Being Trodden On: The Rebellion on Bescane
Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 7:51 pm
[OOC: You may recognize all of this. None of it is new. What will follow, however, will be new. I anticipate some rewriting to get the characters in a place where all the writers (or at least, the ones who are still here) are happier with them. This takes place seven or eight months prior to current events in the Exodus Galaxy.]
18 ABY, Bescane
Radek tugged lightly at his clothing. It was civilian garb, neither the mercenary fatigues he was accustomed to, nor the Jedi robes he had come to know. It fit him loosely, which was probably because he had not bothered to acquire garments specifically in his size. The colors were all dull and drab, which fit in nicely with the environment around him.
The world was Bescane, an industrial center for the Empire. As headquarters of Galentro Heavy Works, it also controlled the shipyards at the nearby world of Jaemus. Radek had been watching and waiting. His research had led him to this world, not far from Sernpidal, where the last injustice against him had occurred. The memories were still fresh, still painful. He was glad for that; he used the pain, channeled it, into the Force around him. He exuded distrust, anger, frustration, and rebellion in the Force. In time, the whole planet would reek of insurrection. That, combined with his plans for direct manipulation, would cause a severe problem for the Empire.
The people were already angry. As an industrial world, they figured that they were a target far and above their neighbors. If the Cult of Shadow struck here, as they struck at Sernpidal, as they had struck elsewhere in the Galaxy, the Empire would be gravely wounded. Already, some people were clamoring for freedom from Imperial control. For the moment, they had been easily silenced - but Radek needed to make them louder. Radek needed to make them realize that the Empire needed to be stopped - and more than that, that it needed to be destroyed. Its interference in his life had caused too much pain. Letting it continue was something that he could not allow.
But he was no fool. He knew that he could not single-handedly destroy the Empire. But if he could cause them enough problems, then their own factions might tear themselves apart, until the other governments in the Galaxy could pick the Imperial carcass clean. This kind of manipulation would take time. It would take great power in the Force. Radek had meditated daily since Verena had died. The Force was becoming a familiar place to him. He could feel its flow, its moods. He was beginning to see ahead of himself. He knew that the Empire would send agents to stop him. He would have to be ready for them. But with a little bit of luck, they would be too late. Bescane was like a stone at the edge of a deep ravine; it just needed a little... push.
So Radek was meeting with the de facto leader of the political forces seeking independence. The other man, a human named Alan Kemen, was not an elected official, but spoke for the grass-roots element that desired to be separated from the Empire's control. Radek knew that the Cult of Shadow would not spare a world simply because it was not Imperial; he had even considered approaching the Cult itself, in order to join it, but he knew that he could not support complete destruction of life. He was an anarchist now, not an executioner. But in order to further his own goals, he had to make the Cult of Shadow a little more palatable to the people of Bescane - because otherwise, they would stick to the Empire like a mynock on a power conduit.
Kemen made periodic trips to a number of small-time juice joints, where disaffected industrial employees frittered away their time and money after a long day working for a disinterested government. Kemen made appeals to these men; some days, two dozen would join his ranks, but others, the drunks would shout him out of the bar. Radek needed to make Kemen more persuasive - the former Jedi wanted every man in every bar joining up with him. He also needed to make himself useful to Kemen. To do that, he had acquired some local civilian clothes and spent nine days sneaking in and out of factories, working on the machines and dirtying his skin and garments until he looked like a local. Meanwhile, his lightsaber was stocked away in a crate with several other personal effects he had discovered on Sernpidal; that crate was buried at the starport, where he could collect it whenever he pleased - especially since he was sleeping in a cheap hotel adjoining the starport.
While watching Kemen, Radek had detected a certain pattern in his movements - which bars he would attend and when, especially. He predicted that this bar, the Gray Sky Cantina, would be his next political target. So Radek had come here to wait. As the doors grated open, Radek noticed out of the corner of his eye that he had predicted accurately. Alan Kemen, along with a lithe young woman and a rather brutish associate, entered the cantina and approached the bar. This was fitting to Kemen's style: sit and drink with the locals before beginning the campaign speech.
It did not take long, and Kemen barely drank. Just as Radek was doing, he picked up his glass a lot, took tiny sips - if he let any past his lips at all - and generally gave the appearance of a hard drinker, although he was little more than a teetotaler. Radek smirked in admiration of the man's cleverness. He built his credibility while maintaining control of his faculties. Kemen would not need much help to get this rebellion rolling - in fact, Radek suspected, Kemen would accomplish his task eventually without any help, but it would not have the same drastic impact that a sudden and startling insurrection would have against the Empire. Especially as the Empire was trying to focus on issues with the Cult of Shadow, and other dark elements.
Kemen stood up and raised his glass high. "Gentlemen of the Gray Sky Cantina!" he called out, letting a false drunkenness slur his speech. "Let us raise a toast... to the grand and illustrious world of Bescane!" he said, dragging out the statement and drawing eyes from every corner of the bar, "May we never suffer under the heel of tyrants, governors, or Jedi ever again!" He drank his glass dry, but few others so much as sipped at theirs. Kemen continued, "But I can't say that, can I?" Now most of the bar was paying attention, if a little disdainfully. "The Empire has squeezed us like a boil on the flesh of the Galaxy! They have us enslaved to build them their ships, their guns, and their power, and what do we get? A few fat-cats at the top of our world get paid, and we get frelled. We let the companies, the wealthy, the corrupt, and the selfish run our world! And for what? A few bottles of filthy booze?" Kemen hurled the glass. It shattered on the floor of the cantina.
The bartender walked over calmly, but said angrily, "I think it's time you got out of--"
"No!" Radek shouted, standing up next to Kemen and glaring down the bartender, who backed away. "He's right! We don't mean anything to anybody, but they couldn't make their money, and they couldn't build their ships without us!" he declared. He saw one man at a table, squirming a little. Radek resisted the urge to smile; he had his target. He did not have to coerce the whole bar to join Kemen; he could coerce one or two, and the rest would follow. He walked up to the man and slammed a fist down on his table. "You, man!" he said, "You have a family, right?"
The man nodded sheepishly. "A wife and two sons."
"Two sons!" Radek said, beaming. "Two strong boys, no doubt! How old are they?"
"Four and six," the man replied.
"And what do they want to be when they grow up?"
The man smiled a little. "They both want to be pilots in the Navy."
"And how do you plan to pay for their tuition to the naval academy?" Radek asked. The man's smile disappeared. Radek continued, "And how long do you think they will last before they wash out, because the toxins the Empire forces us to pump into our air - the same ones we're forced to breathe because masks are too expensive - have weakened their lungs so that they could never survive excess gravitic forces on their bodies?" The man stared down into his drink. Radek leaned closer and said, "And how do you plan to tell them that they're going to grow up and become just like their old man, forced into a dead-end job by a bunch of selfish, greedy bureaucrats looking to collect?"
Radek reached out with the Force. The man was depressed more than angry. That had to change. He pushed at the man's mind, putting thoughts of revenge in him. He twisted his desire for hope into a quest for hope - his means of survival into a means of rebellion. A few moments later, the man looked back at Radek with a fire in his eyes. He stood up, raised his glass, and drained it. "I'm with you!" he declared.
"So am I!" another man yelled.
"And me, too!" said another.
More men surged toward the bar, shaking hands with Radek and Kemen. Kemen eyed Radek suspiciously, but Radek gave him a smile, like they were the best of friends - comrades in arms, with one mind and one goal. The two men pushed through the crowd until they shook each other's hand. Kemen said, "Thank you, friend," he said, "You are a true citizen of this world."
Radek nodded. "As are you, friend," he said, "It is time we made Bescane great again."
Radek felt that Kemen was hiding a smile as the other man said, "I am Alan Kemen, head of the Bescaneans for Independence. Who are you?"
The former Jedi smiled. "Zachary Freeman," he said, "And I'm with you, Alan Kemen. I once wanted to serve the Empire - I thought they were the best thing for this world. They taught me to fight, and then they threw me out - said I was too weak, too sick from the air here. We're better off without them. They won't save us from those that want to destroy them... we have to take care of ourselves, for the hope of our children, and our children's children."
Kemen smiled. "My sentiments exactly, friend Zachary," he said, "They taught you to fight, you say?"
"Imperial Commandos," he said, "I was going to be the best. But they destroyed my potential. And I don't want them to destroy the potential of any more of Bescane's children."
Kemen nodded. "Then come with us. I think we would do well to have one as passionate as you among us."
Radek still smiled. Total insurrection was almost within his grasp. The Empire would regret what it had done to him.
* * * * *
Radek Vidar - alias Zachary Freeman - rose from meditation to answer his comm. He was pleased with the progress of the rebellion these past several days. He could feel the tension mounting around him. He was not sure how far away an open insurrection was, but he knew that it would come much sooner with his help.
His comm beeped as he activated it. "Freeman," he answered.
"Did I catch you sleeping, Freeman?" he heard Swinth, the woman who had been with Kemen when Radek first met him, say, "A little early, isn't it?"
Radek rolled his eyes, but tried to keep his exasperation with her attitude out of his voice. He mostly succeeded. "Just getting some rest, Swinth. Figured I might need it. Your call makes me think I was right. What's up?"
"Make your way down to the Bookie Crumbles pub and gambling den," she said, her tone betraying her disapproval of the gutter-trash Radek appeared to be. "We're making another recruiting push."
"On my way," Radek replied. He clicked off the comm and left his hotel room. The room, like the hotel it represented, was dirty, grungy, under-furnished, and overall, appropriate to the low, low price Radek was paying for it. The door had one flimsy lock and no bolts, but since Radek didn't have anything of value with him, that mattered very little to him. He walked down the hall, counting the roaches as he went. By the time he made it down four flights of stairs and out of the lobby onto the street, he had gotten to thirty-one.
The Bookie Crumbles was primarily a gambling den, as its named suggested, but it also had a bar with plenty of booze for the heavy-weights of the Bescane drinking scene. Fortunately, it was early, which meant most of the people there had just gotten off of a shift down at one of the factories. With luck, they would be sober enough to figure out what was going on.
As Radek entered the pub, he began to wonder why they were making a push at this particular establishment. Three out of every four people he saw were regulars from Kemen's not-so-subtle meetings. He resolved to ask Kemen when he arrived. To wait for his compatriots, Radek went to the bar and ordered a durindfire. The glowing beverage was delivered to him a few moments later, and he sat nursing its phosphorescent bitterness as he kept his eye on his fellow patrons. As was common when bumping into other rebels, Radek had learned, most of those he knew from the meetings did not acknowledge that they had seen him before. Everything was "business as usual," and the usual business at the Bookie Crumbles was drinking, gambling, and more drinking.
As Radek's eyes wandered around the pub, he reached out with the Force, testing surface feelings and searching for someone to push toward rebellion. Most people in the room were very unhappy with the Empire's treatment of them. There were a few brutes at the back of the pub, next to the private area, that seemed to have no opinion on the subject. They were weak-minded, but they were primarily interested in the scantily-clad women that were serving the drinks. Radek reached farther in that direction. And then he figured out why Kemen wanted to make a recruitment push at this particular bar: financing. The head honcho of the Bookie Crumbles gambling scene was a tall, meaty man named Berk Carlisle. His dark complexion and clean-shaven head, as well as the gold jewelry hanging from his neck, served to reinforce his toughness, reminding one of the holo-flicks about shockboxing champions. He probably didn't need most of his bodyguards, but he had a slew of them anyway. No doubt Kemen wanted Carlisle on his side to bring some enforcement power to the rebellion. With Carlisle and his empire - larger, indeed, than just the Bookie Crumbles, if rumors were to be believed - the rebellion would have enough strength to convince even the money-grubbing higher-ups to listen to reason.
