"He's very slippery. That much is certain. But I have no bearing on Anakin's choices anymore. I sometimes feel that I never did."
"I think you have, more than you know." She heaved a weary sigh and cast her gaze about, briefly looking for any unwanted company. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"I've half a mind to ask you to stay."
"You know I can't. If there's a chance this can end the war—"
"No. I didn't mean stay on Coruscant. I meant stay... wherever it is I might choose to stay tonight." She blushed slightly, looking down at her hands, which were fidgeting
"Ah." A foreign warmth— and not just a physical one— filled him at this implication "And what does the other half of your mind tell you?"
"That you and I each have a tradition to which we adhere and cherish."
"We would hardly be the first ones guilty of such an infraction," he said, amused. "Even within the confines of those traditions."
She smiled at him sadly. "But you are a true believer. I would not, in this dark time and place, rob the Jedi of such conviction."
He took her hand and kissed it. "I am honored," he said.
"I love you, Ben. Try not to die. And don't—" she added, holding up a finger to his lips, "—quote Master Yoda."
He smiled against her finger, and grasped her hand again. "In that case, I will not try to do this, either." He lowered her hand and claimed her mouth with his.
For a few hours— a few, fleeting moments— he would be happy.
The Royal Pistol was restaurant and lounge in the academic sector of Theed. Jessa was not surprised to find it so near the university, but she was a little surprised at how upscale the place seemed to be. Her prior experience with insurgents had not included warm lighting, pleasant music, and pristine countertops. She felt grossly underdressed— actually she felt plain gross, standing in dusty work boots on the richly-carpeted floor, and she wondered if scouting the place first and returning with more suitable attire would have been advised. But, she reflected, there really hadn't been any time, and anyway, she was supposed to be Jessa Kennich, right off the boat and rough around the edges. Tyré hadn't seemed to consider her clothing of any importance yesterday.
Nervously, Jessa shuffled around and tried not to fixate on her reflection in the large mirrors that surrounded the restaurant's foyer. It was quiet, being only midday. More than that, the aftereffects of a public terrorist attack had kept most people indoors today. Business in Theed had come almost to a standstill. The planet was in mourning for its beloved king.
Jessa was not in mourning. She wasn't sure she would have been anyway, but last evening when she'd finally gotten back to her cheap, staged accommodations, she'd received an encrypted, hand-delivered message that King Richard was not dead, and that how long he kept that fact hidden depended largely on her mission.
"So, no pressure," she muttered under her breath, still looking around.
Finally, the bartender came out from the back carrying a dusty bottle that he was wiping off with a cloth. He gave a start when he noticed Jessa standing there. "Good morning," he said cautiously, taking in her appearance. "May I help you?"
"I'm meeting someone. I'm not sure when she'll get here."
"All right." He finished dusting the bottle and placed it among some others in the bar. "Would you like to order something?"
"Do you have anything less than three creds?"
"No."
"Then I'll just wait, thanks."
The silence continued, awkward and a little bit dusty, until Jessa began to wonder if there was more than one Royal Pistol, or if she'd heard Tyré incorrectly the previous evening, or if she was simply being had. She was beginning to contemplate leaving and watching the restaurant from a safer distance, when finally, Tyré showed up.
Tyré matched the restaurant. In cool, sophisticated clothing— appropriately somber for the time of crisis— she looked very different than Jessa remembered her looking yesterday. Jess wondered if she was a student or a socialite.
"You came!" Tyré looked genuinely pleased to see her. "Jessa, isn't it? We have so much to talk about. Olaj, a bottle of the namana nectar, please. We'll be in the back." She didn't wait to see if the bartender would comply, but took Jessa firmly by the arm and guided her back into the depths of the restaurant.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Tyré said, as they took their places in opposite seats of a circular booth. "With the assassination yesterday, there's been so much going on. A lot of details to see to in my work and other various organizations. Social duties. You can imagine."
Jessa said nothing.
Tyré kept up a stream of senseless chatter until the bartender brought the drink she'd ordered and two small tumblers, and had walked far away again. After that, she didn't waste any time. "So," she began. "You said yesterday that you were involved in the anti-oligarchy movement on Commennor."
