32 ABY
The workers continued about their tasks as the Director of the Estate strode through the cavernous aisles of the warehouse, although they tried to make a bit less noise as they climbed up and down the shelving units. He compensated them well, but employment was a privilege they enjoyed at his pleasure. There was no shortage of willing candidates to fill any vacancies in his workforce. The events which had transpired to assure the startling shift in their circumstances guaranteed it.
The Great Invasion had devastated much of the galaxy, but somehow their little corner of paradise had been spared, and the war had ended before the creeping disaster could reach them. But as was often the case, someone's tragedy redounded to someone else's good fortune, and now due to the dramatic shift of supply in the face of demand, his product was now traded with a value once commanded by Sansanna, glitterstim, and ryll, a curiosity transformed into a luxury. He tried to remember what he owed to those whose deaths had contributed to his success, even if he couldn't bring himself to be sorry. They were beyond his help, but there was one other to whom he felt he owed a debt of both economic and personal gratitude, both for substantially contributing to the end of the war, and for unwittingly providing a level of popularity and conspicuous exposure for his product that money couldn't buy. That man wasn't even aware of him, but the Director made a point of paying his debts, and this was no exception. He could afford to be generous.
He was putting together the package now, browsing through his stock and choosing the best available items. He was fastidious about variety, wanting to provide a full spectrum experience: whole, ground, solid, flavored, sweetened, and even some individual servings laced with a mild stimulant. He wasn't certain in what direction his recipient's tastes tended, but there was something for everyone. A diligent warehouse attendant followed him with a laden crate, accumulating his selections.
When he was finished, it was stuffed to the brim with packets of all sizes and descriptions, including several items from the new premium line. Yes, that would do nicely.
"Prepare the package for shipment," the Director instructed the attendant. "Same protocols as last time."
"Very good, sir."
He didn't mind the expense. As he said, he could afford to be generous.
A routine scan at the sorting depot flagged one heavily sealed container with a succinct message: DETAIN AND DIVERT.
"Hey!" he called to his supervisor, appreciating the break in the monotony. "It's the Package!"
"Pull it off and give it to me," his supervisor instructed, not as thrilled by the prospect of extra work. "I'll get the label on it and send it on."
"What do you think it is?" he asked, hauling the container off the line. "I mean, really? Contraband? Cash? Spice?"
"Probably just tariff evasion," the supervisor speculated. "We're paid not to ask questions, so shut up and give it to me."
"Boss! It's the Package!"
She sighed, and went to collect it. Being a mid-level smuggler trying to stick it in the business was often a stressful endeavor, but this little quirk of the job, the same container with the same origin story and the same destination appearing again and again at semi-regular intervals, had become a strange source of levity for her crew. Every time it turned up, they acted like they had found an old friend.
"I heard it was explosives," one of them said. "Those new detonator charges."
"That's no way to pack explosives!" another objected.
"I'll bet it's worth millions, whatever it is."
"Well, we'll never find out, will we?" the smuggler boss insisted, "because it's none of our business! Let's get the new label on it and send it on."
Booster Terrik heard a chuckling laugh approaching his office, and immediately knew what it meant. The Errant Venture had just made a scheduled supply stop, and it wasn't unusual to take on a few odd delivery jobs when the opportunity presented itself. This opportunity seemed to present itself rather often.
"Look what the mynocks dragged in," his supply officer said with a toothy grin, dropping the Package on his desk with a solid whump.
Booster made a face. He hadn't spared so much as a stray thought for the Package at the beginning, but that had been before the whole crew had started referring to it with capital letters. It was starting to tickle his curiosity, and that was itself annoying.
He scanned the diversion code, prompting the printer to spit out a revised shipping label. "Someday Karrde is going to have to tell me what's in this thing," he grumbled.
The Wild Karrde rendezvoused with the Errant Venture just long enough to exchange goods and pleasantries. The latter were brief, and the former consisted of no more than a single midsized shipping container.
"The Package is in there, Karrde," Booster was sure to mention. Maybe the special emphasis was imagined. Maybe not. "I hope whatever-it-is is worth all the trouble."
Talon Karrde sighed, listening through his earpiece as the container was secured and the seals broken. "You probably wouldn't think so," he said, "but there are others who might strenuously disagree with you."
"Just make sure whoever it's for appreciates the trouble. Booster out."
"Oh, he does," Karrde assured him quietly, although the comm connection was already terminated. His crew brought him the Package in short order, and he prompted his system to generate the new label. He kept to himself the knowledge that the next destination was not another agent, but the intended recipient. He also neglected to mention that they both knew that recipient very well. After all, secrets were valuable, and knowledge was power.
JMLS, it read, JEDI ACADEMY COMPOUND, OSSUS.
Mara was alerted to the delivery by a thump at the doorstep and a polite ping to her comlink. She already suspected what it might be, and it was just as well that it turned up today. Her husband seemed to have finally turned a corner, recovering his appetite along with his strength, and their regular supply was running low.
She opened the door, and saw with some satisfaction that she was correct. The poor thing had come a long way, scuffed and smudged with multiple shipping labels stuck on one another, but the seals were intact. "Luke!" she called, dragging it inside. "The Package is here!"
Ben was the first to come bounding into the room, a dynamo of a five-year-old. "The Package!" he shouted, giddy with excitement. "I'll get the cutter."
"No cutter for you," Mara insisted, grabbing him by the belt. "I'll get it."
"I've got it," Luke said, joining them. He was moving better now, Mara was pleased to see, not nearly as worn down by the chronic fatigue that had been dogging him ever since his injury. He had been napping, but the Package was always worth getting up for.
Mara took the tool and broke the seals, opening the container and the internal containment bag to reveal a deep assortment of beautifully packaged goodies. She started pulling them out, handing them to Luke and Ben who laid them out for a better look. Chocolate bars in chunky bundles, light and dark, sweet, salty, and fruity. Sacks of whole beans, canisters of ground ones, plain, spiced, and spiked. It was a dizzying array of flavors, textures, and preparations, some more artisanal than others.
"Okay, then," she finally sighed, reaching the bottom. The spoils were arranged in groups by kind, all over the living room floor. "That should last us . . . a week."
"Sorry," Luke said, cracking a grin at her sarcasm. "I guess I have been hitting it a bit hard recently."
"I'm going to have to put you on rations," Mara agreed. "Hey! What the—Ben!"
Their son froze, already halfway through a full-sized chocolate bar, and ready to inhale the rest.
"You'll spoil your lunch!"
"Dad gave it to me!" the boy insisted.
Luke averted his gaze, and Mara narrowed her eyes. "In that case, if you get sick, he's cleaning it up," she decided.
Quietly triumphant, Ben headed out into the yard to enjoy his treat in peace. Mara began repacking all the duplicate products that remained after Luke made his immediate selections for the pantry.
"Someday you're going to have to ask Karrde where all this stuff comes from," she said, absently picking at the layered labels, knowing she might be able to track it down if she wanted to waste an afternoon carefully peeling them back. A shipment of that size must be worth a small ransom on the open market.
"I don't think so," Luke said, uncharacteristically content with the mystery. He unwrapped a salty bar and handed her half. "Some good turns are best left unquestioned."