Well, at least Radek's twisted version of reason.
Radek did not have to wait much longer for Kemen and Swinth to arrive. Their brutish associate was not accompanying them on this trip; Radek suspected that, in part, he was taking the role of the brutish associate, and also that Kemen did not want to put Carlisle on the defensive. As Kemen entered, he and Swinth sat on opposite sides of Radek at the bar. "Thanks for coming, Zachary," Kemen said softly. "This one's important."
"Why?" Radek asked, feigning ignorance.
Kemen replied, "Getting rid of the Empire is going to take manpower and wealth. We don't have a lot of either. There are some... people... at this location that can change all that."
Radek, alias Zachary, was ever the inquisitive type. "Who's that? How can they help?"
Swinth took those on. "Berk Carlisle. He owns this joint. He has a lot of supporters, a lot of employees, and a lot of sway with both. He also has the financial means to help us get where we want to be. Now stop asking stupid questions and back us up. If this gets dicey, we'll need to get Alan out fast."
Radek nodded, giving Swinth a wry smile. "Nice to see you, too, Eirian," he said, winking. She rolled her eyes, barely suppressing a grunt of disgust. Radek contained a laugh.
"Enough, you two," Kemen interjected. "Let's go." Kemen got up, then Swinth, and Radek took up the rear. Eirian Swinth was a beautiful woman, and Radek didn't mind walking behind her. Even so, he knew she hated his guts - and worse still, she didn't even know who he really was. Even a one-night stand with her would ultimately be painful. Radek wrote her off as yet another useful tool in his arsenal against the Empire and reminded himself that he had more important things to do than admire the scenery.
As they approached the stairs to Carlisle's upper room, the two toughs that were standing nearby closed in on them, blocking the path. "Hold it," one said, "This is a private chamber. Only personal guests of Mr. Carlisle can come through here."
Radek reached out with the Force as Kemen began fumbling something about having an appointment. When he was sure that the guard's mind was malleable enough, the former Jedi interrupted, "Mr. Carlisle asked to see us. You can let us through."
The man looked quizzically at Radek for a moment. At long last, he said, "Right. You can come on through." He backed away, drawing a confused glance from his fellow, but he did not even need to be molded to bow to peer pressure. When both men had divided enough to let the three rebels through, Kemen glanced back at Radek.
"That was a close one," he said under his breath, "I don't know what it was in your voice that convinced him, but we'll need to convince Carlisle, too... or he might just kill us."
Radek was well aware of that possibility. But he was not about to go down without a fight, and he doubted that either Carlisle or his men would be able to stop him from escaping. And if Carlisle took it into his head to kill Kemen, the loss would be significant, but not the situation would still be salvageable. He would just need a new patsy. There were always plenty of patsies. In fact, the bar downstairs was full of them.
On the other hand, Berk Carlisle was huge. His bulk, almost all muscle from what Radek could see, was mostly hidden behind the two Twi'lek girls that were giggling beside him as he told them some ridiculous story or another. He was clean-shaven from crown to chin, making his three nasty scars plainly visible. He had been in more than a few fights as he clawed his way to the top of the gambling food chain on Bescane. But Radek could just imagine the big, dark-skinned human telling him that he should see the other guys. Radek was reasonably sure that anyone who had gotten in Carlisle's way was not around to tell the tale.
When he saw the three intruders enter his private room, Carlisle leapt to his feet, outraged. "How in the Nine Hells did you get in here?!" he demanded as the Twi'lek girls fell away from him and cowered. His deep voice boomed throughout the private chamber, but Radek suspected that this room might have sound-dampening equipment throughout. With luck, no one in the bar below would hear.
Swinth drew a blaster. Radek immediately and involuntarily wiped his palm across his face. This was not going well. He reached out with the Force, doing his best to calm Carlisle's emotions. The turmoil in him was fit to explode if he did not get his way soon.
Kemen held out his hand, trying to soothe the raging beast with gestures. "Wait, please, Mr. Carlisle! I have a business proposition for you!" Radek used the Force to push this idea upon the other. He was not as weak-minded as his guards, but Radek hoped that the idea of money might soothe his ire for long enough for them to get on his good side... or at least, whichever side was less bad than the one they were on now.
Slowly, Carlisle's sneer faded, as if he were taking control of his own emotions. "What kind of business proposition? Make it quick, before I have your hides blasted."
Kemen swallowed visibly before beginning his speech. "The Empire has been choking operations like yours both on Bescane and across this sector. We have a mutual enemy, my friend. We both want the Empire gone. Without them, you can expand your operations and bring in more money than you could even dream while the Stormtroopers threaten to break down your door. You could be... one of the founding members of an independent Bescane. You could get in on the ground floor of all new industrial operations. All we need is your support now, while the independence movement is still growing."
Carlisle appeared to ponder this for a moment. Radek was having difficulty reading the other man, even through the Force. After a few moments, he burst out laughing. "Alright, friend," he responded after a few moments. Radek and Kemen awkwardly laughed along with him, and the Twi'lek girls were giggling again. Swinth seemed unamused. Carlisle continued, "While I'm considering your offer, why don't we have a drink?" Turning to the Twi'lek girls, he said, "Ladies, why don't you bring up some Alderaanian brandy for us, would you?"
Radek noticed the glance that went between Carlisle and the Twi'leks, as well as the one that passed between the two girls as they left the room. Alderaanian brandy had been code for something. But what? Was Carlisle sending for his guards? Or selling them out? Alderaan had been one of the first planets to oppose the Empire, after all, even in their pacifism. It had been a powerful statement. Until the Empire had blown them away. Radek again tried to pry open the mind of the crime lord, but he did not get anywhere useful. Maybe Carlisle really did want to get some of the most expensive brandy from his bar for a few guests. But it didn't seem particularly likely.
Turning back to Kemen, he said, "Well, you have me at a loss, friend. You know my name. What is yours?"
Kemen bowed at the waist. "I am Alan Kemen, the leader of the Bescaneans for Independence. These are my associates, Zachary Freeman and Eirian Swinth." Radek sensed Swinth twitch at being named after him. He wondered just how much she hated him for sweeping Kemen off his feet with support. Or perhaps she was just suspicious. Rightly so, of course, but he was not about to let her know that.
"Kemen, of course! A few of your supporters are patrons of my bar. They've spoken very highly of you," Carlisle said, looking somewhat pensive.
Kemen smiled. "I'm glad to hear that I've been recommended," he replied.
"Don't get too excited," Carlisle returned quickly before settling back into his seat, "I don't think very much of the patrons of my bar." He gestured at the uncomfortable-looking chairs across from his luxurious couch. "Please, have a seat."
As Radek, Swinth, and Kemen settled into the awkward plastic chairs, Carlisle continued, "Bescaneans for Independence, eh? You really should think up something better than that. That sounds pathetic." Kemen looked about to interrupt, perhaps defending his choice, perhaps asking for the relevance, but Carlisle went on, "Why not, 'the Alliance to Restore an Independent Bescane'? Nah, that's already been done. Maybe, 'the Free Bescane Movement'? Eh. Kind of sounds like a bunch of hippies."
Kemen interrupted now. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carlisle, but... is this really relevant right now? Do you have an answer for us or not?"
Carlisle smiled winningly. He was charming, to be sure. No wonder he had amassed so much wealth while so obviously being corrupt and criminal. "Of course I do, Alan," he said, "I'm just making sure the 'Bescaneans for Independence' fall in line with my ideals." He paused as the two Twi'leks reentered, bearing drinks. "Aha!" he exclaimed, "Here is something to sup at while we talk."
Radek took his glass and sniffed it surreptitiously. It was most certainly not Alderaanian brandy. More like cheap Churban brandy. Really cheap. Radek was sure now that "Alderaanian brandy" had been code for something. The question was not whether or not Carlisle, who was clearly stalling, was betraying them - but when was the right moment to get out alive. Swinth, Radek noted, took her glass and immediately set it aside. She was no longer aiming her blaster at Carlisle, but had not put it away, either. She was still suspicious. Good.
Kemen, on the other hand, refused the drink. He was being an idealist again. "Mr. Carlisle, I am here to discuss business. Please - let us make a deal."
Carlisle nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, "Let's deal. You call your little band of upstarts the 'Frilly Tutus,' and I'll call off the Imperial squad that will be here very soon." A surge of locals yelling and tables crashing could be faintly heard from below. "Ah," Carlisle said, smiling. "That sounds like them now."
Swinth stood up and raised her weapon. "You cheating bas--"
Radek cut her off, knocking her weapon out of her hand before she fired. Charges of rebellion and treason were difficult to prove, and though the Empire might not be willing to work with standard kinds of evidence, they wouldn't hesitate to start shooting if they thought the place was going to erupt in a riot. Things were not in place yet. This was not the time. "Not now," he said, standing close to her now that he had knocked her weapon away. "We need to wait for the right moment."
Swinth, however, did not see his logic. She spun on him. "You, too?" she demanded, "I knew you were going to sell us out, I just knew it!"
Kemen called out firmly, "Calm yourself, Eirian. I am sure Zachary knows what he is doing. We shall get out of this."
Carlisle laughed. "I would doubt that very much, pretty boy. In fact, I would be surprised if you lived through the night."
Stormtroopers burst into the upper room. They had their blaster carbines pointed at everyone and entered slowly, checking each person for weapons. They picked Swinth's blaster pistol up from the floor and bagged it. Carlisle pointed at his three unwanted guests. "These are your rebels, gentlemen. I trust my account will be credited with the reward money for Kemen's capture?"
The Stormtrooper in charge waved two others toward the large criminal. The two grabbed hold of Carlisle and pulled out a pair of stun cuffs to place on him. The commanding Stormtrooper announced, "Mr. Carlisle, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting known fugitives."
Carlisle was incensed. Using his considerable bulk, he broke free of the closest Stormtrooper's grip. One arm flailed out, knocking the trooper with the stun cuffs back into another one by the door. Radek glanced at Swinth and said, "Now is the right moment, sweetheart!" He threw himself at the commanding Stormtrooper, whose stun shot went into the ceiling as he lost his balance. Radek grabbed the blaster carbine and fired two shots at the Stormtroopers now entering the room. He grabbed Swinth's pistol from its pouch and threw it to her. Turning to Carlisle, Radek said, "What's your answer now, Berk? Are you willing to join the Frilly Tutus and take the Empire out before they take you out?"
Carlisle looked between the Stormtroopers on the floor and the others in his bar below, rounding up drinkers and bouncers alike. He spat on the floor and cursed in Huttese. "Fine," he said at last, "I'm with you. But I'm not doing this for your little ideals, I'm doing it for revenge and for money. Understand?"
Kemen nodded, smiling. "Understood."
"And we're starting right away," Carlisle said. "I'm not going to stand for my people going to prison, or worse. And I may not think much of my patrons, but I appreciate their wasting their life savings here. I intend to get my boys to bust up this raid and get our people out on the streets. By tomorrow, Bescane will be clamoring for freedom from the Imps."
Kemen's smile widened.
Radek threw on a smile for show. But inside, he was grinning wickedly.
* * * * *
Radek stood in the manager's office of a large warehouse, where the Bescaneans for Independence had gathered. Kemen was introducing the cell leaders to the idea of working with Carlisle. The crime lord was in the manager's office with Radek, looking down on the large group as they voiced their complaints and concerns. Swinth, Radek noted, was down there, standing two paces behind and one pace left of Kemen - as always. The woman was dedicated, he had to admit. But why was she so dedicated? What made her want independence for Bescane? What kept her by Kemen's side, day in and day out, as they faced down the Galactic Empire?
