The Approaching Storm (звёздные войны) Read online

  There was laughter from around the private table. "Trust constituents…""… how very droll!" As soon as the mirth had faded, Mousul spoke anew.

  "I have been in touch with my principal contact on Ansion. He assures me the Jedi will be dealt with. Shu Mai continues to show confidence in this individual as well. There are social and commercial bonds that affirm our mutual contract. I suggest you all return to your positions and be of good cheer. All our hopes will be realized soon enough."

  "To be at last free of the corruption and vices of this bloated, inert, so-called Republic!" Tarn Uliss exclaimed. "Truly a dream to be wished."

  The Senator looked around the circle. "We are all of the same opinion. And we are fortunate to have someone who believes in our cause as strongly as Shu Mai does to mediate for us with others who for now must remain nameless." He passed a hand over the table's response plate. "Now, let us all relax and have something to drink. It's rare enough that we're able to gather together like this."

  Tension dissolved after the first few rounds of drinks. In the company of his fellow conspirators, Mousul was also able to relax. He would be more relaxed still after he reported to Shu Mai on the one member of their group whom he felt they could no longer trust. A lack of trust was a bad thing in a conspiracy. It poisoned the atmosphere of cooperation. It could prove fatal.

  Especially to the individual in question.

  Soergg was well pleased with the final plan that had been de vised. It had been carefully thought out, honed and refined, until he could see nothing wrong with it. It possessed the twin virtues of simplicity and directness. He explained it assertively to Ogo-moor. His majordomo listened carefully. Only when the Hutt had finished did the Ansionian timidly venture to comment.

  "It certainly sounds most promising."

  "Promising?" the bossban rumbled. "It's perfect!" He glow ered down at the complaisant biped. "Isn't it?"

  "Well, the only obstacle I see lies in this ability of the Jedi to intuit danger coming their way. To sense trouble as a disturbance in the Force."

  Soergg nodded as much as one could who had no neck. "I am all too aware of the cursed Jedi abilities. So to carry out this plan I have engaged two who are immune to such Jedi perceptiveness. Two of your own kind who possess unique qualifications."

  "Not to dispute your expertise, but how can any thinking, feeling sentients be impervious to Jedi acuity?"

  "Meet them, Ogomoor, and judge for yourself." Looking off to one side, he clapped his large, flabby palms together and raised his voice. "Bulgan, Kyakhta-come and meet my majordomo!"

  Expectant and curious, Ogomoor turned toward the doorway that led from the bossban's audience chamber to a side

  waiting room. The aspect of the two Ansionians who entered in response to Soergg's call did not fill him with overwhelming confidence.

  One had a ripped and ragged mane of splotchy auburn and a crudely fashioned artificial arm. The other was completely shorn from head to spine, bald and pallid of skin, with a patch over one eye and a back permanently bent from some incurable childhood disease. Neither was especially tall or strong. Together, Ogo-moor decided, the pair would have been hard-pressed to kidnap the offspring of an elderly water carrier.

  So astonished was he by the sight of the forlorn duo that for a moment he forgot his fear of his employer. "Bossban, you're going to send these two to capture a Jedi?"

  "Not a Jedi, Ogomoor. One of their Padawans. With one of the two youths in our custody, the Jedi will be forced to parley." He puffed himself up to his full, impressive-if loathsome-size. "We will demand they withdraw from all negotiations involving Ansion's domestic and galactic disputations, and that no new Jedi come to take their place. Once they agree to that, they will be helpless to affect the outcome of the vote for secession. One Jedi's word binds all Jedi." He all but rubbed his hands together. "This is even better than killing them. They will be forced to leave in disgrace and failure, with their tails tucked between their legs. At the same time, the Jedi Council will not rise up in rage against the deaths of several of their Order. They will simply have been outmaneuvered, and out-thought. By me." He puffed up so much that Ogomoor thought the Hutt might explode. Unfortunately, it remained nothing more than a wishful image. "Sometimes humiliation is more effective than death."

