Star Wars: Fate Of The Jedi: Omen Part 9

Opportunities were everywhere, all the time, for sharp minds to find. Like credcoins dropped on a pavement. And Lecersen had a very sharp mind. There were so very many enemies to set at one another's throats.

Daala was already doing a very good job of alienating the Jedi. Lecersen didn't think he could have done any better. The Jedi, in turn, were doubtless up to something. He wasn't sure what. Yet. But he did not think for an instant that the elegant, courteous Kenth Hamner spoke for every single Jedi Knight or, indeed, even Master in the Order. The observers who had now been legally abolished had been good for Daala and the GA, not so good for the Moffs. Far better to have the Jedi thinking they weren't being watched.

Two Jedi were now incarcerated. That was good. The Jedi had been chafing under Daala and all but reveling in their new, legal freedom. That was good, too. Jag was distracted, and so was Jaina, and reporters were apparently annoying the two to no end. Also very good.

The threads were all there. Now to weave them into a tapestry that would ill.u.s.trate a picture of the Moffs restored to their rightful Imperial glory-without a lovesick puppy of a pilot at its head.

Lecersen drained the wine, looked at the empty gla.s.s, and smiled.

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT.

JAINA COULDN'T BELIEVE IT, BUT SHE ACTUALLY MISSED DAB HANTAQ.

She did not miss the random check-ins that had often interrupted her sleep or other nocturnal activities. She did not miss his following her during her waking hours, reporting on her every movement. And she most certainly did not miss the fact that he was a dead ringer-nice pun, Jaina, she thought with a wince-for her late brother, Anakin.

What she did miss was the fact that Dab had tried to do his job with courtesy. He did what he was ordered to do, but he never seemed to particularly relish it.

Unlike the reporters. Jaina was beginning to think the ruling in favor of eliminating the official observers had traded one nuisance for a worse one. At least the observers had had rules of their own. The journalists seemed to have none whatsoever. During the whole "let's give the entire galaxy access to the Jedi" phase that had mercifully come to an end recently, certain areas of the Temple had been opened to journalists. At least a Jedi had accompanied them during their sightseeing, but Jaina had never gotten used to running into the press in the dining room or in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

She sighed and slipped into her outfit for the night's mission, which Jag had dubbed Operation Caranak, and began to apply the makeup necessary to complete it. She scowled at herself in the mirror and sighed. Time was growing short. It would have to do.

Automatically she reached for her lightsaber, and then hesitated. Sword of the Jedi she might be, but tonight's mission would not necessitate fighting. She hoped. It had a very specific goal in mind, and if she ended up being forced to use her lightsaber, all would already be lost. With a slight frown, she dropped it in her black, stylish nerf-hide handbag anyway. No one needed to see it, and she felt naked leaving without it.

She clicked on her comm. "Gaunt, this is Slicer."

"Gaunt here." Jag, his voice calm as ever but with a slight edge to it that only Jaina, who knew him so well, would have noticed. The mission clearly had him keyed up.

"Everything in order?" she asked.

"Check. Carved is in position."

"So is Curved. I'm preparing to initiate Phase One."

"Copy that," Jag said. "I'm moving into the secondary location."

She took a deep breath, steadying herself for what she might face. "Okay. See you at the rendezvous."

"Watch yourself. They'll be gunning for you."

"I know. You too."

She clicked off her comlink and attempted to put it in its usual position on her belt, then remembered she wasn't wearing the belt tonight.

These stealth missions were annoying.

She dropped the comlink in her bag beside her lightsaber. A final perusal of her outfit and she left the room.

The reporter was waiting for her the instant she stepped outside the Temple.

She had known he would be, and steeled herself for the encounter.

Reporters were forbidden to enter the Temple unless invited to do so, a welcome change from earlier. So instead they cl.u.s.tered like a swarm of insects at the base of the stairs, a milling little knot of salacious beings all clamoring for the exclusive story.

"Jedi Solo! Over here!"

"Solo! Where are you heading?"

"Jedi Solo, what is your opinion on the movement to eliminate slavery on Vinsoth?" This last from a Chev, tall, powerfully built, piercing violet eyes staring at her from under a heavy brow.

Jaina waved a hand airily at all of them, forcing an expression of good cheer.

"Come on, guys, can't a girl go out on a dinner date just like anyone else?" She opened her coat, nerf-hide black to match her evening bag, and mockingly showed off the long, red formal evening dress she wore underneath it, with matching red shoes with high, narrow heels. "See? Not even wearing my lightsaber. And I'm certainly not going to be running in these shoes. Now, unless you are keenly interested in what I'm going to order for dinner, you should really go home. Or bug someone else."

Some of the crowd sighed audibly and backed away. But at least one tagged along after her, shouting, "Shouldn't a Jedi, who respects the Force created by all living beings, be a vegetarian?"