Again, Radek could not help but notice her beauty. She had fiery red hair that would fall past her shoulders if she let it, but it was often tied up in some elaborate style that kept it out of her way. Like a business-woman - or perhaps a soldier. She had brown eyes that were quick enough to catch things in a room full of people, when Radek was the only other one who could catch them. She was suspicious, and Radek was suspicious of her, but he had little to go on besides a gut feeling.
Radek liked the manager's office here. The warehouse itself was huge, so the office, which was built at the top of the warehouse structure, overlooked the entire interior and had enough exterior windows to let him keep an eye on the roads and skies approaching the location. It also was private enough that he could use it for his meditation, far better than his hotel room. He could feel every rebel for a few miles from here - unlike his hotel room, where mostly, he only felt the loyalists at the spaceport.
Carlisle, though, was distracting him from his meditations. "How'd you get involved here, Zach?" the deep, throaty voice asked him.
"Intellectual assent in the right place at the right time, Berk," Radek replied. "I believe in Alan and what he wants here."
"And yet... you just happen to be a former Commando?" Carlisle asked weightily. So someone had informed him of Radek's false identity. He was suddenly glad he had put those falsified records in place, where inquiring minds - like Carlisle's - could stumble upon it and think they found something genuine.
"I got a medical discharge," Radek said, "Pissed me off."
Carlisle nodded, though Radek - still looking out the windows into the warehouse - didn't see it. "Yeah, I heard about that," he said, "Drunks hear more than most people think."
Radek pursed his lips. So Carlisle hadn't done any digging, except to interrogate a few witnesses to Radek's first encounter with Kemen. Perhaps he had wasted his time in falsifying records. Oh, well, he thought. "What's your point, Berk?"
Carlisle strolled over to Radek's side, placing one heavy hand on the former Jedi's back. "My point is," he said, "that I'm glad to have you on the team. It's good to have an agent who can actually handle himself." Radek knew that that was not his point, but he was not going to argue the issue. Carlisle turned and walked back to his cushioned seat on the other side of the room. "Thank you, by the way, for stopping that wench from shooting me. I'd hate to have to kill Kemen's little bodyguard."
Radek did not reply. He appreciated that Carlisle could help Kemen achieve his goals, but he did not think that the crime lord was the best choice for that role. There were others with money, others who could support the rebellion. Others, indeed, who did not do background checks and would not discover Radek's control on the situation; people who would not or could not profit from betrayal. Carlisle was a distraction for Radek, and it was not one that he could appreciate.
Radek clasped his hands behind his back and settled into a meditative mindset. He reached out with the Force, filling his mind with the things around him, making himself aware of every detail, whether flowing or out of place, looking for hitches in his plans. Carlisle was first; he was a wild card, but for the moment, he was angry enough about his attempted arrest at the hands of the Empire that he was on their side. Radek reached further, feeling with the Force, until he reached the crowd below. Kemen was a visionary, an idealist - and a fool. He wanted freedom, and liberty, and he vainly believed that those things would allow Bescane to be saved from itself, from its own laws and its own practices. Swinth was an enigma; she seemed to be counting the number of people in the room. That made little sense; she should have known exactly how many cells there were in the Bescaneans for Independence, and every cell leader on the planet had either come or sent a representative.
But Radek moved on for the moment, making sure to note her odd behavior. The cell representatives were mostly angry. Many of them were idealists, like Kemen, and did not want a criminal like Carlisle involved in the rebellion. It was too close to selling out, too much like trading one tyrant for another. If they got rid of the Empire, but had to suffer through an empire of crime, what did they gain? A few of the representatives were completely on board with the plan to bring Carlisle in; they were willing to go to any lengths to get rid of the Empire. Radek took note of these individuals, too. They were the easiest to motivate.
Radek wished there was not a necessity for having cell leaders from around the planet, but he knew that Bescane was too large a world for a man like Kemen to control surreptitiously and entirely on his own. So Radek accepted the need for them, but they were more variables for him to consider. He liked being in control. It helped to guarantee the success of his goals.
Suddenly, Swinth caught his attention again. She had finished her count, and she had come up with one more than he had expected, based on the number of cells. He noted her alarm at that discovery, then scanned the crowd until he found the extra person: one of the cell leaders from a distant district of the capital city had brought an aide along, judging by their garb. Radek pushed his way into the aide's mind. He found nothing. Not just dullness or simplicity or attentiveness, but actually nothing.
That was no coincide--
"The Indies for Indy!" Carlisle said loudly, chuckling, interrupting Radek's meditation.
Radek turned to look at him. "What?"
"The Industrialists for Independence," Carlisle explained, "Indies for Indy."
On the outside, Radek furrowed his brow, but on the inside, he was trying to find the slippery aide again. "Are you still trying to come up with a different name for the Bescaneans for Independence?"
"Damn right," Carlisle retorted, his smile fading, "Stalling for time or not, I still think it's a dumb name."
Radek rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that," he said, turning back to the window.
Looking out, he saw that the aide had stepped out. Radek reached out with the Force, searching for him frantically. As he expanded his senses, he found the man - entering a neighboring building, a hotel almost as cheap as the one Radek was staying in. Why hadn't he waited for the end of Kemen's speech?
Suspicious enough to make a move, Radek turned around and headed for the stairs. Carlisle, still thinking up names, heard the door and jumped up to follow him. "How about Livers and Libertarians?" he joked. Radek ignored him, making his way down the stairs two steps at a time.
As they reached the bottom, Carlisle slowed and began to amble towards the makeshift podium, where Kemen was making his argument. "We need support, both in resources and in personnel," Kemen was saying, "And Berk Carlisle can give those things to us."
"He tried to betray you!" someone shouted out. Radek was ignoring the exchange. He was making his way toward the nearest door, staying as far from the crowd's eyes as he could.
"And when he was betrayed in return, he found himself in common with us!" Kemen replied. "He sent his own people into the Imperial holding facility to get out those who were arrested, and--"
"Did he really?!" another person interrupted. Radek did not hear what they might have said as the Force warned him of danger. He spun just in time to see Swinth right behind him, forcing him up against the wall with a blade at his throat.
"Where are you going, Zach?" she demanded. He did not need the Force to know she was not in a kidding mood.
"There was an extra person. An aide, I think, from one of the other cells. He slipped out, and I wanted to see what he was up to," he said. The frown that flitted across her face told him he'd hit the mark earlier - she was perceptive, alright. "You saw him, too," he continued, "Come on, we need to find out what's going on here."
"It's probably nothing," she said, "That cell is run by an old man. He probably needed the support."
Radek studied her for a moment. At last, he said, "You don't believe that. Or else you'd still be at Kemen's back." Her eye twitched. On the mark again. Radek glanced back at the crowd.
Carlisle was up next to Kemen now. He was speaking. "If you don't believe I'm on your side, then take a look over there!" he yelled, gesturing toward a far door. It had opened, and a number of goons were marching in, interspersed with people Radek recognized from the Bookie Crumbles. Carlisle's people really had done it. Radek wondered if the Empire had let them walk out, but he had a more important issue at hand for now. He would worry more about Berk Carlisle later.
Radek looked back to Swinth. "You can come along or not, Eirian, but I'm going after that aide," he told her. She took a moment, the nodded and released him. The two of them slipped out while introductions and reunions were made between the crowd of supporters and the returning rescuees.
When they got out into the alleyway between the warehouse and the rest of the block, Swinth asked, "Which way did he go?"
Radek made a show of looking around, as if searching for clues. As they walked toward the street, he caught sight of the sign for the cheap hotel. "Maybe he went in there," he suggested.
She shrugged. "As good a place to start as any," she said.
As they walked, trying to appear as calm as possible, Radek decided that this would be a good time to probe into Swinth's life a little bit. "How did you get to be a part of this motley group, Eirian?" he asked.
She looked at him askance, one eyebrow raised, clearly not buying the friendly, curious helper aura that Radek was trying to project. But whatever she was thinking, she ultimately decided that talking to him was not something she could avoid forever. "I was dishonorably discharged from the New Republic Special Forces," she said with what seemed to be practiced ease, "Over a disagreement with a superior officer. So my husband and I came here, where he had gotten a job. He died in the factories a couple months later. Kemen was there for me. He was sweet, and had brilliant ideas. So I decided to help him make those ideas a reality."
Radek nodded. That seemed awfully convenient. It sounded like a cover story, if he had to guess, but if what she said was true - about her being there in the beginning - then it didn't sound like she was an outside influence. Maybe her story, however unlikely it sounded, really was true. Radek almost snorted when he thought that. Of course - her story was at least as true as his, which sounded remarkably similar in most respects. He made another mental note to check on her story with Kemen later. "He was there for you, huh?" Radek repeated in a teasing tone.
She glared lasers at him. "It wasn't like that," she snapped.
Radek did snort now. They were entering the hotel. "Of course it wasn't."
"It wasn't--" she started to say, but Radek cut her off as they approached the clerk's desk. There were bars between them, with a small gap in the bars close to the counter, so documents and cash could be passed back and forth.
Radek looked the Neimoidian behind the desk over once before he said, pushing the command through the Force, "Someone came in here about two minutes ago. Where did he go?"
The Neimoidian looked between Radek and Swinth. At last, he said, "Upstairs, room 217."
Radek smiled. "Thanks." He and Swinth headed for the stairs.
"How do you know he was telling the truth?" she asked him softly.
Radek shrugged. "If he wasn't, we apologize profusely and we wait for our potential spy to make another mistake. And if he's not a spy, we apologize profusely and leave it alone." Swinth frowned at that, but said nothing.
As they approached the door to room 217, they could hear talking. Radek held a finger up to his lips and they leaned in close to the door.
"--isle, and Zachary Freeman. Those are all the new additions to Kemen's central group. I think they plan to make their move soon," they could hear a man saying.
Another voice said officiously, with a clipped accent that could only be Imperial. "Very good. I'll check the background on all these names. In the meantime, I have a new assignment for you. Command is sending in an Imperial Knight to deal with this situation. You need to meet with her and bring her up to speed, and then get her into Kemen's organization."
The first voice was hesitant. "I don't know if I can do that. Kemen's people are a clever bunch. I shouldn't draw attention to myself."
A moment. Then, "These are direct orders from the Regent, Sargon." The voice had an edge of severity to it now. "Do whatever you have to, but meet her, get her up to speed, and get her in. She will take care of the rest." Another pause. "I'm sending you all the data you need to know about her. Good luck, agent."
There was a pop-fizz of a transmission ending and static ensuing. Radek looked at Swinth, then stepped back and kicked in the door.
The other man was startled, to say the least. "Wha-- What's going on? Freeman? Swinth? What-- What are you doing here?"
"Shut up!" Swinth said, one hand lashing out to box his left ear as he backed away from the two intruders. "We've heard enough here, Sargon." She drew her knife and seemed about to run him through when Radek caught her and pulled her away from him. She yelped and turned on him. "What are you doing?! He's a traitor! We have to kill him!"
"He's not a traitor," Radek responded, "He's a plant. Imperial Intelligence. And they'll miss him if he suddenly disappears, especially if this... Imperial Knight gets here and doesn't have anyone to meet." Swinth frowned again, but again, she did not say anything. Still, she was clearly upset enough that she might kill Sargon if she stayed - and Radek wanted a moment of privacy with the Imperial agent. "Go back to the warehouse, Eirian," Radek told her, "Talk to Kemen. Talk to Sargon's cell leader. Find out how far this goes, and crush it."
"It's just me," Sargon interjected.
"Which is exactly what I'd expect you to say," Radek replied, not turning to face the other, "if you had colleagues." He placed a hand on Swinth's shoulder. "Go. I'll take care of him. Don't worry." He smiled a little, and that seemed to calm her - that, along with the calm he was pushing onto her through the Force. At last, she nodded, acquiescing. She turned to go, but not before shooting one of her laser glares at Sargon. When she was gone, Radek closed the door.
