Chapter Four

Holomag journalists.

Disgusting, conniving, meddling scum. Scourge of the galaxy.

Why'd it have to be holomag journalists?

Jag sighed. Because Bolis Island was hosting a celebrity wedding, of course. And not just any famous individuals, either. The daughter of perhaps the greatest celebrity couple in a century. The son of one of the most successful holostars of all time – who then, at the height of the Emperor's reign and the pinnacle of her own career, had disappeared into seclusion for decades.

This wedding was the stuff of legend.

Every holomag journalist who could possibly make it to Maramere would be here, in hopes of catching just the right holocap or acquiring just the right salacious tidbit. All to feed the public's infinite appetite for rumor and gossip about the galaxy's most powerful and notorious figures. All to line their own pockets with the profit to be made from the perfect scoop.

Jag bestowed an inward blessing upon Bolis Island's designers for their creation of the offsite berthing terminal. He was certain that never before had their decision been so thoroughly vindicated. The paparazzi were here, certainly, but they would get no closer to the resort itself. This wedding – this event – would be transmitted to the galaxy only by the professional reporting of a trio of renowned, respected Holonet correspondents his father had personally selected.

Legendary weddings, after all, were also news.

Fortunately, as legends go, Jagged Fel himself was merely a minor war hero of some marginal consequence, more prominent in the previous galaxy-spanning war than the most recent one. Absent from the galactic stage for nearly five years. Then thrust back into politics at the swift end to the war, overshadowed by the defeat of Jacen Solo and the rise of Admiral Daala.

Jag was known, all right, but he wasn't truly famous.

Which made his attempt to move his way through the bustling berthing terminal far easier than he initially had expected. A slim overcoat was enough to conceal his uniform, and a plain informal cap was enough to take his appearance totally out of character. Most of the arriving wedding guests, by contrast, did nothing to conceal their identities. There was little reason to bother. Although the official guest list was not public information, anyone with knowledge of the families involved or a rudimentary sense of galactic politics would have correctly guessed large sections of it anyway, leaving little mystery about who would be arriving here over the next day and a half. And of course some guests downright reveled in the spectacle, posing for the cameras and granting interviews as though this whole event was really about them. Right now, Jag was perfectly happy to grant them their narcissism and vanity. They were better cover for his passage through the terminal than any disguise could ever be.

Besides, no one – not even the paparazzi – could have expected the groom of the moment to be here. He would be ensconced at the resort, preparing nonstop for the role of a lifetime in the wedding of the decade. Not at this boring place, heading off to argue with bureaucrats and security agents over a simple –

"Hey! Jag!"

The male voice had cut through the murmur of the crowd like a knife through fizz pudding.

He thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn't quite place it. He stopped in place, scanning the bustling throng of guests, bodyguards, porters, service staff, and holomag journalists.

"Over here!"

That time the sound drew his focus, and he turned to see a pair of familiar faces grinning broadly as the man and his son pressed their way toward him. No wonder he hadn't picked them out before – they were wearing sharp civilian clothes, not Jedi robes. Jag headed in their direction, and moments later they were shaking hands.

"Congratulations, Jag," said Luke.

"Great to see you again," Ben added.

Jag smiled. "Thanks. And likewise."

A plaintive call echoed through the crowd. "Master Luke! Wait for us!"

Now that voice was unmistakable. Jag grinned. "When he didn't show up with Han and Leia, I was beginning to wonder where Threepio had run off to."

Luke affected a beleaguered expression. "Yes. I'm afraid we've had custody recently."

The three of them turned to see the golden protocol droid amble up to them. Right on his heels, as usual, was his blue-and-white astromech counterpart. Artoo warbled a greeting. "I agree," Threepio said. "It is a great pleasure to see you again, Master Jagged."

"Good to see you two, too." Jag looked back at Luke and Ben. "There's a repulsorsurfing excursion over the reefs that leaves in about an hour. A large group is going: Wedge's family, Tycho and Winter, Wyn and Cem, Lando… And Han and my father will definitely be there. It's their excuse to be as far away as possible for Jaina's meeting with the dressmaker."

Luke laughed. Ben didn't seem to quite get the humor. Luke patted him on the shoulder. "Trust me, you'll understand when you're older."