Jaina rolled her eyes and bit back a retort. Think of the mission, Jaina. Think of the mission. She ducked into the speeder that had pulled up and was now hovering, waiting for her.

"Go. Now."

Winter Celchu, her distinctive white hair dyed a forgettable shade of muddy brown, her features blunted by a judicious application of makeup, and her figure swathed in the robes of a Jedi apprentice, caught Jaina's eyes in the mirror and grinned.

"Of course, Jedi Solo."

IT MIGHT BE ONLY A DINNER, JAVIS TYRR THOUGHT, BUT MANY A SECRET had been whispered between lovers by candlelight before. Jaina had a head start on him; he would have to move quickly. As he lifted off, his Hologlide J57 cam droid securely in the seat beside him, he was able to catch sight of her vessel.

Had Jaina been piloting, he knew, the speeder would make all sorts of convoluted twists and turns in an effort to elude pursuit. Instead, it remained almost staidly in the proper lanes of traffic, not exceeding legal speeds. And if Jaina wasn't piloting tonight, that meant she might be choosing to imbibe some alcohol with her meal. Tyrr smiled. That would be useful. Intoxication often loosened tongues.

His network's ratings had soared upon his coverage of Jysella Horn's "Jedi Rampage," as it had been dubbed. So had his popularity with his bosses. He'd been given his own exclusive half-hour show, which he had t.i.tled Javis Tyrr Presents: The Jedi Among Us. Some episodes had been calmer than others. Most recently, in fact, he had aired an educational spot about the history of the Jedi. The ratings were starting to drop as the public lost interest, and his boss had recently indicated that something "a bit livelier" would be preferred.

He was not going to stoop to eavesdropping on pillow talk. Tyrr was, after all, a reputable journalist. But any conversation held in a public place was fair game.

The little red speeder was fairly easily followed, and Tyrr wondered if perhaps this might not be a waste of his time tonight. Jaina Solo and Jagged Fel were highly important personages, but they were beings, too, and it might indeed just be a dinner out. Even so, there could possibly be crumbs dropped that would be worth it. He tapped in a request on the vessel's computer and it came up with a list of several restaurants in the area. As he quickly scanned the list, he realized he thought he knew where they were headed. That information helped make up his mind. He veered into another lane, taking a shortcut in order to arrive before Jaina. If, as he suspected, Fel and Solo were dining at the Indigo Tower, one of the nicest restaurants in the quarter, at least he'd have a good meal at the network's expense.

The Indigo Tower was modeled after the famous Skysitter Restaurant, shamelessly stealing that establishment's concept of a revolving room on a tower high above the Coruscanti skyline. Its exterior was made of s.h.i.+ning, blue-black durasteel, extremely modern and chic. Inside the color theme continued throughout the lush decor.

Tyrr pulled into the valet lane, handed a credcoin of decent denomination off to the valet, and lingered at the entrance to the Tower, checking his chrono and looking about as if waiting for someone. He was careful to stay in the shadows as much as possible.

A black speeder with the insignia of the Galactic Empire pulled up. Imperial Head of State Jagged Fel was clearly not attempting to hide his appearance. He also was driving his own speeder, and stepped out briskly, his military bearing obvious. His dark head with its distinctive white streak, a continuation of the scar that ran across his face, was bare, but he wore an elegant cloak, scarf, and gloves in concession to the chill of the alt.i.tude. He, too, handed his vessel off to a valet, then stood and waited, his breath puffing in the chill air.

A few moments later the little red speeder appeared. Jaina Solo stepped out, smiling at Jag as he a.s.sisted her courteously. He kissed her cheek, drew her arm through his, and together they entered the restaurant.

Tyrr followed, keeping a discreet distance. He was certain he had not been observed. But it wouldn't matter if he had been spotted by the two: As a journalist of repute, he would not arouse suspicion by choosing to dine at this establishment. He lingered as they were led off by the matre d' and then told the young female Ortolan who approached him, "I'd like to be close to those two."

He subtly flashed a credcard and winked.

"I'll get you as close as I can, sir," she said, taking the card in her large, stubby hands, running it, and returning it to him just as discreetly. He followed her as she led him through the dining room, and wondered if her dark blue skin had been an a.s.set during the hiring process at a place called the Indigo Tower. The carpet was thick and plush; over in the corner, a musical trio-a Bith, another Ortolan, and a human-was playing a soft tune. A sultry-voiced Pa'lowick stepped up to the microphone and began to sing.

The Ortolan led him to an area where secluded booths extended into corners and the blue light made everything look mysterious and cool. He watched Jag and Jaina, her arm still through his, their heads bent close together as they spoke quietly.

And then the matre d' opened a door, and they disappeared.

