Coruscant, Senate District
Day Four, early morning
The dead woman was curled on her right side on the marble floor, left arm thrown back at an unnatural angle. Beneath her right shoulder and arm were the shards of a porcelain teacup. As Commander Fox took off his helmet, he caught the scent of cold spiced tea, mixed with the faint tang of blood from the cuts inflicted by the shards.
"She was poisoned," a voice said, and Fox glanced up towards the door as Lieutenant Divo entered. "The test results aren't back yet, but I'm willing to bet she was killed with the same poison Hilt was."
"And you think that because she was associated with Hilt," guessed Fox.
"Hmm." Divo gave him an approving nod. "Yes. You've been doing your homework, I see. We'll make a detective out of you yet."
"Thank you, no," Fox said dryly. "I have enough to do running the CG and dealing with investigations that take place on Senate territory. As for this woman, I've seen her with Hilt before, taking notes for him. A secretary, I assume."
"One of two. I've sent someone to talk to the other secretary and warn her." Divo rocked back on his heels, folded his hands behind his back, and surveyed the room.
Fox followed the inspector's gaze to the porcelain shards scattered across the floor. "It must have been someone she trusted who killed her," he mused. "Or, she was so used to the serving staff around here that she didn't even think about who brought her the drink."
Divo stepped to one side to let the scene photographer slip past him. "I'm inclined to think it's the latter, but we'll see," he said. "In the meantime, I've got to find the motive."
"Did you talk to Senator Organa?"
"I did. And communicated with Hilt's home planet – um, ah . . . Taylos? Tellis?"
"Telos Five," one of his aides said, from where she was using tweezers to collect bits of porcelain from the floor.
"Yes, thanks. Telos Five. Their police force is investigating that end of things." He shrugged, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. "I do agree with Organa that Hilt's death was probably not caused by Senate business here. Thing is, though, if revenge was the motive, why continue killing after eliminating Hilt? Unless this woman was involved with Hilt's rise to power . . .? Hm. Well, guess we won't know that without finishing the background checks. I'd better get to work." The short man spun on his heel and headed for the door, calling over one shoulder, "I'll update you when I have something solid."
Fox looked back at the dead woman, now lying on a stretcher, and then at the team of specialists who worked silently around her, collecting evidence. He'd been called here because the murder had taken place in the Senate District; but, practically speaking, there wasn't much he could do to assist the investigation.
Nodding to the blue-clothed officer on guard, Fox left the room.
Half a minute later, Thire called in with a report, and then Stone sent him the guard roster for the next Senate-hosted event, which included a speech from Senator Amidala, to be given from the open-air forum three districts over. That would require a lot of vigilance, a lot of extra men on the ground.
Commander Fox appreciated that Amidala wanted to speak directly to the people, but he didn't appreciate the extra work, stress, and manpower that her face-to-face speeches inevitably required. Three public assassination attempts in two months was a little much. . .
By the time Fox got back to his office, the murders of Hilt and his secretary had all but vanished from his mind.
Coruscant, Level 1313
Day Four, early morning
Swinging off his speeder, Brett Modree nodded a greeting to the two guards on duty. Everything seemed quiet around headquarters – at least, there was no yelling, shouting, or drunk swearing audible to him – so he went straight to the chief's room without bothering to ask the men for a report. His foray into the higher levels of Coruscant had been a complete success. In and out, and no one had seen him. It was a pity the woman had to die, really, but she knew too much. Or rather, she'd known too much. Now, she didn't know anything at all, which was how the Pit Vipers liked it.
Brett hadn't been able to deal with the other secretary yet, but there was still time. Anything she knew would be safe enough for the immediate present, because she wasn't aware that she knew anything. In fact, if it weren't for the police and their prying questions, Brett figured he'd even be able to leave her alive.
Unfortunately, Lieutenant Inspector Divo, who was in charge of the case, was skilled at questioning witnesses. Sometimes, they would suddenly manage to remember inconvenient things that they hadn't realized they knew. Inspector Divo might not be in a rush to interview the second woman immediately, but it was a sure thing he'd decide to question her extensively later on.
Brett would have preferred to exterminate Divo, and be done with it; but, as Viper had pointed out earlier, the fastest way to get the law aggressively involved in a case like this was to go after the law enforcement. Ah well.
One way or the other, Brett knew he would have to get rid of the second secretary by this evening, at the very latest. This time, though, he'd send someone else to do it. Down here, in the lower levels of Coruscant, Brett wasn't too unusual, but there was only so much he could do to hide his blue skin; and even if he could have easily hidden it, Nautolans themselves were very much a rarity in the Senate buildings.