Ben shrugged. "Sounds like fun. But what about you?"

"Well, I'd certainly like to go, and I'm hoping to be back in time." Jag scowled, then sighed. "But it seems my attempt to have a surprise for Jaina delivered in time for the wedding has hit some kind of massive bureaucratic snag with Imperial security. So I'm off to deal with that first."

"Love to help," Luke said, flashing a sly grin, "but something tells me ISS would be none too pleased to have me show up."

Jag nodded. "The lightsaber might be helpful, though."

"Master Jagged," said Threepio, "if I might interrupt?"

Tempted as he was to say, No, Jag held his tongue. "Yes, Threepio?"

"While protocol is my primary specialty, bureaucracy is a significant component of one of my secondary subprograms. Mistress Leia had it installed during her days as Chief of State, and I have always made sure to keep it updated with the most current available –"

"Get to the point, Threepio," said Ben.

"Oh my, yes." The droid gestured with his hands. "Imperial bureaucratic regulations are included in my databanks, of course. So perhaps it would be prudent to have me accompany Master Jagged to assist him with his problem."

Again Jag had to fight back the words Thanks but no thanks rising to his lips. He had to admit Threepio had a point. It was a reluctant admission – very reluctant, in fact – but Jag just had a feeling he was going to need all the help he could get on this one. So he suppressed his inward flinch and said, "Actually, that's a great idea, Threepio. I would really appreciate your help."

"It would be my pleasure," the protocol droid said.

Artoo beeped and blooped.

"You might as well," Luke replied. "There's nothing we'll need your help for the next few hours."

"Good plan," Ben said, glancing at the large chrono high on the far wall. "We'd better get moving if we want to get over there and checked in before the excursion leaves." Ben hefted both of their travel bags and started toward the exit.

Luke winked at Jag. "Impatience runs in the family."

Jag laughed. "Tell me about it."

Luke laughed too, and waved a farewell. "See you soon."

Jag nodded, and waved in return. Then he turned to the droids. "All right. Let's go do this."

A minute later they reached the front door to the massive suite the ISS had rented out for its temporary command center. The young attaché from the night before was waiting for him at sharp attention.

Jag tugged off the cap and motioned the attaché to follow him inside. Once the door closed behind them, he removed his coat. Without a word, the attaché took them from him. Jag looked around the small front room. ISS hadn't even bothered to set up a greeting area or post a receptionist. "Who do I need to see?"

"This way, sir."

Following the attaché, Jag decided not to remark on the fact that the young man hadn't actually answered his question. Whatever it signified, it probably wasn't a good sign.

Behind him, Artoo whonked. Jag didn't need a translator to get the meaning. "Yeah," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "I noticed."

Along the corridor they passed several small offices to either side, each bustling with security agents and filled with all manner of datapads and computer stations. From the looks of it, ISS was monitoring every cough and sneeze on Bolis Island.

Finally they reached a closed door. To the smooth surface someone had affixed a handwritten flimsi. It read: LEGAL DEPARTMENT.

"Oh great," Jag said. "Lawyers."

The attaché gave a chagrined smile. "Worse, I'm afraid."

Jag raised a brow. "Worse?"

The door opened and they entered. The small room was empty. Plain white walls, dull tile floors. Not even a chair. A few meters across the room was drab gray counter and a single open portal in the wall behind it.

On his way out the door they'd entered, the attaché indicated the counter. "Good luck, sir."

Jag scowled. This was not good at all. He approached the counter, but found no bell or buzzer. So he simply called out, "Hello?"

"One moment, please," came a bland robotic voice from somewhere beyond the portal.

"Ah," Jag muttered. "Worse."

A few seconds later a legal droid passed through the portal and took up position opposite Jag behind the counter. Without preamble it said, "How may I assist you?"

Jag explained who he was and why he was here.

The droid was not impressed. "I'm afraid expediting your delivery is impossible."

"Why is that?"

"Additional time is required to evaluate the safety of any biological material due to –"

"You can't be serious."

"I am not programmed to make jokes, sir."

"There's no danger. We're not talking poisonous vipers or assassin beetles, here."

"Nevertheless," the droid said, "regulations require additional time to evaluate the safety of any biolog–"

"Yes, you already explained that. How do I go about requesting a waiver?"