"With differing degrees of success, yes."
"What brings you to Naboo? Why were you at the rally yesterday?"
"I came to Naboo to track down an old lover. We used to set the world on fire together. When I got here, I found him up to his ears in cozy hypocrisy. I think I was just mad, so I wanted to scream at something."
"Who's your friend?" Tyré asked, pouring the golden-colored liquor into the two tumblers. She passed one to Jessa.
Jessa snorted and picked it up, swirling it around speculatively. "Metz. Ceidron Metz. I'm guessing you've heard of him."
Tyré gave no reaction. Jessa glanced over at her. The other woman was smiling at her in approval.
According to Richard Naberrie, erasing Larkin from Jessa's past had been considerably less difficult than erasing Ceidron, mostly because Jessa's life had been a lot... louder back when Ceidron had been in it. Their strategy, in the end, then, had been not to try and avoid Ceidron but to use him if they could. Her hope was that whoever she was dealing with would be put at ease by her open acknowledgement of her connection to the royal family. She was going to take Tyré's smirk as an affirmation that the gambit had paid off. Clearly, Tyré was not in the least surprised about what Jessa had just told her.
"Can I ask why I'm here?" she said, lowering her glass again without tasting it.
"Why did you come?"
Jessa shrugged. "Curiosity. I wanted to see what the rough underbelly of Naboo iconoclasm looked like." She gave a pointed look around. "I'm so glad I got to suffer through it. I've got to get back to Commenor, though. Thank you for inviting me." She nudged the glass back toward Tyré and began to scuttle out of the booth.
Tyré reached out and grabbed her sleeve. "Principles can be expensive," she said coolly, staring at the table. Then her eyes flicked dangerously up at Jessa. "What you saw yesterday was nothing. Gnats on a tusk-cat."
Warily, Jessa relaxed back into her seat. "You seem awfully dismissive of your friends."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. Their hearts are in the right place. They just don't have the means to really do anything."
"Then why were you with them?"
"Because it's my job to watch for potential. Like you." She leaned forward. "I won't lie. I've spent the better part of the evening using every resource at my disposal to learn about you, Jessa Kennich. And you are potential."
Jessa leaned forward. "Potential for what? And whom?"
"I represent an organization whose aim is a more politically equitable Naboo. Let's just leave it at that for now. We are finally beginning to make serious strides in changing the climate around here, but it would be easier if we could sway the general populace from their blind naivety. You have experience with that kind of thing. How strong are your principles, Jessa Kennich? Will you help us?"
"How much does it pay?"
Tyré frowned. "You sound like a mercenary."
"No, just a pragmatist. I like revolution as much as the next girl, but I don't have any family or friends here. I need a roof over my head and food on the table, don't I?"
"We'll see to it that you have friends."
Still, Jessa hesitated. She did not want to seem to eager.
Tyré leaned in again, intent. "I know you don't have anything left to go back to except some unpaid bills and a moldy flat. What have you got to lose?"
"Is there a chance I could get arrested? I've already done that once this trip."
"Yes."
"Well, at least you're honest." Jessa picked up her glass. "Fine," she said, tilting it meaningfully. "Insurgence it is."
Cloistered safely away in the secure underground bunker of Theed palace, Richard Naberrie kept close tabs on the stream of public news and private intelligence that poured in from the aftermath of the assassination attempt.
There were very few people who knew that Richard had not really been in that speeder. His intelligence team, his family, a handful of highly-trusted servants, and of course, Lady Nashira. The past two days, forced to spend down in the bowels of the palace this way, had been maddening.
The door opened, and Richard eagerly sprang to his feet. "Barris, Kal," he said, greeting the two men who entered together and bowed respectfully. "Any word?"
"We have received no word from Jessa since she told of her meeting this morning."
"Anything on the woman she's meeting with?"
"Using the security footage from the protest, we've identified her as Acsah Numan. Her family hails from the Oxon region. They're quite wealthy."
"She gave Jessa a pseudonym."
"Based on her appearance and conduct at the rally, she doesn't advertise that she comes from money."
"Or she's trying to hide something else."
At this point, Barris gave a subtle cough into his fist. "What is it?" Richard asked.