Humming to himself, Brett entered the code into the security panel of the chief's room. When the lock on the gilded door clicked, he opened the door and entered, pausing in mild surprise as he realized that Asher was waiting for him. The muscular human was lounging in one of the cushioned chairs, boots resting on the carefully polished wood of the desk.
Brett eyed him and set to work pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. "I don't remember sending for you, Asher," he said.
"You didn't." Asher, thankfully, removed his feet from the desk. "But a message came in from the boss while you were gone. Nothing important, just checking in. He says that nice little cave system north of the city is as good as he'd hoped."
Brett took the datapad from him and read the message for himself. "Hm. 'The natives have proven to be very welcoming'. . . Perhaps that means he has already obtained the first sample for our client."
Grunting his agreement, Asher stood. "And how 'bout your mission?"
"A complete success." Sitting down at the desk, Brett reached for a flask of wine. "At least, it was a success as far as the initial target went. But I could not risk attacking our secondary target. Asher, I want a skilled assassin sent to deal with her tonight. I assume she has guards by now."
"Probably," said Asher.
Brett sipped thoughtfully at his wine. "Do you know, I believe a slow-acting venom would be best."
"I'll get Vresh on it." The burly human folded his arms. "Brett, I think you're taking this whole business a bit too fast. The boss would've waited to get rid of the secretaries until all the fuss had died down."
"Perhaps so." Swirling the wine in his glass, Brett shrugged. "But we were forced to kill Hilt quickly, and who knows what he told his secretaries and servants. The man had no sense."
"Sure didn't." Cracking his knuckles, Asher went to the door. "Threatening the Pit Vipers instead of paying up. . . what a moron."
"He should at least have asked for more time to gain the required funds," agreed Brett. "I realize our prices are on the high end, but it is no secret to our clients that we've given extensions when asked."
"Yeah," said Asher, already bored by the conversation. "I say the idiot signed his own death warrant."
Brett lifted his glass in agreement. "Nonetheless, you make a good point about being cautious," he said. "We will take every precaution with the remainder of the assassinations. Oh – and Asher, be sure to warn Vresh that the Coruscant Guard is working with the CSF on this case."
"Oh, great," muttered Asher. "Okay, I'll let 'im know."
He left, and Brett poured more wine into his glass and sat back to think. The Pit Vipers had gone up against the CSF for years now, always in secret; but the clone troopers were relatively new to the scene. Despite that, there were several things about them were already proving to be an issue. They were highly trained warriors, alert for any signs of trouble, and they had excellent memories for faces.
Just last week, one of Viper's best assassins had died because a certain Commander Thire had recognized her, and she'd tried to shoot her way out of the situation. It had been foolish of her, of course, because all Thire could have done to her would be to detain her on suspicion. From what intelligence Brett could gather, it seemed that Thire had seen her watching Organa too closely during an event some three weeks before and become suspicious.
The clone's suspicion had certainly been justified, given that she'd been there to poison Organa into a severe illness, should he start to give a speech about certain issues that the Vipers' best client wanted him to keep silent about. Organa hadn't attempted the speech, though, so the assassin hadn't given him the venom; but something about her bearing and focus on the target had clearly caught Thire's attention. And he'd remembered her three weeks later, and acted on it. That, as far as Brett was concerned, was more than a little worrying.
Brett tapped the fingers of one hand on the desk. He finished his wine and thought about how he might train select operatives to avoid notice by the clones. The client who wanted Organa out of the loop for a few days had paid well – he always did, whether the Vipers' services had been needed or not – but money couldn't replace trustworthy assassins. It could, however, pay for extra training . . .
With a shake of his head, Brett stood up. The clones were a problem for another time. For now, the Viper was absent, and as the second-in-command, Brett had a good deal of work to do. Taking a datapad and stylus with him, Brett left the luxurious office, writing a list of tasks as he walked.
He had to check in with the men, make sure the newly hatched snakes had been checked for diseases and parasites, see if there were new orders for venoms, powders, or drugs . . .
Ah, yes; and he also had to find out if Prince Whatever-His-Name-Was wanted that assassination carried out or not. If the Hutt dallied much longer, Brett would have to raise the price ten percent simply to cover for the inconvenience.