  "I do not disagree, Bossban." Recovering some fortitude, Ogo moor indicated the two proposed hostage takers. The one called

  Kyakhta was gaping openmouthed at the room's luxurious furnishings, while his bent-backed companion Bulgan stood staring blankly at the floor, flagrantly picking his single nostril. "But seriously, you are sending these two to overpower a Jedi Padawan?"

  Instead of roaring, Soergg held his patience. "Look at them, Ogomoor. Take a good, close look. What do you see?" Clearly, the Hutt was enjoying his employee's bewilderment.

  Dubiously, and without getting any closer than was ab solutely necessary, the majordomo scrutinized the shiftless pair. Closer inspection did not produce encouragement. "At the risk of insulting your judgment, if not them, O Bossban, I would say that they appear to be slightly felek. Mentally deranged. Addled."

  "Indeed they are. Just enough." Looking hugely pleased with himself, as well as more than usually huge, Soergg leaned back on his tail. "In the course of carrying out research for my many business interests, I have discovered that even a minor mental illness is sometimes sufficient to confuse perception of the Force in those who are capable of it. Psychosis acts like a fogged piece of transparisteel, distorting but not completely hiding what lies beyond." He gestured at his new hirelings. Bulgan smiled vacantly in response. "These two are indeed slightly mad. In their madness lies the secret of our success."

  Enlightened, Ogomoor eyed the pair with fresh interest, if not increased respect. "I've been trying to place their garb. While they're obviously Alwari, I have to admit I don't recognize their clans."

  "That is hardly surprising," Soergg grunted, "since they have no clans. Because of their physical and mental infirmities, they have been cast out. Sent to live in the hated cities, where they eke out a living doing whatever work comes their way." He beamed as much as a Hutt could beam. "With what I have agreed to pay them, they will do anything I ask. Anything! Even attempt to capture a Jedi Padawan." He snorted derisively. "Like so many, credits mean more to them than morals."

  Including a people called the Hutts, Ogomoor thought.

  "That's so, it is," declared Bulgan, speaking for the first time. His words were somewhat difficult to understand as he still had one finger up his nose.

  "We'll do it." The elocution of his one-armed companion Kyakhta was somewhat better, being uninfracted by the kind of digital nasal blockage that was presently afflicting his companion. "We can do it." As Kyakhta spoke, Bulgan blinked his one good eye; the thick, opaque Ansionian lid flashing meaningfully from left to right.

  "The Jedi will not be able to sense their approach." Soergg was visibly reveling in the inimitability of his plan.

  "Not via the Force, perhaps, Bossban. But the humans still have eyes, and reactions more sharply honed than those of most sentients."

  The Hutt nodded patiently, having thought it all out in ad vance. "Our friends here will flatch the snatch late in the day. Even Jedi require the occasional break from their duties. The four who trouble us have been observed taking in the sights of Cuipernam. As they do so, sometimes they separate. Jedi they may be, but they are still of two different genders. The females often seek out different things than the males. If a younger Padawan can be caught out a distance away from its Master, the abduction may be accomplished. Most Jedi, so it is said, rely on their senses to warn them when danger approaches. Sensing no danger in these two idiots, they will ignore them as they continue with their sight-seeing." With an imperious wave of one hand, he dismissed the two addled but willing kidnappers.

  "Go now! You know where the visitors stay." He smiled un pleasantly. "Everyone knows, as they are official guests of the Unity delegation and
the city council of Cuipernam. If you succeed, take the Padawan to the chosen place and wait there for my further orders."

  Kyakhta turned and bowed. When Bulgan did not, his companion smacked the other clanless one on the back of his bald skull. Bulgan then turned and, being already bent, did not have to bow. But he did at least remove his finger from his nose. Together, they backed out of the room through the door that had granted them admittance. Ogomoor was still dubious- but a flicker of anticipation had begun to burn within him.

  "An audacious plan, to be sure, Bossban. But risky."