A click behind him did not surprise him. He lifted his hands above his head. "Surprised you didn't draw on me sooner, Sargon," he said.
"Yeah," he replied, "Well, I would have, but Swinth is a damn fast draw."
Radek slowly turned. "I'm sure she is," he said slowly. "What's the plan, Sargon? Shoot me, claim I was the real traitor?"
"Something like that."
"And why do you think I sent Swinth away? Your story falls apart. Kemen trusts her more than he trusts you, or your cell leader."
Sargon shrugged, a sneer showing through his nice-guy veneer. "I'll think of something." He raised the weapon, aimed carefully, and fired.
Radek called on the Force, needing a great deal of power to pull the stunt he had to pull. He got his hand in the path of the blaster bolt, and used the Force to deflect the shot. His skin got a little singed, but nothing permanent, as the bolt ricocheted off into a wall. Sargon was stunned for a second, which was all the time Radek needed. He pulled on the Force again, wrenching the blaster from Sargon's hand and pulling it to his own. Calmly, he set the blaster down next to the door and took a step toward Sargon. "Oops," he said sarcastically.
"You-- you're-- you're a--" Sargon stammered. It did not take long for him to regain his composure, though. "I knew the Jedi couldn't be trusted. You're trying to take advantage of this situation with the Cult - trying to turn our own planets against us! Hell, I bet you're even working with--"
"Shut up," Radek said, calmly, but powered by the Force. Sargon stopped speaking, the silence not entirely voluntary. "You have about three minutes to tell me everything I need to know about this Imperial Knight, and exactly what the Empire is planning here. I don't have time to waste on your yammering."
Sargon snorted. "Good luck, Freeman. Jedi don't hurt people. You'll never get me to talk."
Radek smiled thinly. "See, that's your biggest mistake, Sargon. Whoever said that I was a Jedi?"
* * * * *
Three minutes later, Radek slipped out of the room, holding a datapad with all the data Sargon had on Sierra Pryde and the Empire's plans for quelling Radek's little rebellion. It wasn't much - a brief physical description, and the backup plan involving overwhelming force, if Sargon perceived that Pryde was not adequately completing her task. Radek slipped the datapad into his jacket and then pulled out a kerchief to wipe Sargon's blood from his hands. Now he had a few minutes to come up with an adequate tale about what Sargon said before Swinth came back.
* * * * *
The contacts of Velok's local man, a Chagrian, talked with Kemen's contacts; simple enough. Within a couple of hours Skavi had a time and a location, a tapcaf across town. She's made it clear the Chagrian that she expected him to provide a vehicle and a driver.
Skavi al'Kon, Darth Consecrai, killer of Sith, couldn't drive.
For once she wore something other than her black armour and cloak: a black dress, knee-length and not too tight. Attractive but professional. A long tan coat completed the ensemble, and she wore her hair down - another uncharacteristic step. Careful use of cosmetics erased her Sith tattoos, leaving her just another Zeltron woman, albeit more conservative than some. She refused to wear heels, and she knew her walk didn't have the sway typical to her species; she walked like a predator and couldn't change that.
Her lightsabre remained in her hotel room; in fact, she went to the meeting entirely unarmed. If push came to shove, Velok had done his level best to make her all the weapon she'd ever need, and the Whiphid's best was - by any objective standard - pretty good.
She didn't know tradecraft, didn't know the arts of covert meetings; no mentalist or professional fugitive, she couldn't even pick out which passersby and patrons of the tapcaf had come with Kemen's envoy. She assumed there were some, and she trusted her gut, but she knew she was flying blind.
Pastry in hand, she picked a table on the patio and waited. After a handful of minutes, a redheaded woman with a cup of cap slipped into the seat opposite her. Skavi might not have been much in the world of clandestine meetings, but she could pick a killer out of a crowd ten miles away. She evaluated the woman's economy of movement, the lines of her hands, the way her eyes moved. Yes, Kemen's rep could take care of herself.
"Call me Swinth. Fifty thousand. You have my attention."
Skavi nodded. "My employer is curious about your movement. That's all. Something other than ideology - he's curious about what kind of following you have, how you operate, that sort of thing."
"You could be anyone. Fifty thousand doesn't buy you the kind of details you're after."
"I didn't expect so. I could, after all, be anyone." Skavi nibbled the pastry. "What he actually expects me to get is information concerning any...recent developments in your cause. Whether anyone new is on the scene. What changed - because something changed."
"The people got tired of-"
"I said I knew the ideology. I've been given a broad mandate here, Miz Swinth, to help your movement along or cause it some embarassment - your success or failure doesn't mean nearly so much to my employer as the answer to my question."
Swinth, unflappable, sipped her caf. "Which one? Some don't have answers."
"New power players, behind the scenes. Were there any?"
"Some."
"Any from offworld?"
Skavi had the satisfaction of seeing Swinth blink. At a guess, Swinth had thought she'd known who Skavi was talking about, and had apparently gotten it wrong. She got a general sense of increased wariness. "You really couldn't be anyone, you know," said Swinth. "A combat-hardened woman with yellow eyes and some kind of tattoos hidden by cosmetics shows up and starts bragging about hidden agendas and secret manipulations, and I start thinking Sith. I've been around the block once or twice. We can handle our world without your interference."
"Miz Swinth, something changed in the recent past. Please tell me what it is."
"Please?" A certainty settled over Swinth's features; at a guess, she'd taken Skavi's lack of answer as acquiescence. "That's an unusual word from someone in your line of work."
"This may be to your benefit, miz Swinth. Worst-case scenario, your revolution is being manipulated by other Sith for their own ends. I kill them, you're free to continue what you're doing. And that's as many cards as I'll put in the fixer field."
Swinth took a long drink of her caf, her eyes flat and hard. "Nobody from offworld," she said. "At least, nobody who admits to it. I don't like the picture you're painting, but I don't see anything that fits it. If you're running a game on me, I'll dice you six ways from-"
Skavi didn't move, didn't even twitch, but Swinth swallowed; her mouth closed, opened, closed again. "Not pleasant, is it," said Skavi. "Not something I enjoy doing." Just like that, Swinth could breathe again. The redhead glanced at something above and behind Skavi; the Sith Apprentice picked up her pastry again. "I bear you no ill will."
"I honestly can't think of anyone, any force, that sounds like what you're looking for." Swinth's voice was rough; her eyes blazed. Apparently she'd opted against calling in her backup. "Read my mind, Sith."
"Not my forte, but I believe you. So - not to overstress the point - what happened? What brought everything together? When did things start going better for you?" She'd sensed flickers in the Force since arriving here, but that was all: enough to suggest that there just might be Force-users manipulating things, maybe helping them along or possibly working against them
"We brought...a partner onboard, an established presence here on Bescane. Nobody new. Someone who could provide money and manpower."
"Did he come onboard of his own volition?"
"No, he was recruited."
"You're sure?"
"Kemen did it himself."
Skavi nodded, and opted against suggesting that Kemen could be the source of the offworld influence and that tiny disturbance in the Force. Perhaps it was just that he'd become more persuasive...
"This may seem like an odd question, miz Swinth, but has Kemen become more persuasive lately? Are his speeches better?"
"That is an odd question."
"Not in my line of work."
Swinth grimaced. "Come to think of it..."
Skavi chowed down on the remains of the pastry. Brushing crumbs off her lap, she looked Swinth in the eye. "I'm willing to bet it's someone close to Kemen. Might even be you."
"If there is a someone."
"There is."
Swinth thought about mentioning Zachary. The man had come into the fold recently, and he did seem... oddly persuasive. She had suspected it had something to do with his training, or perhaps his resolve. Could it be something more? Could he be... a Jedi? Or worse, a Sith? But he seemed to be helping. He had been very helpful in convincing Carlisle to join the Bescaneans for Independence, and he had even tracked down the Imperial spy. But by the time she had returned to the hotel with Kemen, he had "disposed" of him. Could he have simply sequestered him away, to save the spy from exposure? She did not know.
But she also did not trust this... seducer. Zeltrons were notoriously deceptive, and this one even more so. She said, "No one fits the description you've offered. I'll be happy to do some digging and give you a call, though." She meant that; if there was a Sith involved here, she was ill-prepared to handle it, and if this woman was - far-fetched as it may have been - honest about her intentions, then getting her help could save their lives. But if the Zeltron was on a mission of her own, Swinth did not want her snooping around. "I would urge you to sit tight and wait for me to call," she continued, "Doing your own investigating could disrupt everything we have struggled to build for ourselves."
Swinth stood and extended a hand, her cold gaze unblinking as she stared the other woman down.
Skavi shook the redhead's hand, feeling the hardened edges and creases of someone who knew what she was doing; Swinth, she knew, would feel the same qualities in Skavi's own grip.
"My employer has given me certain time constraints, miz Swinth. I'd hope to hear from you sooner, rather than later." Swinth eyed her, the implication not lost. Skavi met her gaze square on, then nodded out her quota of politesse and gestured vaguely at the card sitting on the table beside the half-eaten pastry on its plate. Polis Antillies, Galactic Import/Export and a comm number.
Swinth watched the woman leave. She was trouble. Swinth, meanwhile, was in trouble. She needed information, and she needed it fast. She had access to holos of everyone who had come into the fold recently - including Zachary.
She glanced at the two members of the Bescaneans for Independence that had accompanied her, to watch her back. She hadn't needed them, but Kemen had insisted. She nodded at them, and they both stood and left the cafe, headed back towards the warehouse. Things were moving along too quickly to be caught out in the open in each other's company anymore. She started to follow them, to discuss everything with Kemen, but she decided that this was best kept from him for now. If this woman was right about a dangerous new presence, Swinth didn't want Kemen ordering everything to quiet down. They were too close. She had worked too hard for this.
She palmed the business card the Zeltron had left, then headed for her own apartment.
After Skavi left, she relied on the Chagrian's driver to shake whatever tails might have attached themselves. Tradecraft, again, was not her specialty, though she felt somewhat guilty at not taking the opportunity to improve herself in that regard; she suspected this sort of experience was exactly why Velok sent her on errands requiring a subtler hand. In her heart she knew that she wasn't the Apprentice he needed to succeed him in the future. She could kill anything - but she couldn't do what he did. She didn't have that sort of mind. Her thoughts flowed in straight lines.
Upon returning to her hotel - a very nice one - she ran herself a bath and went all underwater, head and everything. She scrubbed at her face with her palms, smearing and eroding the coverup around her eyes. She stayed underwater for a long time, practicing - everything was practice - how long she could hold her breath. She didn't keep count this time, just waited until the water started getting cool, using the Force to recycle the oxygen in her lungs and body, and slowing her body's use of it. Then she surfaced, half-drained the tub, and ran a good bit more hot water. The taste of cosmetics lingered in the corners of her mouth. When she looked at the mirror, stared at it really, she saw a face covered in tattoos both crudely simple and obscurely abstract.
She might have thought about Sith tattoos if she didn't have them already. Ald had them, and his didn't look half bad. But she would have liked the freedom to come up with her own, presumably for the second time. She had no memory of her prior life, and with that went knowledge of why she might have found the broad patterns of her facial tattoos significant.
Now they meant less than nothing. In thirty years - forty if she kept her fitness up, which seemed likely assuming she lived that long - they'd be faded and distorted and even more pointless. She hated them.
But for now, they said mystery and unnatural in letters a mile high. So she used them like a hammer, and the next phase probably called for a hammer. Besides, she hated the coverup, the nagging fear that a smudge might reveal the darkness underneath. The preparation time, best spent elsewhere instead.
She spent a good three hours in that bubble bath, letting the makeup slough away from her skin. When she got out, she dressed in black armour, tight at the neck, covered by a black cloak. She bound her long silken hair in a topknot. She hung a lightsabre from her belt and sat down to dinner.