Coruscant, Senate District
Day Five, early morning
Two days after Senator Hilt's death, the third murder was reported – the second secretary had been found dead. The senators and their aides were in a mostly quiet but barely controlled frenzy, and an order was sent out to double the guard in the Senate.
In his office, Bail Organa glanced at the order and shook his head, a bit irritated at the misallocation of resources. Doubling the guard would, perhaps, provide security in the minds of the hundreds of people who walked these halls daily, but it would not accomplish much else. As it was, the clones and the police were stretched thin these days, and the required numbers of guards under normal circumstances often had to be filled in by security droids. And of course, droids would not even register a threat unless they were directed specifically, or unless someone ran down the hall, shooting.
Whoever these assassins were, they had been very careful never to show themselves. . . and none of the murders had been committed exactly the same way.
Senator Hilt had drunk the poison, but his first secretary had been shot with a tiny dart, causing only a small injury to the back of her neck that would have been missed entirely if not for the autopsy. In fact, they only knew there had been a dart at all because of that wound. The doctors said it had been made of an incredibly potent venom that dissolved into the bloodstream.
The second secretary had also been shot with a dart, just behind the ear, but this time, the poison was different. The injury, the pathologist reported, had been some eight hours old. Traces of a powerful numbing agent had been found on her skin, and the poison had acted slowly. As near as they could tell, she been shot while with her guards, and had never even felt the injury – and if she had, she had felt such a slight prick that she hadn't even touched the area of the injury, or she'd have felt the dart, small as it was.
After making her way home, she'd gone to bed, still without knowing or suspecting that she was poisoned. She'd died in her sleep sometime after midnight. Her bodyguards had called the Senate Guard and the police when she couldn't be woken by her maid.
Bail sighed and picked up the report again. He sat down at his desk, hands clasped under his chin as he read the details. He'd requested updates on the case from the Senate Guards, because he had been asked to greet Hilt's replacement when she arrived. Chancellor Palpatine had requested it personally, saying he thought that Bail could help her familiarize herself with the Senate building for a couple of days.
At this point, Bail thought the replacement senator should be advised to remain on Telos Five until the situation was resolved; he had said as much, too, both to her and to the chancellor, who had agreed.
Of course, the question was whether she would take his advice. If not, he would have to ensure her safety as well as he could under the circumstances; it was fortunate that he would have competent help.
This wasn't the first time that Bail had reason to be grateful that he had a good working relationship with the Senate Guard and the Coruscant Guard. Even the CSF would give him information on the case if he needed it. Whether Inspector Divo personally liked him or not, the man was professional enough not to let that get in the way of other people's safety.
Until other information about the murderer surfaced, however, Bail would have to rely on his own wits. Getting to his feet, he checked that his robes were arranged properly to cover the twin blasters he carried. Then, putting on his chain of office and his pleasant smile, he went out into the halls.
Jedha, Temple of the Whills
Day Six, early morning
Nearly a week had passed since Emmkar's vision, and he still had no new knowledge or insights. He had not had another vision, and life at the Temple of the Kyber continued as it had for centuries, undisturbed by Emmkar's knowledge, which he had only shared with a few of his closest friends.
The Guardians stayed busy, occupied with their year-round tasks of raising food, making baskets and robes and jewelry to sell and trade, and caring for the thousands of pilgrims who visited from all over the galaxy.
Despite the fact that hundreds of planetary systems were at war with each other, and hundreds more hesitated, seemingly on the verge of entering the war, Jedha remained a haven in the midst of an uncertain galaxy. . . at least, for now.
The pilgrims were more agitated in some ways than Emmkar was used to, and the citizens of NiJedha were a bit more watchful than in previous years. Still, things continued to move smoothly along. People came and went, the sun rose and set. . .
And then, on the sixth new day since Emmkar's vision, Baze Malbus came running into his room and woke him with horrible news. A caretaker had been found murdered, and the arm of one of the kyber statues was gone.
Hastily, the Head Guardian dressed and followed Baze to the west courtyard. At the feet of the desecrated statue lay the body of Emmkar's oldest friend, Carmen. Some kind soul had covered her face with a cloak, and Emmkar knelt stiffly to remove it.
Carmen had been killed by a knife-thrust to the heart, from the front, and her clothes and the stones all around were stained with blood. She had been facing her murderer when she died. Strangely, her expression was utterly calm, even though she had always been such a timid person. She'd had a hard time conversing with people she did not know, and the utter lack of fear on her face . . . she could not have known she was about to die.