"Your Majesty, the queen has arrived." He stepped aside.
Yvenne took this as her cue to enter the room. "Yvenne," Richard said, dumbly.
She looked exhausted. "Hello, Richard."
"I—"
"What? You weren't expecting to see me? Don't you think it would be a little bit suspicious if the queen didn't return to Theed upon news of her husband's death?" She sat down heavily in the nearest chair and closed her eyes.
"Padmé is staying on Coruscant on the pretense of the security threat. I figured—"
"I wanted to be home, Richard."
He pressed his lips together, frustrated. Anything could have happened on that journey.
"You aren't happy to see me?"
"Of course," he said automatically. "And Sioned?"
"She's here too." Yvenne looked at Kal and Barris. "Leave us, please."
Both men glanced at Richard before nodding their respect and quietly leaving the room.
"What happened?" she asked quietly when they were alone. "How did you know to take precaution?"
"It was a gamble, based on some scanty intelligence reports and logical speculation."
"How many people are dead?"
"Four."
Yvenne gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Richard."
He rubbed his hands together and took a few uneasy steps away from the door, wishing there was as window to look out. "It may not be for nothing. I have— plans. If we're lucky, we can put this business behind us for good."
"Are you going to tell me about them?"
"I'm sorry, I can't. The fewer who know, the better."
She struggled to get to her feet, and he walked over to help her up. "I hope this baby is born soon," she said. Then, to his surprise, she embraced him.
It was awkward, with the bulge of the baby between them, and Richard tried not to let his surprise show. "I miss you," Yvenne said softly.
He frowned and pulled away slightly to look her in the face, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm right here," he said.
"No, you're not, Richard. You haven't been for a long time."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, as if gathering patience. Then she opened them again. "I hope your plans bear fruit, Richard. I too would like to put all of this behind us."
"Yvenne—"
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have fake funeral services to plan."
She leaned up and gave him a perfunctory kiss. Then, with one hand on her belly, she turned and left the room.
Richard stared after her in confusion, feeling hurt, though he couldn't understand why.
He was prevented from any further musings on the matter by Agent Kal rushing in. "Your Majesty, I have an update. Jessa is on the move."
Whoever Tyré worked for, they weren't quite so reckless as to utterly trust Jessa on her very first day. She was searched, blindfolded, tested for midichlorians, and taken for a long speeder ride that eventually went either underground or into the hills, judging by the sudden eclipse of daylight. She asked no questions and tried to remain calm, reflecting conversation she'd had three nights ago with a rather peculiar young woman named Yané.
Yané was a member of Agent Kal's intelligence team, and the head of logistics for the king's security. She was the least likely person Jessa would have imagined for such a role, an unpredictable combination of flightly and introvert.
In the training facility where King Richard's people had pounded and prepped her, Yané had presented Jessa with a small, slightly chilled box. Jessa opened it curiously, and then recoiled at the rancid smell wafting up from inside. The box was full of pasty-looking grub-like creatures.
"We've been saving these for just the right opportunity."
"Dare I ask what for?"
"They're a new species of snail recently catalogued on Jenwa. They give off a unique kind of radiation. Oh, don't worry— it's perfectly safe, perfectly subtle. Just ingest half of one each evening from now on, and if you get taken to a safe house or something, we'll be able to track you."
"I'm sorry— did you just say ingest?"
There was slightly more to the chemical and biological workings of the 'tracker slugs' than Yané's explanation had been able to provide, but all Jessa needed to know was that they would give her a chance of getting this mission finished more quickly. Then she could take Larkin, take the money, and go somewhere else. Somewhere new. Far away from Naboo and Commenor. If Ceidron didn't like it, well, she'd figure out what to do about that later.
After what seemed a little over an hour, the speeder began making more frequent turns and the people around Jessa began fidgeting more. She perked up slightly, assuming that they must be nearing their destination. Sure enough, about five minutes after that, the vehicle came to a smooth, precise stop.
"Finally," Tyré muttered. Jessa felt the other woman's weight shift, and a moment later, the hiss of the hatch release and a surprising breath of fresh air. "Take off her blindfold," Tyré instructed. Her weight shifted even further away, and then was gone altogether. Jessa blinked at the sunlight coming from outside the speeder, and scrambled out after Tyré, not bothering to look and see who had been on her other side.