If she didn't hear from Swinth within two days, she would begin to dig.
18 ABY, Bescane
Radek tugged lightly at his clothing. It was civilian garb, neither the mercenary fatigues he was accustomed to, nor the Jedi robes he had come to know. It fit him loosely, which was probably because he had not bothered to acquire garments specifically in his size. The colors were all dull and drab, which fit in nicely with the environment around him.
The world was Bescane, an industrial center for the Empire. As headquarters of Galentro Heavy Works, it also controlled the shipyards at the nearby world of Jaemus. Radek had been watching and waiting. His research had led him to this world, not far from Sernpidal, where the last injustice against him had occurred. The memories were still fresh, still painful. He was glad for that; he used the pain, channeled it, into the Force around him. He exuded distrust, anger, frustration, and rebellion in the Force. In time, the whole planet would reek of insurrection. That, combined with his plans for direct manipulation, would cause a severe problem for the Empire.
The people were already angry. As an industrial world, they figured that they were a target far and above their neighbors. If the Cult of Shadow struck here, as they struck at Sernpidal, as they had struck elsewhere in the Galaxy, the Empire would be gravely wounded. Already, some people were clamoring for freedom from Imperial control. For the moment, they had been easily silenced - but Radek needed to make them louder. Radek needed to make them realize that the Empire needed to be stopped - and more than that, that it needed to be destroyed. Its interference in his life had caused too much pain. Letting it continue was something that he could not allow.
But he was no fool. He knew that he could not single-handedly destroy the Empire. But if he could cause them enough problems, then their own factions might tear themselves apart, until the other governments in the Galaxy could pick the Imperial carcass clean. This kind of manipulation would take time. It would take great power in the Force. Radek had meditated daily since Verena had died. The Force was becoming a familiar place to him. He could feel its flow, its moods. He was beginning to see ahead of himself. He knew that the Empire would send agents to stop him. He would have to be ready for them. But with a little bit of luck, they would be too late. Bescane was like a stone at the edge of a deep ravine; it just needed a little... push.
So Radek was meeting with the de facto leader of the political forces seeking independence. The other man, a human named Alan Kemen, was not an elected official, but spoke for the grass-roots element that desired to be separated from the Empire's control. Radek knew that the Cult of Shadow would not spare a world simply because it was not Imperial; he had even considered approaching the Cult itself, in order to join it, but he knew that he could not support complete destruction of life. He was an anarchist now, not an executioner. But in order to further his own goals, he had to make the Cult of Shadow a little more palatable to the people of Bescane - because otherwise, they would stick to the Empire like a mynock on a power conduit.
Kemen made periodic trips to a number of small-time juice joints, where disaffected industrial employees frittered away their time and money after a long day working for a disinterested government. Kemen made appeals to these men; some days, two dozen would join his ranks, but others, the drunks would shout him out of the bar. Radek needed to make Kemen more persuasive - the former Jedi wanted every man in every bar joining up with him. He also needed to make himself useful to Kemen. To do that, he had acquired some local civilian clothes and spent nine days sneaking in and out of factories, working on the machines and dirtying his skin and garments until he looked like a local. Meanwhile, his lightsaber was stocked away in a crate with several other personal effects he had discovered on Sernpidal; that crate was buried at the starport, where he could collect it whenever he pleased - especially since he was sleeping in a cheap hotel adjoining the starport.
While watching Kemen, Radek had detected a certain pattern in his movements - which bars he would attend and when, especially. He predicted that this bar, the Gray Sky Cantina, would be his next political target. So Radek had come here to wait. As the doors grated open, Radek noticed out of the corner of his eye that he had predicted accurately. Alan Kemen, along with a lithe young woman and a rather brutish associate, entered the cantina and approached the bar. This was fitting to Kemen's style: sit and drink with the locals before beginning the campaign speech.
It did not take long, and Kemen barely drank. Just as Radek was doing, he picked up his glass a lot, took tiny sips - if he let any past his lips at all - and generally gave the appearance of a hard drinker, although he was little more than a teetotaler. Radek smirked in admiration of the man's cleverness. He built his credibility while maintaining control of his faculties. Kemen would not need much help to get this rebellion rolling - in fact, Radek suspected, Kemen would accomplish his task eventually without any help, but it would not have the same drastic impact that a sudden and startling insurrection would have against the Empire. Especially as the Empire was trying to focus on issues with the Cult of Shadow, and other dark elements.
Kemen stood up and raised his glass high. "Gentlemen of the Gray Sky Cantina!" he called out, letting a false drunkenness slur his speech. "Let us raise a toast... to the grand and illustrious world of Bescane!" he said, dragging out the statement and drawing eyes from every corner of the bar, "May we never suffer under the heel of tyrants, governors, or Jedi ever again!" He drank his glass dry, but few others so much as sipped at theirs. Kemen continued, "But I can't say that, can I?" Now most of the bar was paying attention, if a little disdainfully. "The Empire has squeezed us like a boil on the flesh of the Galaxy! They have us enslaved to build them their ships, their guns, and their power, and what do we get? A few fat-cats at the top of our world get paid, and we get frelled. We let the companies, the wealthy, the corrupt, and the selfish run our world! And for what? A few bottles of filthy booze?" Kemen hurled the glass. It shattered on the floor of the cantina.
The bartender walked over calmly, but said angrily, "I think it's time you got out of--"
"No!" Radek shouted, standing up next to Kemen and glaring down the bartender, who backed away. "He's right! We don't mean anything to anybody, but they couldn't make their money, and they couldn't build their ships without us!" he declared. He saw one man at a table, squirming a little. Radek resisted the urge to smile; he had his target. He did not have to coerce the whole bar to join Kemen; he could coerce one or two, and the rest would follow. He walked up to the man and slammed a fist down on his table. "You, man!" he said, "You have a family, right?"
The man nodded sheepishly. "A wife and two sons."
"Two sons!" Radek said, beaming. "Two strong boys, no doubt! How old are they?"
"Four and six," the man replied.
"And what do they want to be when they grow up?"
The man smiled a little. "They both want to be pilots in the Navy."
"And how do you plan to pay for their tuition to the naval academy?" Radek asked. The man's smile disappeared. Radek continued, "And how long do you think they will last before they wash out, because the toxins the Empire forces us to pump into our air - the same ones we're forced to breathe because masks are too expensive - have weakened their lungs so that they could never survive excess gravitic forces on their bodies?" The man stared down into his drink. Radek leaned closer and said, "And how do you plan to tell them that they're going to grow up and become just like their old man, forced into a dead-end job by a bunch of selfish, greedy bureaucrats looking to collect?"
Radek reached out with the Force. The man was depressed more than angry. That had to change. He pushed at the man's mind, putting thoughts of revenge in him. He twisted his desire for hope into a quest for hope - his means of survival into a means of rebellion. A few moments later, the man looked back at Radek with a fire in his eyes. He stood up, raised his glass, and drained it. "I'm with you!" he declared.
"So am I!" another man yelled.
"And me, too!" said another.
More men surged toward the bar, shaking hands with Radek and Kemen. Kemen eyed Radek suspiciously, but Radek gave him a smile, like they were the best of friends - comrades in arms, with one mind and one goal. The two men pushed through the crowd until they shook each other's hand. Kemen said, "Thank you, friend," he said, "You are a true citizen of this world."
Radek nodded. "As are you, friend," he said, "It is time we made Bescane great again."
Radek felt that Kemen was hiding a smile as the other man said, "I am Alan Kemen, head of the Bescaneans for Independence. Who are you?"
The former Jedi smiled. "Zachary Freeman," he said, "And I'm with you, Alan Kemen. I once wanted to serve the Empire - I thought they were the best thing for this world. They taught me to fight, and then they threw me out - said I was too weak, too sick from the air here. We're better off without them. They won't save us from those that want to destroy them... we have to take care of ourselves, for the hope of our children, and our children's children."
Kemen smiled. "My sentiments exactly, friend Zachary," he said, "They taught you to fight, you say?"
"Imperial Commandos," he said, "I was going to be the best. But they destroyed my potential. And I don't want them to destroy the potential of any more of Bescane's children."
Kemen nodded. "Then come with us. I think we would do well to have one as passionate as you among us."
Radek still smiled. Total insurrection was almost within his grasp. The Empire would regret what it had done to him.
* * * * *
Radek Vidar - alias Zachary Freeman - rose from meditation to answer his comm. He was pleased with the progress of the rebellion these past several days. He could feel the tension mounting around him. He was not sure how far away an open insurrection was, but he knew that it would come much sooner with his help.
His comm beeped as he activated it. "Freeman," he answered.
"Did I catch you sleeping, Freeman?" he heard Swinth, the woman who had been with Kemen when Radek first met him, say, "A little early, isn't it?"
Radek rolled his eyes, but tried to keep his exasperation with her attitude out of his voice. He mostly succeeded. "Just getting some rest, Swinth. Figured I might need it. Your call makes me think I was right. What's up?"
"Make your way down to the Bookie Crumbles pub and gambling den," she said, her tone betraying her disapproval of the gutter-trash Radek appeared to be. "We're making another recruiting push."
"On my way," Radek replied. He clicked off the comm and left his hotel room. The room, like the hotel it represented, was dirty, grungy, under-furnished, and overall, appropriate to the low, low price Radek was paying for it. The door had one flimsy lock and no bolts, but since Radek didn't have anything of value with him, that mattered very little to him. He walked down the hall, counting the roaches as he went. By the time he made it down four flights of stairs and out of the lobby onto the street, he had gotten to thirty-one.
The Bookie Crumbles was primarily a gambling den, as its named suggested, but it also had a bar with plenty of booze for the heavy-weights of the Bescane drinking scene. Fortunately, it was early, which meant most of the people there had just gotten off of a shift down at one of the factories. With luck, they would be sober enough to figure out what was going on.
As Radek entered the pub, he began to wonder why they were making a push at this particular establishment. Three out of every four people he saw were regulars from Kemen's not-so-subtle meetings. He resolved to ask Kemen when he arrived. To wait for his compatriots, Radek went to the bar and ordered a durindfire. The glowing beverage was delivered to him a few moments later, and he sat nursing its phosphorescent bitterness as he kept his eye on his fellow patrons. As was common when bumping into other rebels, Radek had learned, most of those he knew from the meetings did not acknowledge that they had seen him before. Everything was "business as usual," and the usual business at the Bookie Crumbles was drinking, gambling, and more drinking.
As Radek's eyes wandered around the pub, he reached out with the Force, testing surface feelings and searching for someone to push toward rebellion. Most people in the room were very unhappy with the Empire's treatment of them. There were a few brutes at the back of the pub, next to the private area, that seemed to have no opinion on the subject. They were weak-minded, but they were primarily interested in the scantily-clad women that were serving the drinks. Radek reached farther in that direction. And then he figured out why Kemen wanted to make a recruitment push at this particular bar: financing. The head honcho of the Bookie Crumbles gambling scene was a tall, meaty man named Berk Carlisle. His dark complexion and clean-shaven head, as well as the gold jewelry hanging from his neck, served to reinforce his toughness, reminding one of the holo-flicks about shockboxing champions. He probably didn't need most of his bodyguards, but he had a slew of them anyway. No doubt Kemen wanted Carlisle on his side to bring some enforcement power to the rebellion. With Carlisle and his empire - larger, indeed, than just the Bookie Crumbles, if rumors were to be believed - the rebellion would have enough strength to convince even the money-grubbing higher-ups to listen to reason.
Well, at least Radek's twisted version of reason.