"Here you are, sir," the Ortolan said blithely. "This is the closest table to our private rooms."

He stared at her.

"I'D HAVE GIVEN A LOT TO SEE THE LOOK ON TYRR'S FACE," JAINA SAID.

"We must, alas, content ourselves with imagining it," Jag said.

"Anything else I can do for you, sir? Madam?" the matre d' inquired politely.

"Not at the moment. Just keep up the faade. Open the doors from time to time to let him have a look," Jag said.

"Of course, sir. You'll have five minutes before the waiter comes in with the wine list." He went to the door and waited for everyone to take their positions.

Sitting at the cozy, romantic, candlelit table for two were two humans who at first glance-and probably second-looked exactly like Jaina and Jag. Jag had first given Jaina the idea when Darkmeld had gone after Seff h.e.l.lin. "Like all sensible Chiefs of State, I have a double, hard at work pretending to be me back in my quarters," he had said after they'd successfully brought down the troubled Jedi.

Leia hadn't used a double, as Jaina had pointed out to Jag, but she would. It was just too useful an idea.

Jag's double, Karn Valanti-code-named "Carved" for the decoy he was-was positively uncanny, Jaina thought. It wasn't so much the looks, although he did strongly resemble Jag, especially around the eyes, but the man had gotten his movements down pat. She wasn't so sure hers would pa.s.s close inspection, but everyone else a.s.sured her that Lina Zev-code-named "Curved," not for her figure but for a fis.h.i.+ng hook-had captured Jaina to perfection.

"Wait till you see her demonstrate your trademark annoyed scowl," Jag had said once. Jaina had frowned at him. "That's the one. She's nailed it."

Now the two doubles were helping Jag out of his outfit and Jaina into hers. Jag had worn a close-fitting, dark, nondescript tunic and pants beneath his formal wear, and Karn was now draping a hooded cloak over Jag's broad shoulders. Jaina had shucked the high-heeled shoes and slipped a pair of trousers on beneath her dress. She turned away and wriggled out of the gown while Lina draped a s.h.i.+rt over her. She shrugged into her own cloak, demanding, "Time?"

"We have exactly one minute and thirty-three seconds," Jag a.s.sured her.

"Let's go," Jaina said. They turned and ducked into the side door that led into the kitchens, which had doubtless been pressed into use as an escape route before. As the door closed, she glanced back just in time to see the main door to the dining area opening.

Stang ... those doubles did look convincing. The door slid shut and Jaina smiled at the kitchen staff. Some of them smiled back at her, but most appeared disinterested. Trysts between high-powered couples were apparently nothing new at one of the most popular restaurants in the Senate District.

Jaina sniffed appreciatively. Her stomach rumbled and she eyed some of the prepared dishes wistfully.

"One of these days," she said, "we really will have to come here just for dinner."

"I promise," Jag said. "But for now-we have a mission, remember?"

TYRR FUMED QUIETLY FOR A FEW MOMENTS, BUT THEN RESIGNED HIMSELF to the situation. It could still be turned to good use, and an evening spent dining on nerf steak and thakitillo, washed down with a nice gla.s.s of Creme D'Infame, was not one to be regretted.

He caught glimpses of them from time to time as the door opened and the waiter brought in wine, appetizers, and the main course. They didn't look like two high-ranking figures in deep discussion about politics, or Jedi principles, or anything. They looked like ... a couple out on a date.

His opportunity came when the serving droid tweetled past, a small unit bearing a sinful-looking array of pastries, puddings, and candies. It paused to permit an elderly couple to leave, and in those few seconds Tyrr removed a tiny cam, the size of a pinkie fingernail, from his pocket. He activated it with a remote in his other pocket, and the little cam sprouted legs like a spider and scurried onto the serving droid. It hastened up and embedded itself beneath the napkin on the tray, and Javis Tyrr grinned.

The Pa'lowick singer stepped up to the microphone and began to croon a currently popular love song. Her Basic was surprisingly good.

It's all just a dream, isn't it?

This thing we call love ...

A marvelous scheme, isn't it?

This thing we call love ...

Javis listened with half an ear. He liked the song, and the performance was a good one, but his attention was most definitely elsewhere. A moment later, the droid paused before the closed door of the private dining room and bleeped a few times. The door opened to let it through, then slid shut behind it.

It's just an illusion,

A trick of the heart,

A pleasant delusion

When two are apart-

Tyrr nursed his own dessert and after-dinner drink, pulling out what looked like an ordinary datapad and perusing files. To all observers, he looked like the newsman he was, reading up on notes his a.s.sistant had gathered for his latest story. And indeed, that was what was on the screen-at the moment. But in a small corner, which could be enlarged with a tap of the finger, was an up-close-and-personal glimpse of ... white napkin.