Forty-two men, crowded around a smallish table breathed a collective sigh of relief as the skritch scratch of a symbolic quill pen ceased. One of the men cracked a “what have we done now” joke, and a gentle laugh rippled across the group. They fell silent for a moment, seeming to reflect upon the comment. Then, someone started to clap The effect was spontaneous and soon everyone was thumping their hands. A smile broke out on most of the tired faces, and friends elbowed each other.

But, the thought of What have we done? was on more than one mind. After a few moments, one man announced loudly that he was going to go get a drink. The staleness of the air in the room prompted someone to go open the doors, while a few others began to stretch their bodies with a short walk. The words “Fellow Anthoseian” drifted back to some others and they grinned even more. A few grins were of the sickly kind, as if the owners had swallowed something nauseous.

As the crowd broke up, a few people moved in for a better look at the paper they had just signed. Titled, “We, the members of Anthos”, and covered at the bottom with twenty signatures, it was a short document. A constitution of sorts, a declaration of the creation of a new government.

A Republic. The Anthos Republic.




Three weeks ago, Balmorra

“Tell me it isn’t so, tell me, please!” Isjhe shook his head with regret and anger. “I can’t believe this!”

“He’s having second thoughts. One of his advisors must have reminded him about the repercussions the empire would inflict, should they come back to reclaim his planet. It’s a natural thought.”

Isjhe turned on his heel and glared. What his aid had said was true, of course. If the governor of Balmorra showed open rebellion against the Empire by joining a new government the moment the Empire turned its back… loosing your head was the least you could expect.

“Did he say anything else?” Isjhe demanded.

“Only that we had no hope of defending ourselves from the Empire, should the Empire choose to return.”

“Pah. Gutless lizard.” Spat Isjhe. “The Empire is too concerned with internal turmoil now. The Wrath virus decimated them more so than us, we were hardly touched. I doubt the Empire would be worried about this little planet at a time like now.” Isjhe knew that this statement wasn’t true; the Empire was almost certainly interested in Balmorra. The aid’s eyebrow’s raised.

“Not interested in their primary source for AT-ST walkers? I doubt it.”

“Hrmph.” Muttered Isjhe. The point was moot, for now. It had been discussed to death before. “In any case, buy all current accounts they’re to busy exerting spacial dominance over several other governments. If we wait now, then they may turn their eyes to us. But if we act …”

Vaders bones, such a back down on the part of Balmorra now would most certainly cause Berchest to back out as well. And Trogan. Then the whole thing would be done, gone, kaput. A surefire guarantee for continued wealth, and protection lasered by a spineless governor who preferred to listen to his aids rather than make and cement a deal.

“Any ideas on how this will affect the ruling body on Berchest?”

The aid paused for a moment; Isjhe could hear his feet rub on the carpeting. A strange habit the man had when thinking.

“They’ll waver. Without Balmorra’s factories, our plans for manufacturing our own weapons are severely kinked. If we can’t provide terrorist protection for their tourists, they certainly will not be staying with.”

“And Trogan?”

“They’ll leave.”

“Why?” Isjhe knew the answer to this question already. Stang, this couldn’t have happened at a worst time.

“They’re only staying with us because of the promise of financial aid, as well as economic development. If we can’t get the money from Berchest, or Balmorra, they’re not staying.”

Isjhe stood silent after the aid finished speaking. The view from his top story office was fantastic. The Bith knew architecture almost as well as they knew they’re music. Something about it all being math…

“Get me a private line to the capital…” he said after a moment to gaze on the scenery. “And alert the representatives on both Berchest and Trogan; have them calm their respective leaders down. I wouldn’t be surprised if we are the last people to hear of this advancement…”

Trogan

“Please understand our position Haleaus. This planet is utterly devoid of any income what-so-ever. We barely grow enough to feed our people, the economy is still shot to pieces, and we don’t know when that will ever get fixed. Industrialization is slowly working its way back, but no one has capital to support starting a new, global business’ that are needed.”

Trogan President Gravious paused to take a drink from the foam cup that rested at his elbow. John Haleaus shifted slightly in his seat, waiting for the man to continue. What he said was true; Trogan’s economy had been butchered with the failure of their grand attempt at rivaling Berchest. The planet was beautiful, yes, but Berchest was established as a galactic tourist stop whereas Trogan was not.

Poor advertising had started them off on the wrong foot, and a terrorist strike on the Thanos Bay had driven the already poor reputation of Trogan into the mud.