Radek did not have to wait much longer for Kemen and Swinth to arrive. Their brutish associate was not accompanying them on this trip; Radek suspected that, in part, he was taking the role of the brutish associate, and also that Kemen did not want to put Carlisle on the defensive. As Kemen entered, he and Swinth sat on opposite sides of Radek at the bar. "Thanks for coming, Zachary," Kemen said softly. "This one's important."
"Why?" Radek asked, feigning ignorance.
Kemen replied, "Getting rid of the Empire is going to take manpower and wealth. We don't have a lot of either. There are some... people... at this location that can change all that."
Radek, alias Zachary, was ever the inquisitive type. "Who's that? How can they help?"
Swinth took those on. "Berk Carlisle. He owns this joint. He has a lot of supporters, a lot of employees, and a lot of sway with both. He also has the financial means to help us get where we want to be. Now stop asking stupid questions and back us up. If this gets dicey, we'll need to get Alan out fast."
Radek nodded, giving Swinth a wry smile. "Nice to see you, too, Eirian," he said, winking. She rolled her eyes, barely suppressing a grunt of disgust. Radek contained a laugh.
"Enough, you two," Kemen interjected. "Let's go." Kemen got up, then Swinth, and Radek took up the rear. Eirian Swinth was a beautiful woman, and Radek didn't mind walking behind her. Even so, he knew she hated his guts - and worse still, she didn't even know who he really was. Even a one-night stand with her would ultimately be painful. Radek wrote her off as yet another useful tool in his arsenal against the Empire and reminded himself that he had more important things to do than admire the scenery.
As they approached the stairs to Carlisle's upper room, the two toughs that were standing nearby closed in on them, blocking the path. "Hold it," one said, "This is a private chamber. Only personal guests of Mr. Carlisle can come through here."
Radek reached out with the Force as Kemen began fumbling something about having an appointment. When he was sure that the guard's mind was malleable enough, the former Jedi interrupted, "Mr. Carlisle asked to see us. You can let us through."
The man looked quizzically at Radek for a moment. At long last, he said, "Right. You can come on through." He backed away, drawing a confused glance from his fellow, but he did not even need to be molded to bow to peer pressure. When both men had divided enough to let the three rebels through, Kemen glanced back at Radek.
"That was a close one," he said under his breath, "I don't know what it was in your voice that convinced him, but we'll need to convince Carlisle, too... or he might just kill us."
Radek was well aware of that possibility. But he was not about to go down without a fight, and he doubted that either Carlisle or his men would be able to stop him from escaping. And if Carlisle took it into his head to kill Kemen, the loss would be significant, but not the situation would still be salvageable. He would just need a new patsy. There were always plenty of patsies. In fact, the bar downstairs was full of them.
On the other hand, Berk Carlisle was huge. His bulk, almost all muscle from what Radek could see, was mostly hidden behind the two Twi'lek girls that were giggling beside him as he told them some ridiculous story or another. He was clean-shaven from crown to chin, making his three nasty scars plainly visible. He had been in more than a few fights as he clawed his way to the top of the gambling food chain on Bescane. But Radek could just imagine the big, dark-skinned human telling him that he should see the other guys. Radek was reasonably sure that anyone who had gotten in Carlisle's way was not around to tell the tale.
When he saw the three intruders enter his private room, Carlisle leapt to his feet, outraged. "How in the Nine Hells did you get in here?!" he demanded as the Twi'lek girls fell away from him and cowered. His deep voice boomed throughout the private chamber, but Radek suspected that this room might have sound-dampening equipment throughout. With luck, no one in the bar below would hear.
Swinth drew a blaster. Radek immediately and involuntarily wiped his palm across his face. This was not going well. He reached out with the Force, doing his best to calm Carlisle's emotions. The turmoil in him was fit to explode if he did not get his way soon.
Kemen held out his hand, trying to soothe the raging beast with gestures. "Wait, please, Mr. Carlisle! I have a business proposition for you!" Radek used the Force to push this idea upon the other. He was not as weak-minded as his guards, but Radek hoped that the idea of money might soothe his ire for long enough for them to get on his good side... or at least, whichever side was less bad than the one they were on now.
Slowly, Carlisle's sneer faded, as if he were taking control of his own emotions. "What kind of business proposition? Make it quick, before I have your hides blasted."
Kemen swallowed visibly before beginning his speech. "The Empire has been choking operations like yours both on Bescane and across this sector. We have a mutual enemy, my friend. We both want the Empire gone. Without them, you can expand your operations and bring in more money than you could even dream while the Stormtroopers threaten to break down your door. You could be... one of the founding members of an independent Bescane. You could get in on the ground floor of all new industrial operations. All we need is your support now, while the independence movement is still growing."
Carlisle appeared to ponder this for a moment. Radek was having difficulty reading the other man, even through the Force. After a few moments, he burst out laughing. "Alright, friend," he responded after a few moments. Radek and Kemen awkwardly laughed along with him, and the Twi'lek girls were giggling again. Swinth seemed unamused. Carlisle continued, "While I'm considering your offer, why don't we have a drink?" Turning to the Twi'lek girls, he said, "Ladies, why don't you bring up some Alderaanian brandy for us, would you?"
Radek noticed the glance that went between Carlisle and the Twi'leks, as well as the one that passed between the two girls as they left the room. Alderaanian brandy had been code for something. But what? Was Carlisle sending for his guards? Or selling them out? Alderaan had been one of the first planets to oppose the Empire, after all, even in their pacifism. It had been a powerful statement. Until the Empire had blown them away. Radek again tried to pry open the mind of the crime lord, but he did not get anywhere useful. Maybe Carlisle really did want to get some of the most expensive brandy from his bar for a few guests. But it didn't seem particularly likely.
Turning back to Kemen, he said, "Well, you have me at a loss, friend. You know my name. What is yours?"
Kemen bowed at the waist. "I am Alan Kemen, the leader of the Bescaneans for Independence. These are my associates, Zachary Freeman and Eirian Swinth." Radek sensed Swinth twitch at being named after him. He wondered just how much she hated him for sweeping Kemen off his feet with support. Or perhaps she was just suspicious. Rightly so, of course, but he was not about to let her know that.
"Kemen, of course! A few of your supporters are patrons of my bar. They've spoken very highly of you," Carlisle said, looking somewhat pensive.
Kemen smiled. "I'm glad to hear that I've been recommended," he replied.
"Don't get too excited," Carlisle returned quickly before settling back into his seat, "I don't think very much of the patrons of my bar." He gestured at the uncomfortable-looking chairs across from his luxurious couch. "Please, have a seat."
As Radek, Swinth, and Kemen settled into the awkward plastic chairs, Carlisle continued, "Bescaneans for Independence, eh? You really should think up something better than that. That sounds pathetic." Kemen looked about to interrupt, perhaps defending his choice, perhaps asking for the relevance, but Carlisle went on, "Why not, 'the Alliance to Restore an Independent Bescane'? Nah, that's already been done. Maybe, 'the Free Bescane Movement'? Eh. Kind of sounds like a bunch of hippies."
Kemen interrupted now. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carlisle, but... is this really relevant right now? Do you have an answer for us or not?"
Carlisle smiled winningly. He was charming, to be sure. No wonder he had amassed so much wealth while so obviously being corrupt and criminal. "Of course I do, Alan," he said, "I'm just making sure the 'Bescaneans for Independence' fall in line with my ideals." He paused as the two Twi'leks reentered, bearing drinks. "Aha!" he exclaimed, "Here is something to sup at while we talk."
Radek took his glass and sniffed it surreptitiously. It was most certainly not Alderaanian brandy. More like cheap Churban brandy. Really cheap. Radek was sure now that "Alderaanian brandy" had been code for something. The question was not whether or not Carlisle, who was clearly stalling, was betraying them - but when was the right moment to get out alive. Swinth, Radek noted, took her glass and immediately set it aside. She was no longer aiming her blaster at Carlisle, but had not put it away, either. She was still suspicious. Good.
Kemen, on the other hand, refused the drink. He was being an idealist again. "Mr. Carlisle, I am here to discuss business. Please - let us make a deal."
Carlisle nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, "Let's deal. You call your little band of upstarts the 'Frilly Tutus,' and I'll call off the Imperial squad that will be here very soon." A surge of locals yelling and tables crashing could be faintly heard from below. "Ah," Carlisle said, smiling. "That sounds like them now."
Swinth stood up and raised her weapon. "You cheating bas--"
Radek cut her off, knocking her weapon out of her hand before she fired. Charges of rebellion and treason were difficult to prove, and though the Empire might not be willing to work with standard kinds of evidence, they wouldn't hesitate to start shooting if they thought the place was going to erupt in a riot. Things were not in place yet. This was not the time. "Not now," he said, standing close to her now that he had knocked her weapon away. "We need to wait for the right moment."
Swinth, however, did not see his logic. She spun on him. "You, too?" she demanded, "I knew you were going to sell us out, I just knew it!"
Kemen called out firmly, "Calm yourself, Eirian. I am sure Zachary knows what he is doing. We shall get out of this."
Carlisle laughed. "I would doubt that very much, pretty boy. In fact, I would be surprised if you lived through the night."
Stormtroopers burst into the upper room. They had their blaster carbines pointed at everyone and entered slowly, checking each person for weapons. They picked Swinth's blaster pistol up from the floor and bagged it. Carlisle pointed at his three unwanted guests. "These are your rebels, gentlemen. I trust my account will be credited with the reward money for Kemen's capture?"
The Stormtrooper in charge waved two others toward the large criminal. The two grabbed hold of Carlisle and pulled out a pair of stun cuffs to place on him. The commanding Stormtrooper announced, "Mr. Carlisle, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting known fugitives."
Carlisle was incensed. Using his considerable bulk, he broke free of the closest Stormtrooper's grip. One arm flailed out, knocking the trooper with the stun cuffs back into another one by the door. Radek glanced at Swinth and said, "Now is the right moment, sweetheart!" He threw himself at the commanding Stormtrooper, whose stun shot went into the ceiling as he lost his balance. Radek grabbed the blaster carbine and fired two shots at the Stormtroopers now entering the room. He grabbed Swinth's pistol from its pouch and threw it to her. Turning to Carlisle, Radek said, "What's your answer now, Berk? Are you willing to join the Frilly Tutus and take the Empire out before they take you out?"
Carlisle looked between the Stormtroopers on the floor and the others in his bar below, rounding up drinkers and bouncers alike. He spat on the floor and cursed in Huttese. "Fine," he said at last, "I'm with you. But I'm not doing this for your little ideals, I'm doing it for revenge and for money. Understand?"
Kemen nodded, smiling. "Understood."
"And we're starting right away," Carlisle said. "I'm not going to stand for my people going to prison, or worse. And I may not think much of my patrons, but I appreciate their wasting their life savings here. I intend to get my boys to bust up this raid and get our people out on the streets. By tomorrow, Bescane will be clamoring for freedom from the Imps."
Kemen's smile widened.
Radek threw on a smile for show. But inside, he was grinning wickedly.
* * * * *
Radek stood in the manager's office of a large warehouse, where the Bescaneans for Independence had gathered. Kemen was introducing the cell leaders to the idea of working with Carlisle. The crime lord was in the manager's office with Radek, looking down on the large group as they voiced their complaints and concerns. Swinth, Radek noted, was down there, standing two paces behind and one pace left of Kemen - as always. The woman was dedicated, he had to admit. But why was she so dedicated? What made her want independence for Bescane? What kept her by Kemen's side, day in and day out, as they faced down the Galactic Empire?
Again, Radek could not help but notice her beauty. She had fiery red hair that would fall past her shoulders if she let it, but it was often tied up in some elaborate style that kept it out of her way. Like a business-woman - or perhaps a soldier. She had brown eyes that were quick enough to catch things in a room full of people, when Radek was the only other one who could catch them. She was suspicious, and Radek was suspicious of her, but he had little to go on besides a gut feeling.