Closing his eyes against sudden tears, Emmkar prayed for her spirit. He and Carmen had been friends for over sixty years, and while Carmen had always said she would die before he did – she was fully twelve years his senior – Emmkar had never imagined that her passage from life would be like this.
Emmkar knelt in silence near her for several minutes, lost in emotion and memories; then he sighed and opened his eyes again, and sent Baze to fetch others who would prepare Carmen for burial.
"Goodbye, my old friend," Emmkar whispered. He clasped Carmen's right hand, still frail and limp, gently in his own. "May the Force release you, and grant you swift passage to the afterlife. Please ask that I not be sent to join you until I have found this threat to our people and the Temple."
After a moment, Emmkar released Carmen and closed his eyes again, hoping that the Force would give him the identity of the murderers. It was always possible. But more likely, it would not tell him. Emmkar was no Jedi, to control the Force; and the kyber would sing, or not, as it was commanded, and not as he willed.
Sure enough, although Emmkar listened for some time, he heard nothing from the kyber. All he knew, from his own observations, was that this could be no petty criminal or mercenary that the Temple was facing.
At last, feeling years older than he had last night, Emmkar finally looked up again at the injured statue.
When a kyber crystal was first placed for a statue, no one knew for certain what shape it would gradually take on. This particular statue had started out as two separate crystals, placed on either end of a short wall. Like all the statues in the Temple of the Kyber, these two had been slowly grown and guided over the years by the meditations of scores of Guardians. Gradually, a statue of an armored warrior formed on one side of the courtyard, and that of a graceful woman in a flowing dress took shape on the other.
As they grew and took form, the warrior had reached out his left arm, and the woman had done the same with her right until finally their hands clasped in the exact center of the temple wall. They had not changed since then, except that the woman's hair had grown longer, and the man had gotten a little taller.
Out of all the statues in the Temple, this joined statue had been Emmkar's favorite, and Carmen's as well. It was considered by many to be the most beautiful of the kyber statues, and it was celebrated throughout the galaxy under many different titles. Justice and Mercy. Lord and Lady. Strength and Beauty. Passion and Peace.
Emmkar, who was not known for a poetic turn of mind, had simply thought of it as Man and Woman.
But now, the right arm of the man was gone, up to his elbow, and a blackened sheen marred the surface of the gleaming crystal where the cut had been made.
Cutting or damaging kyber was not easy. One could take a vibroblade to it, and the crystal would barely be scratched. With enough blows, the crystal would certainly shatter, but no one had heard a thing last night – and besides, the cut had been clean, almost precise.
There were tools with which to cut or mine kyber, but they were few and far between. Emmkar himself had never seen one outside of old documents. It was strange, that these thieves would have had one available. This theft could not have been a casual matter. It must have been planned, and planned carefully – and as for his vision. . . The murderers would be back.
Emmkar was still kneeling next to the bloodstained stones when Baze returned with four of the healers who performed the duties for the dead.
As they approached, Emmkar lifted Carmen's hand gently from the ground again, in a final gesture of farewell; as he did so, he received a sudden understanding through the crystals. When Carmen died, she had been speaking to someone she believed to be a pilgrim. The Temple was not opened to pilgrims at night, and she had been surprised but not alarmed, as the man who approached her had appeared to be old, weak, and feeble.
For the first time in many years, Emmkar felt the stirrings of real anger. Standing, he turned to Baze, who was staring down at Carmen with a look of repressed fury. The young Guardian had a violent temper, which he continued to struggle with the mastery of, despite how many times he had been sent to meditate. But Emmkar could not blame him for his anger here. This was no mere annoyance or even a petty crime, but an injustice of the highest degree. To willfully steal another's life . . . Not only that, but to steal the life of one who could be in no way a threat to their wicked plans –
Feeling weaker than he had in a long time, Emmkar stood and leaned on Baze's arm. "This is beyond us," he said.
"Beyond us?" Baze's free hand clenched, and his eyes flashed. "Head Guardian, how can you –"
Emmkar looked at Carmen, and Baze lowered his voice out of respect for the dead. "Forgive me, Head Guardian," he said, in his gruff voice. "But we can't let the murderer get away with this!"
"Did I say we would?" Emmkar glanced at the healers who were standing respectfully on the side, waiting to prepare Carmen's body for burial, and gestured them forward. "No, Baze. I merely said that it was beyond us. We might perhaps locate the murderer on our own . . . but this is the work of a web. The city itself is at stake. Assist me to the tower, young one. We will seek the help of others."