The speeder was parked in a hangar of some kind. It was constructed mostly of painted steel and smooth duracrete, but there was a retractable portion of the roof that was letting in the sunlight. Tyré was already walking toward a ship of a sort that Jessa had never before seen. She wondered if Tyré and her companions would consider it suspicious if she asked about it. Maybe they would consider it more suspicious if she didn't.
She settled for natural curiosity. "I've never seen that model of ship before," she commented, memorizing as quickly as possible the basics of the vessel's design.
Tyré looked up at it apathetically. "It must not be common on Commenor," she said.
Jessa was impressed. There were a lot of things that were uncommon on Commenor. She had a sneaking suspicion that this vehicle wasn't common on Naboo either. "It's hyperspace capable," Tyré added.
Jessa raised her eyebrows, and the other woman laughed. "Oh, don't worry. We're not going that far. Please, get on board." Hoping that Yané's slugs could transmit radiation across a star system, Jessa followed her up the gangplank.
She was escorted to the passenger bay and left to sit quietly, alone. There were no viewports, so when the ship took off she had no way of knowing where they might be headed.
"Looks like they're headed for Keren," Yané said, following the blip on her sensor map religiously with her eyes.
Joppa and Desmé were leaning over her shoulders, equally transfixed. "So they take her on a merry speeder ride all through the capital and the countryside, and now they're leaving the region," Joppo summarized. He straightened and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "How very thorough."
"Where was it they took off from?" asked Desmé.
"A private hangar on Lord Veruna's estate."
"Veruna," she repeated. "Interesting. Was he on the list?" She turned to Joppa, questioning.
Joppa gave a cautious nod.
For the first time in a long time, Desmé smiled. "Maybe," she said, "maybe this is going to work."
"Let's hope so," Joppa said. "For the king's sake."
"And for Jessa's," Yané added quietly.
"I'll go inform his Majesty of the update."
Desmé stepped around Yané's chair and pulled out the one beside it. "Keren, Keren," she said, slumping in the seat and resuming the intense blip that was Jessa's presence aboard some ship. "What are they hiding in Keren?"
This time they traveled for almost three hours. When Jessa wasn't dozing, she was thinking about her daughter.
"I didn't sense that we broke atmosphere," she said when the ship finally landed and Tyré once again came to retrieve her. "I assume we're still on Naboo?"
"Yes. And now I'm going to have to blindfold you again. I'm sorry."
Jessa sighed. "Certainly."
Another hangar, another speeder. Another blind ride. This time, when they disembarked for what Jessa hoped would be the last time, they were in a low, cool garage, clearly underground.
Jessa followed Tyré. They were joined by their pilot, an expressionless man with dangerous eyes. Waiting for them at the private door inside the garage was a tall, beautiful young woman with dark hair. Tyré frowned when she saw her. "Why are you still here, Re—" she cut off before finishing the woman's name, glancing sideling at Jessa. "Aren't you supposed to be attending the king's funeral?"
"I'll be leaving within the hour," the woman said coolly. She favored Jessa with a dismissive glance. "Why did you bring her here? With Richard dead, we have other things to be moving forward with. I hardly think standard recruitment is a priority."
"I suppose that would be why our superiors are in charge and not you. The king's death opens a slew of opportunities, but you know another Naberrie is just going to step in and take his place. And she's still connected to the royal family."
"So am I," the pretty woman huffed.
"A lot of good that's done us. Can you move over, please? We've got a meeting."
Jessa took careful note of the mystery woman's features. If she was close to the royal family then maybe she could help identify her when she got back to Theed.
Tyré and the dangerous speeder pilot led her through a long tunnel and then into an underground residence of some kind, sparsely but richly furnished. "You'll be meeting with one of our cell leaders," Tyré explained once they got out of the echoing corridor. "He'll decide if he feels your potential contributions are worth further investment."
Jessa decided not to ask what might happen to her if she didn't pass muster. Her stomach clenched tightly. "All right."
"And since I have some other meetings to conduct, you'll be staying the night here. We'll take you back to Theed in the morning."