  "What risk?" Lumbering to his right, Soergg shoved a fist into a bowl filled with turgid liquid and fished out something the sight of which made Ogomoor blanch. Unrepentant, the Hutt tilted back his head, dropped the noisome contents of his closed hand into his cavernous maw of a mouth, and swallowed noisily, smacking his lips by way of appreciation. "The risk falls entirely on those two cretins. If they fail, the Jedi will surely kill them."

  "And if they do not, but only wound and capture them? Art less as they are, they will surely tell the Jedi who hired them to attempt such a task."

  Soergg's great belly heaved as he laughed. "Once they com mence the operation, they are to report personally to me at prescribed intervals via closed-band comlink. Two nights ago, while they slept the sleep of the simple, I had my own physician install a small device in the neck of each. Should they fail to report" — he tapped one finger into an open, greasy palm-"I will remotely activate the devices. Before they can give away any incriminating information, the very compact explosive charges contained within will separate their heads from their shoulders. Rather messily, I'm afraid."

  "What then, Great One?" Ogomoor was curious to know.

  Soergg shrugged, fleshy ripples running in descending waves down his entire flaccid length. "Clanless imbeciles are cheap, even in Cuipernam. If these two fail, we will try again with another pair."

  Kyakhta swirled the lightweight, waterproof robes more tightly around him, the better to hide his face. They were the robes of a member of the Pangay Ous. That was not his clan. He and Bulgan were Tasbir, of the Southern Hatagai. But it felt good to be back in clan gear even if it was not his own, even if it had not been earned.

  The robes were necessary to allow them to blend in with the crowds that filled the bustling marketplace. Remembering the small device clipped to his waistband beneath the robes, he fingered it briefly, as per the instructions of their master the Hutt. Soergg had been most insistent that they call in regularly. After all, he had informed them, explaining how the explosive devices implanted in their necks worked, if they failed to check in at the appointed time, they would not live long enough to collect their pay. Kyakhta and Bulgan had been deeply touched by this intimate expression of the Hutt's concern for their welfare.

  There were larger marketplaces on Ansion than Cuiper-nam's. In these days of modern intragalactic commerce, the majority of transactions involved little more than an exchange of numbers and symbols. But on many worlds, the old-style, traditional marketplace still retained a warm spot in the hearts of the local inhabitants. Trading by machine might be more efficient, and allow for an infinitely greater variety and volume of goods to be bartered, but there was no joy in it. The delights of doing business face to face remained one of life's small pleasures in an increasingly automated galactic civilization.

  Besides, what did a local specialist vendor of marthan fruit need with the expense and complications of an electronic trading nexus? And how many visitors and gawkers and tourists would a portable information shifter draw to a community's downtown? Not to mention that face-to-face business provided a way to avoid many taxes. Among those inhabitants of Ansion who were heartily in favor of secession could be counted many notable merchants. It wasn't so much the taxes themselves that had caused them to distance themselves from the Republic-it was the endless and ever-growing list of rules and regulations. Though these concerns were shared throughout the Republic and had been passed on to the Senate by citizen representatives, like so much else, they seemed never to be acted upon. Isolated and coddled on distant Coruscant, the galactic government had grown ever more divorced from the needs and aspirations of the people it purported to govern.

  Kyakhta and Bulgan moved easily through the crowds, though Kyakhta had to keep a close eye on his companion as they wended their way past one stall and shop after another. Innocent that he was, the bent-backed Bulgan had a disconcerting tendency to sample assorted wares without remembering that it was necessary to pay for them. They had no time for such nonsense today. They were on an important mission! Not as important as herding, or racing, or celebrating with one's clan, perhaps. But for two clanless ones such as themselves, important enough.

  "There they are!" he whispered tersely as Bulgan bumped up behind him. The other strained to see out of his one good eye, straightening as much as he was able. Bulgan sniffed as he stared.