Gravious continued. “We’ve been over this before. We cannot support the Republic in any way other than providing the personnel to reconstruct our planet. We have everything to gain, and our freedom to loose. Were we to receive the industrial and economic aid promised, we would be willing to enter with you. But with Berchest backing out, you will have less than half the expected income.”

The man’s arguments were expectedly flimsy. Trogan had nothing to loose by entering the republic, quite simply, Trogan had nothing to loose. The planet was as backwatered as Tatooine. Haleaus thought for a moment, his lips pursing in and out as he thought.

“Gravious …” He paused again, and continued to think.

“Yes?” Answered Gravious expectedly as he took another sip of whatever substance was in his foam cup.

“Gravious… who said Berchest was leaving?”

Gravious blinked, startled. “I was informed via a holo conference last night. They are backing out, because Balmorra is leaving.”

Blasted leaks thought Haleaus. Everyone but us knows the juicy details.

“Gravious, the roomer that Balmorra is backing out is nothing more than that, a roomer. If Balmorra was truly backing out, do you not think I, and the other members of the Republic would know?”

“Leaks, I know, I know” Replied Gravious. “The bane of the politician, but the blessing as well.”

“Please do not jump the blaster Gravious. Every new government has hiccups, this is just one of them.”

Gravious smiled in response, and then spoke in such a blunt way that Haleaus wondered if this was the same man he had spoken to three months ago.

“If Balmorra and Berchest do back out, is the Monarchy willing to assist in the rebuilding of our economy?”

“…” Desperately pausing for time, Haleaus flung back into his memory for the shard of conversation he knew was there… after a few seconds he found it.”

“Yes.”

Gravious smiled a little grimly. “Get me that in writing, and Trogan will enter the Republic.”

“You have it in writing already.” Replied Haleaus. He was surprised the man did not know. “The document you signed agreeing that you supported the idea of an Anthos Republic stated that Trogan would receive assistance in rebuilding their planet with, or without the help of the other potential members.” No one ever reads the fine print…

Gravious smiled a little more as he replied. “I am fully aware of that Haleaus. But I want a separate document, dedicated to just this agreement. Not something that could be brushed off as a flight of fancy, and ignored.”

“As you wish Gravious. Trogan is not backing out then, correct?”

“Get me that paper, signed sealed and delivered and you have yourself a second member for your Republic.”




As Haleaus walked out of the capital building, Gravious wondered how long it would be before the man realized he had been taken. Drugging someone’s food to get him to be a little less … perceptive … was as underhanded as it got. But it was Justified! Without aid, Trogan will die. And aid they would get, with or without a Republic to provide it.

A decade or so previous...


Berchest.



Calius saj Leeloo; the City of Glowing Crystal. It was the capital of Berchest, the seat of power for one of the most prominent Imperial trading posts in the sector. Once it had held captive a vast tourist industry; now, under the cruel Imperial rule, this had changed. As often happened with Imperial colonies, tourism and recreation industries were slowly wiped out...while trade and merchandising took over.

Parts of this agreement, however, were about to change.




“Death to the Imperials!”

“We don’t want Palpatine’s lackeys!”

“Berchest for Berchest, not an Imperial cash-pocket!”


The Empire was in retreat, being forced back, out of the Core by the ever-expanding New Republic. Despite the best of Imperial controls, more and more worlds were crossing over to the Republic’s way of thinking. More and more were exorcising their Imperial oppressors, seeing not mainly a chance to join this new galactic superpower, but a chance to be rid of the old one.

Berchest had been an Imperial world for years; had stood strong through the rebellion, it’s people had not wavered during the aftermath and galactic power-struggles, and during Grand Admiral Thrawn’s campaign to destroy the New Republic the world had been a busy, prosperous trading point, albeit under Imperial control.


But now the mixed peoples who made up the population of Berchest wanted change. The Imperial Governor Staffa, like most of his kind, had many shady side-dealings going on around the city. He was corrupt to the core, and cared little for the economic well being of Berchest, so long as it brought him profits and power.

Thus, over the years the once-grand city of Calius had fallen into disrepair, and the trading and tourism industries slowly began to lag off. It came as no surprise then, that when the New Republic offered the people a chance at a fresh start, they took it.



The revolt came quickly, and the Peoples Militia of Berchest managed to grapple control of Calius from the Imperials with little resistance or bloodshed. Governor Staffa and several high-ranking officials managed to escape unharmed in a shuttle, along with the majority of the Imperials. With the aid of a New Republic taskforce, the Peoples Militia took control of the planet, and formed the new government, the Peoples Government of Berchest.