"All right."
"Here we are," said Tyré, stopping at a doorway and waving her hand over the entry console. "Good luck."
Jessa swallowed and stepped inside.
"Is that Lord Veruna's property as well?"
Captain Barris had now joined the observation party. He was staring fixedly at the "Jessa" dot, which had not moved in some time.
"It is. He was throwing a birthday celebration for his youngest granddaughter's coming out, but the festivities have been canceled due to the assassination. Most of those in attendance have been making their way to Theed for the funeral."
"And yet here's one transport vessel taking a would-be dissident in the opposite direction," Barris observed.
"Definitely grabs the attention," Joppa agreed.
"Is Lord Veruna there now?"
"No, sir. We confirmed that he arrived back in Theed this morning."
"What about you, Desmé? What have you got?"
"Well, like we told you, he definitely qualifies among those nobility who supervised the reconstruction of the palace after the siege. But apart from that, I can't find anything that jumps out at me. The income from his manufacturing operations has grown, but that's due to the war. What he doesn't spend on business he puts to his personal accounts, to reinvestment, or gives to charity. He gives a lot of money to charity."
"Start investigating his beneficiaries."
"Yes, sir."
"And Desmé?"
"Yes?"
"Cross-reference them with charitable giving from others on the palace reconstruction list."
"Yes, sir."
"Were we able to trace the ship that took Jessa to Keren?" Now the Captain turned to Yané.
"I've narrowed it down, but since it was a private flight and since they didn't break atmosphere, they weren't required to log the flight with any public agencies. I can put out requests to the private firms, but I'm afraid that might raise some flags if someone's looking over their shoulder."
The captain stood staring at the monitors for a long moment. Finally, "See if you can pull the data directly. Slice into their databases."
Yané nodded at him, eyes wide. "Yes, sir."
After another hesitant moment he added, "While you're at it, see if you can slice into Veruna's security. I want to know what's going on in there."
The man asked Jessa what felt like a thousand questions about her past. It was exhausting to stick to her story. She'd lost a semester of school due to a criminal investigation and a difficult pregnancy that had miscarried late in her term. She had not been able to reapply to the program. She had organized rallies, led protests, and smuggled weapons. Everything was true. Jessa just left out the fact that when it had come time to use those weapons she had thrown up worse than she had when she'd first been carrying Larkin.
How much did she hate the farce of democracy?
Enough to break the law. Enough to endanger her life.
What would she be willing to do for Naboo, that wasn't even her own planet?
Whatever they asked her to do. The planet was a desperate wasteland of blind, conforming minds.
What was in it for her?
A fresh start. Protection from the authorities on her homeworld. Gratification of her ideals.
She made sure to "preach" with the light of blind fervor in her eyes. Idealists were insane, after all. But their insanity was very useful to the kind of people that were testing her out. That much was easy to deduce.
"Kennich," the man finally said, leaning forward and crossing his hands on the tabletop in satisfaction. "I believe that Tyré was right. I believe we have use for you."
Jessa let out a breath that was equal parts satisfaction and relief. "Excellent. Thank you."
"Tomorrow we'll take you back to Theed. You'll still be making the trip anonymously. For your own protection, you understand."
"Of course."
"Once you're back in Theed, you'll go home for a few days and Tyré will contact you again and escort you to your safe house. Given your special circumstances, we'll see to setting up some lodging for you."
"I could just live at the safe house," she said. "I was planning on trying to find a job before, but I've got no other reason to be here now."
"A generous offer, but you would do well to maintain a pretense of an ordinary life here on Naboo. In fact, finding part time work isn't such a bad idea, but we can take care of that too. For now, I have work of my own to finish tonight, so I'll see that you're escorted to some quarters for the evening and I hope you'll rest comfortably here."
They stood to their feet. "Do you have any questions? Most of them I probably can't answer, but you never know."
"What do you call yourselves?"
He smiled. "After you've proven yourself, then we can tell you that."
A/N: Yeah... let's not talk about how long since I've updated. I hope you enjoyed the post! I have a few more in the buffer, so the story's not dead. Still resolved to finish it. It will happen slowly, that's all. :-)