  "Got no guards," he noted observantly. Bulgan was simple, but not quite so stupid as his outward appearance and attitude might suggest.

  Kyakhta withheld the majority of his contempt. "Of course they got no guards, dimwit! What need do Jedi have for guards? It is they who guard others.''''

  Bulgan frowned, looked around in confusion. "What others?"

  Not bothering to reply and keeping his face hidden as much as possible, Kyakhta saw that the visitors were unaccompanied by a local guide. In keeping with their unassuming demeanor, he knew they would prefer to travel without even a small entourage. Nor would they wish to attract a crowd. That was good. For the work they intended to do, he and Bulgan wanted as few complications, and witnesses, as possible. His upper right arm was throbbing above the prosthetic, as it always did when he was nervous.

  "Which one we take?" Bulgan had to move his head from side to side in order to see around eddying pedestrians who were not so much taller than he as straighter.

  "I don't know. It's easy enough to tell the Padawans from their Jedi. They're much younger. I don't remember if there is a strength difference between human genders." He did not bother to ask if Bulgan recalled such a thing. Bulgan had trouble remembering what day it was, and sometimes his own name.

  What did the Hutt Soergg want with a Jedi Padawan anyway, he wondered. Well, that was no business of his. He and Bulgan had only to carry out their task. Besides, thinking on more than one subject at a time hurt his head.

  "Let's follow them," the bent one suggested. This was so obvious and sensible a notion that Kyakhta could hardly countenance its origin.

  The Jedi visitors acted like any group of tourists, listening to the spoken explanations of their guide as they strolled through the marketplace, dutifully admiring the sights while occasionally pausing to taste samples of the local cuisine. Occasionally, one or two of them would pause to admire a handicraft or artwork, a neatly turned bracelet or glistening singing plant from the equatorial regions. They did not buy anything, Kyakhta noted. What use did a Jedi have for personal possessions when their Council kept them always on the move? But their roving lifestyle did not prevent them from looking and appreciating.

  One of the Padawans stopped outside a shop that featured sanwiwood sculptures from the Niruu Plateau. The Niruu Alwari were famed for their woodwork. It was the young female, Kyakhta noted. The modestly windowed shop was one of many that fronted on the central marketplace itself, and therefore was more substantial than the temporary stalls and carts that filled the central square.

  Go inside, he heard himself thinking urgently at the preoccu pied Padawan. Go on, go in. Admire the lovely pretties. Next to him, Bulgan had gone silent, sensing that the moment might be near. In the midst of watching and waiting, Kyakhta did remember to finger the homing device at his waist.

  After exchanging a few words with her equally youthful counterpart, the female Padawan entered. Her male colleague turned away and moved off, trailing the two older Jedi. The latter were locked in animated conversation. They appeared not to have not
iced the momentary detour taken by one of their young apprentices.

  "Now, quickly!" Forcing himself not to break into an eye- attracting lope, Kyakhta hurried forward.

  The Winds of Whorh were with them. There was no one else in the shop: only the proprietor, a wizened old city dweller who looked nearly as well worn as some of her antique woodcarvings. No other customers. Keeping their robes as tight about their faces as possible, the two newcomers pretended to examine a ritual high-backed Nazay seat from Delgerhan. The Padawan was slim and did not appear to be especially muscular. But then, Kyakhta knew, Jedi did not depend on brute physical strength for their protection.

  Gesturing to Bulgan, he waited while his friend carefully un folded the polus net from beneath his robe. When Bulgan was ready, Kyakhta stepped up to the counter. Smiling patiently, the proprietress shuffled toward him. A last, quick glance in the direction of the marketplace showed that the entryway remained clear. There was no sign of the other visitors through the single large, transparent pane.

  "Welcome to my modest place of doings, sir." Eyeing his robes, she added, "I see that you are Pangay Ous. You are a long way from your stretch of prairie, sir." A hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. "Yet you do not have the look about you of one who is of the Northern Bands. I see no identifying tattoo on your forehead, and your mane is-"