Radek liked the manager's office here. The warehouse itself was huge, so the office, which was built at the top of the warehouse structure, overlooked the entire interior and had enough exterior windows to let him keep an eye on the roads and skies approaching the location. It also was private enough that he could use it for his meditation, far better than his hotel room. He could feel every rebel for a few miles from here - unlike his hotel room, where mostly, he only felt the loyalists at the spaceport.
Carlisle, though, was distracting him from his meditations. "How'd you get involved here, Zach?" the deep, throaty voice asked him.
"Intellectual assent in the right place at the right time, Berk," Radek replied. "I believe in Alan and what he wants here."
"And yet... you just happen to be a former Commando?" Carlisle asked weightily. So someone had informed him of Radek's false identity. He was suddenly glad he had put those falsified records in place, where inquiring minds - like Carlisle's - could stumble upon it and think they found something genuine.
"I got a medical discharge," Radek said, "Pissed me off."
Carlisle nodded, though Radek - still looking out the windows into the warehouse - didn't see it. "Yeah, I heard about that," he said, "Drunks hear more than most people think."
Radek pursed his lips. So Carlisle hadn't done any digging, except to interrogate a few witnesses to Radek's first encounter with Kemen. Perhaps he had wasted his time in falsifying records. Oh, well, he thought. "What's your point, Berk?"
Carlisle strolled over to Radek's side, placing one heavy hand on the former Jedi's back. "My point is," he said, "that I'm glad to have you on the team. It's good to have an agent who can actually handle himself." Radek knew that that was not his point, but he was not going to argue the issue. Carlisle turned and walked back to his cushioned seat on the other side of the room. "Thank you, by the way, for stopping that wench from shooting me. I'd hate to have to kill Kemen's little bodyguard."
Radek did not reply. He appreciated that Carlisle could help Kemen achieve his goals, but he did not think that the crime lord was the best choice for that role. There were others with money, others who could support the rebellion. Others, indeed, who did not do background checks and would not discover Radek's control on the situation; people who would not or could not profit from betrayal. Carlisle was a distraction for Radek, and it was not one that he could appreciate.
Radek clasped his hands behind his back and settled into a meditative mindset. He reached out with the Force, filling his mind with the things around him, making himself aware of every detail, whether flowing or out of place, looking for hitches in his plans. Carlisle was first; he was a wild card, but for the moment, he was angry enough about his attempted arrest at the hands of the Empire that he was on their side. Radek reached further, feeling with the Force, until he reached the crowd below. Kemen was a visionary, an idealist - and a fool. He wanted freedom, and liberty, and he vainly believed that those things would allow Bescane to be saved from itself, from its own laws and its own practices. Swinth was an enigma; she seemed to be counting the number of people in the room. That made little sense; she should have known exactly how many cells there were in the Bescaneans for Independence, and every cell leader on the planet had either come or sent a representative.
But Radek moved on for the moment, making sure to note her odd behavior. The cell representatives were mostly angry. Many of them were idealists, like Kemen, and did not want a criminal like Carlisle involved in the rebellion. It was too close to selling out, too much like trading one tyrant for another. If they got rid of the Empire, but had to suffer through an empire of crime, what did they gain? A few of the representatives were completely on board with the plan to bring Carlisle in; they were willing to go to any lengths to get rid of the Empire. Radek took note of these individuals, too. They were the easiest to motivate.
Radek wished there was not a necessity for having cell leaders from around the planet, but he knew that Bescane was too large a world for a man like Kemen to control surreptitiously and entirely on his own. So Radek accepted the need for them, but they were more variables for him to consider. He liked being in control. It helped to guarantee the success of his goals.
Suddenly, Swinth caught his attention again. She had finished her count, and she had come up with one more than he had expected, based on the number of cells. He noted her alarm at that discovery, then scanned the crowd until he found the extra person: one of the cell leaders from a distant district of the capital city had brought an aide along, judging by their garb. Radek pushed his way into the aide's mind. He found nothing. Not just dullness or simplicity or attentiveness, but actually nothing.
That was no coincide--
"The Indies for Indy!" Carlisle said loudly, chuckling, interrupting Radek's meditation.
Radek turned to look at him. "What?"
"The Industrialists for Independence," Carlisle explained, "Indies for Indy."
On the outside, Radek furrowed his brow, but on the inside, he was trying to find the slippery aide again. "Are you still trying to come up with a different name for the Bescaneans for Independence?"
"Damn right," Carlisle retorted, his smile fading, "Stalling for time or not, I still think it's a dumb name."
Radek rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that," he said, turning back to the window.
Looking out, he saw that the aide had stepped out. Radek reached out with the Force, searching for him frantically. As he expanded his senses, he found the man - entering a neighboring building, a hotel almost as cheap as the one Radek was staying in. Why hadn't he waited for the end of Kemen's speech?
Suspicious enough to make a move, Radek turned around and headed for the stairs. Carlisle, still thinking up names, heard the door and jumped up to follow him. "How about Livers and Libertarians?" he joked. Radek ignored him, making his way down the stairs two steps at a time.
As they reached the bottom, Carlisle slowed and began to amble towards the makeshift podium, where Kemen was making his argument. "We need support, both in resources and in personnel," Kemen was saying, "And Berk Carlisle can give those things to us."
"He tried to betray you!" someone shouted out. Radek was ignoring the exchange. He was making his way toward the nearest door, staying as far from the crowd's eyes as he could.
"And when he was betrayed in return, he found himself in common with us!" Kemen replied. "He sent his own people into the Imperial holding facility to get out those who were arrested, and--"
"Did he really?!" another person interrupted. Radek did not hear what they might have said as the Force warned him of danger. He spun just in time to see Swinth right behind him, forcing him up against the wall with a blade at his throat.
"Where are you going, Zach?" she demanded. He did not need the Force to know she was not in a kidding mood.
"There was an extra person. An aide, I think, from one of the other cells. He slipped out, and I wanted to see what he was up to," he said. The frown that flitted across her face told him he'd hit the mark earlier - she was perceptive, alright. "You saw him, too," he continued, "Come on, we need to find out what's going on here."
"It's probably nothing," she said, "That cell is run by an old man. He probably needed the support."
Radek studied her for a moment. At last, he said, "You don't believe that. Or else you'd still be at Kemen's back." Her eye twitched. On the mark again. Radek glanced back at the crowd.
Carlisle was up next to Kemen now. He was speaking. "If you don't believe I'm on your side, then take a look over there!" he yelled, gesturing toward a far door. It had opened, and a number of goons were marching in, interspersed with people Radek recognized from the Bookie Crumbles. Carlisle's people really had done it. Radek wondered if the Empire had let them walk out, but he had a more important issue at hand for now. He would worry more about Berk Carlisle later.
Radek looked back to Swinth. "You can come along or not, Eirian, but I'm going after that aide," he told her. She took a moment, the nodded and released him. The two of them slipped out while introductions and reunions were made between the crowd of supporters and the returning rescuees.
When they got out into the alleyway between the warehouse and the rest of the block, Swinth asked, "Which way did he go?"
Radek made a show of looking around, as if searching for clues. As they walked toward the street, he caught sight of the sign for the cheap hotel. "Maybe he went in there," he suggested.
She shrugged. "As good a place to start as any," she said.
As they walked, trying to appear as calm as possible, Radek decided that this would be a good time to probe into Swinth's life a little bit. "How did you get to be a part of this motley group, Eirian?" he asked.
She looked at him askance, one eyebrow raised, clearly not buying the friendly, curious helper aura that Radek was trying to project. But whatever she was thinking, she ultimately decided that talking to him was not something she could avoid forever. "I was dishonorably discharged from the New Republic Special Forces," she said with what seemed to be practiced ease, "Over a disagreement with a superior officer. So my husband and I came here, where he had gotten a job. He died in the factories a couple months later. Kemen was there for me. He was sweet, and had brilliant ideas. So I decided to help him make those ideas a reality."
Radek nodded. That seemed awfully convenient. It sounded like a cover story, if he had to guess, but if what she said was true - about her being there in the beginning - then it didn't sound like she was an outside influence. Maybe her story, however unlikely it sounded, really was true. Radek almost snorted when he thought that. Of course - her story was at least as true as his, which sounded remarkably similar in most respects. He made another mental note to check on her story with Kemen later. "He was there for you, huh?" Radek repeated in a teasing tone.
She glared lasers at him. "It wasn't like that," she snapped.
Radek did snort now. They were entering the hotel. "Of course it wasn't."
"It wasn't--" she started to say, but Radek cut her off as they approached the clerk's desk. There were bars between them, with a small gap in the bars close to the counter, so documents and cash could be passed back and forth.
Radek looked the Neimoidian behind the desk over once before he said, pushing the command through the Force, "Someone came in here about two minutes ago. Where did he go?"
The Neimoidian looked between Radek and Swinth. At last, he said, "Upstairs, room 217."
Radek smiled. "Thanks." He and Swinth headed for the stairs.
"How do you know he was telling the truth?" she asked him softly.
Radek shrugged. "If he wasn't, we apologize profusely and we wait for our potential spy to make another mistake. And if he's not a spy, we apologize profusely and leave it alone." Swinth frowned at that, but said nothing.
As they approached the door to room 217, they could hear talking. Radek held a finger up to his lips and they leaned in close to the door.
"--isle, and Zachary Freeman. Those are all the new additions to Kemen's central group. I think they plan to make their move soon," they could hear a man saying.
Another voice said officiously, with a clipped accent that could only be Imperial. "Very good. I'll check the background on all these names. In the meantime, I have a new assignment for you. Command is sending in an Imperial Knight to deal with this situation. You need to meet with her and bring her up to speed, and then get her into Kemen's organization."
The first voice was hesitant. "I don't know if I can do that. Kemen's people are a clever bunch. I shouldn't draw attention to myself."
A moment. Then, "These are direct orders from the Regent, Sargon." The voice had an edge of severity to it now. "Do whatever you have to, but meet her, get her up to speed, and get her in. She will take care of the rest." Another pause. "I'm sending you all the data you need to know about her. Good luck, agent."
There was a pop-fizz of a transmission ending and static ensuing. Radek looked at Swinth, then stepped back and kicked in the door.
The other man was startled, to say the least. "Wha-- What's going on? Freeman? Swinth? What-- What are you doing here?"
"Shut up!" Swinth said, one hand lashing out to box his left ear as he backed away from the two intruders. "We've heard enough here, Sargon." She drew her knife and seemed about to run him through when Radek caught her and pulled her away from him. She yelped and turned on him. "What are you doing?! He's a traitor! We have to kill him!"
"He's not a traitor," Radek responded, "He's a plant. Imperial Intelligence. And they'll miss him if he suddenly disappears, especially if this... Imperial Knight gets here and doesn't have anyone to meet." Swinth frowned again, but again, she did not say anything. Still, she was clearly upset enough that she might kill Sargon if she stayed - and Radek wanted a moment of privacy with the Imperial agent. "Go back to the warehouse, Eirian," Radek told her, "Talk to Kemen. Talk to Sargon's cell leader. Find out how far this goes, and crush it."
"It's just me," Sargon interjected.
"Which is exactly what I'd expect you to say," Radek replied, not turning to face the other, "if you had colleagues." He placed a hand on Swinth's shoulder. "Go. I'll take care of him. Don't worry." He smiled a little, and that seemed to calm her - that, along with the calm he was pushing onto her through the Force. At last, she nodded, acquiescing. She turned to go, but not before shooting one of her laser glares at Sargon. When she was gone, Radek closed the door.
A click behind him did not surprise him. He lifted his hands above his head. "Surprised you didn't draw on me sooner, Sargon," he said.