"Safety regulations are not subject to waivers, sir."

"Of course they are."

"No, they are not."

Jag fought the urge to punch the droid in the face. "All regulations have exceptions and waivers. That's just the way things work."

The droid's metallic visage could not perform facial expressions, but Jag was pretty sure the droid would have rolled its eyes if it could have. "Perhaps the regulations you are familiar with." Was that condescension in its voice? "But ISS regulations have no such features."

"That can't be right," Jag said. He looked behind him. "Threepio, see if you can reason with our friend Barrister Tin Can."

"Why yes, Master Jagged, of course."

Jag stalked away from the counter and tried not to listen while the protocol droid and the legal droid argued with each other like a pair of electronic auctioneers. That was the problem with droids. They possessed gigantic quantities of information – and not an iota of common sense. Or appreciation of nuance. Or judgment.

No wonder Jacen Solo had been able to stage a coup so easily. Legal droids had lots of answers, but rarely did they understand what was the right question to ask.

"Master Jagged?"

He spun his heel and strode back to Threepio. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid he is being rather stubborn."

"How's that?"

"I have suggested six provisions under which an exception possibly could be made to permit your delivery to be released immediately, but he refused to invoke any of them."

Jag turned to the legal droid. "And why is that, exactly?"

"I admit his arguments may be technically correct," the legal droid replied. "But my duty is to ensure the –"

"Your duty is to apply and interpret ISS regulations, is it not?"

"Yes."

"Then how is a technically correct legal argument not satisfactory to you?"

"My duty is to ensure the –"

"Listen here, laserbrain. I'm getting married in two days," Jag said, gesturing wildly in the general direction of the resort, "and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you interfere with the perfect wedding for my bride."

"Touching," the legal droid said. It was utterly impassive. If Jag didn't know better, he would have thought it was bored. "But my duty is to –"

Jag balled his fists. "To hell with your duty," he shouted, slamming them down on the counter as hard as he could. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"You're Jagged Fel. You already explained that."

It was a good thing Jag hadn't brought a blaster. "Yes, and that means I can have you deactivated and melted down with a single call to my father."

Behind him, Artoo emitted an electronic whimper. Not quite softly enough, Threepio said, "Oh, I'm sure he won't actually have him destroyed."

"The regulations of the ISS are not subject to summary revision, even by personal order of the Grand Moff," the legal droid said.

That was another problem with droids. They were much harder to intimidate than human beings.

"Yeah, and that would take too long, anyway," Jag said. He motioned to the droids and moved toward the door. "Come on, let's go. I should have known I'd just have to take matters into my own hands." Then he looked back over his shoulder at the legal droid. "I'll be back in an hour with my Mandalorian crushgaunts. We can discuss this matter further at that time."

He only got one more stride toward the door when the legal droid said, "Wait."

Jag glanced back but said nothing.

"The fourth provision C-3PO cited. On further consideration, perhaps it will enable me to release your delivery immediately after all."

"Oh?" Jag waved a hand in the direction of the counter. "Threepio, help our friend settle this promptly, will you?"

"I would be delighted, Master Jagged."

While the two droids prattled on again, Jag ran a hand over his face. He had forgotten what these kinds of Imperials could be like. In his youth, he'd been too young to really appreciate the differences between Bastion and Nirauan. After the Yuuzhan Vong war, his years in his father's service with the Chiss had only further blended the distinctions in his mind. And since Tenupe, he'd become used to being on his own. But now he was deep in the midst of unreconstructed Bastion Imperials, and would be for the foreseeable future – if not the rest of his life. This was going to take some getting used to.

Especially since, if Jag were truly honest with himself, he'd never quite been the same since those heady days on Borleias, and the missions that followed, all those years ago. Once you went Rebel, you never went back.

Artoo wheeled up beside him and gave an optimistic-sounding series of beeps and whistles.

Jag didn't really understand, but he smiled anyway. Soon enough he would be on his way, surprise delivery in hand. Problem solved.

He smiled again. If he'd fixed this, everything would be okay. This was a wedding on Bolis Island, not some crazy starfighter mission against impossible odds. After this, everything else was going to be smooth and uneventful. He could just feel it.