"Yeah," he replied, "Well, I would have, but Swinth is a damn fast draw."
Radek slowly turned. "I'm sure she is," he said slowly. "What's the plan, Sargon? Shoot me, claim I was the real traitor?"
"Something like that."
"And why do you think I sent Swinth away? Your story falls apart. Kemen trusts her more than he trusts you, or your cell leader."
Sargon shrugged, a sneer showing through his nice-guy veneer. "I'll think of something." He raised the weapon, aimed carefully, and fired.
Radek called on the Force, needing a great deal of power to pull the stunt he had to pull. He got his hand in the path of the blaster bolt, and used the Force to deflect the shot. His skin got a little singed, but nothing permanent, as the bolt ricocheted off into a wall. Sargon was stunned for a second, which was all the time Radek needed. He pulled on the Force again, wrenching the blaster from Sargon's hand and pulling it to his own. Calmly, he set the blaster down next to the door and took a step toward Sargon. "Oops," he said sarcastically.
"You-- you're-- you're a--" Sargon stammered. It did not take long for him to regain his composure, though. "I knew the Jedi couldn't be trusted. You're trying to take advantage of this situation with the Cult - trying to turn our own planets against us! Hell, I bet you're even working with--"
"Shut up," Radek said, calmly, but powered by the Force. Sargon stopped speaking, the silence not entirely voluntary. "You have about three minutes to tell me everything I need to know about this Imperial Knight, and exactly what the Empire is planning here. I don't have time to waste on your yammering."
Sargon snorted. "Good luck, Freeman. Jedi don't hurt people. You'll never get me to talk."
Radek smiled thinly. "See, that's your biggest mistake, Sargon. Whoever said that I was a Jedi?"
* * * * *
Three minutes later, Radek slipped out of the room, holding a datapad with all the data Sargon had on Sierra Pryde and the Empire's plans for quelling Radek's little rebellion. It wasn't much - a brief physical description, and the backup plan involving overwhelming force, if Sargon perceived that Pryde was not adequately completing her task. Radek slipped the datapad into his jacket and then pulled out a kerchief to wipe Sargon's blood from his hands. Now he had a few minutes to come up with an adequate tale about what Sargon said before Swinth came back.
* * * * *
The contacts of Velok's local man, a Chagrian, talked with Kemen's contacts; simple enough. Within a couple of hours Skavi had a time and a location, a tapcaf across town. She's made it clear the Chagrian that she expected him to provide a vehicle and a driver.
Skavi al'Kon, Darth Consecrai, killer of Sith, couldn't drive.
For once she wore something other than her black armour and cloak: a black dress, knee-length and not too tight. Attractive but professional. A long tan coat completed the ensemble, and she wore her hair down - another uncharacteristic step. Careful use of cosmetics erased her Sith tattoos, leaving her just another Zeltron woman, albeit more conservative than some. She refused to wear heels, and she knew her walk didn't have the sway typical to her species; she walked like a predator and couldn't change that.
Her lightsabre remained in her hotel room; in fact, she went to the meeting entirely unarmed. If push came to shove, Velok had done his level best to make her all the weapon she'd ever need, and the Whiphid's best was - by any objective standard - pretty good.
She didn't know tradecraft, didn't know the arts of covert meetings; no mentalist or professional fugitive, she couldn't even pick out which passersby and patrons of the tapcaf had come with Kemen's envoy. She assumed there were some, and she trusted her gut, but she knew she was flying blind.
Pastry in hand, she picked a table on the patio and waited. After a handful of minutes, a redheaded woman with a cup of cap slipped into the seat opposite her. Skavi might not have been much in the world of clandestine meetings, but she could pick a killer out of a crowd ten miles away. She evaluated the woman's economy of movement, the lines of her hands, the way her eyes moved. Yes, Kemen's rep could take care of herself.
"Call me Swinth. Fifty thousand. You have my attention."
Skavi nodded. "My employer is curious about your movement. That's all. Something other than ideology - he's curious about what kind of following you have, how you operate, that sort of thing."
"You could be anyone. Fifty thousand doesn't buy you the kind of details you're after."
"I didn't expect so. I could, after all, be anyone." Skavi nibbled the pastry. "What he actually expects me to get is information concerning any...recent developments in your cause. Whether anyone new is on the scene. What changed - because something changed."
"The people got tired of-"
"I said I knew the ideology. I've been given a broad mandate here, Miz Swinth, to help your movement along or cause it some embarassment - your success or failure doesn't mean nearly so much to my employer as the answer to my question."
Swinth, unflappable, sipped her caf. "Which one? Some don't have answers."
"New power players, behind the scenes. Were there any?"
"Some."
"Any from offworld?"
Skavi had the satisfaction of seeing Swinth blink. At a guess, Swinth had thought she'd known who Skavi was talking about, and had apparently gotten it wrong. She got a general sense of increased wariness. "You really couldn't be anyone, you know," said Swinth. "A combat-hardened woman with yellow eyes and some kind of tattoos hidden by cosmetics shows up and starts bragging about hidden agendas and secret manipulations, and I start thinking Sith. I've been around the block once or twice. We can handle our world without your interference."
"Miz Swinth, something changed in the recent past. Please tell me what it is."
"Please?" A certainty settled over Swinth's features; at a guess, she'd taken Skavi's lack of answer as acquiescence. "That's an unusual word from someone in your line of work."
"This may be to your benefit, miz Swinth. Worst-case scenario, your revolution is being manipulated by other Sith for their own ends. I kill them, you're free to continue what you're doing. And that's as many cards as I'll put in the fixer field."
Swinth took a long drink of her caf, her eyes flat and hard. "Nobody from offworld," she said. "At least, nobody who admits to it. I don't like the picture you're painting, but I don't see anything that fits it. If you're running a game on me, I'll dice you six ways from-"
Skavi didn't move, didn't even twitch, but Swinth swallowed; her mouth closed, opened, closed again. "Not pleasant, is it," said Skavi. "Not something I enjoy doing." Just like that, Swinth could breathe again. The redhead glanced at something above and behind Skavi; the Sith Apprentice picked up her pastry again. "I bear you no ill will."
"I honestly can't think of anyone, any force, that sounds like what you're looking for." Swinth's voice was rough; her eyes blazed. Apparently she'd opted against calling in her backup. "Read my mind, Sith."
"Not my forte, but I believe you. So - not to overstress the point - what happened? What brought everything together? When did things start going better for you?" She'd sensed flickers in the Force since arriving here, but that was all: enough to suggest that there just might be Force-users manipulating things, maybe helping them along or possibly working against them
"We brought...a partner onboard, an established presence here on Bescane. Nobody new. Someone who could provide money and manpower."
"Did he come onboard of his own volition?"
"No, he was recruited."
"You're sure?"
"Kemen did it himself."
Skavi nodded, and opted against suggesting that Kemen could be the source of the offworld influence and that tiny disturbance in the Force. Perhaps it was just that he'd become more persuasive...
"This may seem like an odd question, miz Swinth, but has Kemen become more persuasive lately? Are his speeches better?"
"That is an odd question."
"Not in my line of work."
Swinth grimaced. "Come to think of it..."
Skavi chowed down on the remains of the pastry. Brushing crumbs off her lap, she looked Swinth in the eye. "I'm willing to bet it's someone close to Kemen. Might even be you."
"If there is a someone."
"There is."
Swinth thought about mentioning Zachary. The man had come into the fold recently, and he did seem... oddly persuasive. She had suspected it had something to do with his training, or perhaps his resolve. Could it be something more? Could he be... a Jedi? Or worse, a Sith? But he seemed to be helping. He had been very helpful in convincing Carlisle to join the Bescaneans for Independence, and he had even tracked down the Imperial spy. But by the time she had returned to the hotel with Kemen, he had "disposed" of him. Could he have simply sequestered him away, to save the spy from exposure? She did not know.
But she also did not trust this... seducer. Zeltrons were notoriously deceptive, and this one even more so. She said, "No one fits the description you've offered. I'll be happy to do some digging and give you a call, though." She meant that; if there was a Sith involved here, she was ill-prepared to handle it, and if this woman was - far-fetched as it may have been - honest about her intentions, then getting her help could save their lives. But if the Zeltron was on a mission of her own, Swinth did not want her snooping around. "I would urge you to sit tight and wait for me to call," she continued, "Doing your own investigating could disrupt everything we have struggled to build for ourselves."
Swinth stood and extended a hand, her cold gaze unblinking as she stared the other woman down.
Skavi shook the redhead's hand, feeling the hardened edges and creases of someone who knew what she was doing; Swinth, she knew, would feel the same qualities in Skavi's own grip.
"My employer has given me certain time constraints, miz Swinth. I'd hope to hear from you sooner, rather than later." Swinth eyed her, the implication not lost. Skavi met her gaze square on, then nodded out her quota of politesse and gestured vaguely at the card sitting on the table beside the half-eaten pastry on its plate. Polis Antillies, Galactic Import/Export and a comm number.
Swinth watched the woman leave. She was trouble. Swinth, meanwhile, was in trouble. She needed information, and she needed it fast. She had access to holos of everyone who had come into the fold recently - including Zachary.
She glanced at the two members of the Bescaneans for Independence that had accompanied her, to watch her back. She hadn't needed them, but Kemen had insisted. She nodded at them, and they both stood and left the cafe, headed back towards the warehouse. Things were moving along too quickly to be caught out in the open in each other's company anymore. She started to follow them, to discuss everything with Kemen, but she decided that this was best kept from him for now. If this woman was right about a dangerous new presence, Swinth didn't want Kemen ordering everything to quiet down. They were too close. She had worked too hard for this.
She palmed the business card the Zeltron had left, then headed for her own apartment.
After Skavi left, she relied on the Chagrian's driver to shake whatever tails might have attached themselves. Tradecraft, again, was not her specialty, though she felt somewhat guilty at not taking the opportunity to improve herself in that regard; she suspected this sort of experience was exactly why Velok sent her on errands requiring a subtler hand. In her heart she knew that she wasn't the Apprentice he needed to succeed him in the future. She could kill anything - but she couldn't do what he did. She didn't have that sort of mind. Her thoughts flowed in straight lines.
Upon returning to her hotel - a very nice one - she ran herself a bath and went all underwater, head and everything. She scrubbed at her face with her palms, smearing and eroding the coverup around her eyes. She stayed underwater for a long time, practicing - everything was practice - how long she could hold her breath. She didn't keep count this time, just waited until the water started getting cool, using the Force to recycle the oxygen in her lungs and body, and slowing her body's use of it. Then she surfaced, half-drained the tub, and ran a good bit more hot water. The taste of cosmetics lingered in the corners of her mouth. When she looked at the mirror, stared at it really, she saw a face covered in tattoos both crudely simple and obscurely abstract.
She might have thought about Sith tattoos if she didn't have them already. Ald had them, and his didn't look half bad. But she would have liked the freedom to come up with her own, presumably for the second time. She had no memory of her prior life, and with that went knowledge of why she might have found the broad patterns of her facial tattoos significant.
Now they meant less than nothing. In thirty years - forty if she kept her fitness up, which seemed likely assuming she lived that long - they'd be faded and distorted and even more pointless. She hated them.
But for now, they said mystery and unnatural in letters a mile high. So she used them like a hammer, and the next phase probably called for a hammer. Besides, she hated the coverup, the nagging fear that a smudge might reveal the darkness underneath. The preparation time, best spent elsewhere instead.
She spent a good three hours in that bubble bath, letting the makeup slough away from her skin. When she got out, she dressed in black armour, tight at the neck, covered by a black cloak. She bound her long silken hair in a topknot. She hung a lightsabre from her belt and sat down to dinner.
If she didn't hear from Swinth within two days, she would begin to dig.