The key leaders of the revolution were Shalek Mesk and Iffron Torn, two native Berchest who had witnessed first-hand the cruelty of the Empire off-world. They returned to spread their tale of resistance, and managed to contact the New Republic and convince them to help in the liberation. After Staffa and the other Imperials had been banished, they formed the Peoples Government, with Mesk made Governor of Berchest.


Over the following years the planet began to rebuild, undoing the damage that the Imperials had done to the economy and especially trade and tourism industries. Berchest became prosperous once more.

But rifts soon broke out among the young government. Mesk and Torn disagreed over issues of affiliation with the New Republic, and how best to prepare for a possible Imperial counter-strike (as at this time the Empire was once again making a push into the sector). Finding their friendship shattered, Torn broke away and formed an opposition party, the Berchest Free Government.


Several more years past, and both parties grew in strength and power. Both were benefiting Berchest substantially, although they still remained at odds. The Peoples Government wanted to become a permanent member of the New Republic, both as a way of thanking them for their assistance in freeing Berchest in the first place, and as a way of guaranteeing protection should the Imperials choose to attack. The Free Government didn’t want to become a New Republic member world, as they saw the Republic as a whole to be weak, and incapable to respond appropriately should the Imperials make an earnest push to regain control.

Another major difference between the two parties was that the Peoples Government was largely communist, believing that to best make use of the main industries (trade, tourism) the Government must take complete control of all cash and assets. This would benefit the community better, they decided, while the Free Government believed in minimal intervention in the daily lives of the people, and instead planned to introduce substantial taxes and levy’s to cover their costs, but still retain a largely capitalist society.


As no one party retained power over the entire planet, they had for the time formed a coalition government, as both Mesk and Torn could see that to have the planet split in two would render them helpless and would cripple them economically and militaristically, as members of both major parties were distributed evenly across the planet, and no clear borderline could be drawn. An uneasy truce existed between them, one that was fragile and could be shattered by the slightest movement of either side.



This was the situation when the proposal to form the Anthos Republic was put forward.

Balmorra


"I really don't think this is necessary? Do you?" Delegate Sinvon Kors whimpered. He did not want to join the Anthos Republic and he did not like non-humans.

"Don't be a xenophobe, Sin." Erjk Lipor remarked.

"Balmorra is greater then all of these planets combined. We should conquer them!"

"Its too late now... besides what good is that? Subjectation rarely works in the long run."

"Give me one example!"

"How'd you become a representative of our people?"

"Give me an example!"

"Okay... Fine." Erjk sighed, "Palpatine."

"Toushe." Replied Sin.


"KILL THE BITH!!"

"DOWN WITH ANTHOS!"

"GO BACK TO CLAK'DOR!"

The shouts and slurs went on outside Delegate Enchi Kipos office building. He was the primary supporter for joining of the Anthos Republic on Balmorra. He was quite powerful, but in his old age had grown about twelve Jedi short of a council. Enchi thought that joining the Republic would be in his own best interest. And now, he was meeting with delegates from Clak'dor.

"Twenty-five gunships eh?" Kipo was amazed.

"Yes--" Replied the Bith as he was cut off by Isn Von, the head of Enchi's security forces and a Colonel in the Balmorran Militia.

"Sir! The Protestors.. they've lost it. We have at least thirty hostiles on the premises. It will only be a matter of time until they get to the honored guests. Orders?"

"Remove them." His belittled tone was now cast with a overwhelming icyness to it.

"Yes sir." Isn exited the room and began to talk on his comlink to the central security station. "Open fire on anyone who crosses the wall with stun, seal the doors immeadiatly. If they enter the building, kill them."

"Yes sir." Came back a voice. Isn walked down the main corridor, till he came upon the internal blockade of five men, all armed with blaster rifles.

"Hold your ground guys. We won't let them past us." A chorus of motivated echos came back. Colonel Von drew he pistol and his knife, spinning the knife downwards, for a better stab.

Kheeee!!! The sound of a torch melting through the steel doors. Smoke began to build at the door and the soldiers tensed up.

KUMP! A grenade was tossed into the doorway.

"GRENADE!" Screamed a guard as he dove. The blast went off, then the protesters rushed in.

"FIRE!" Von screamed as he turned on his back and began to open fire upon the entering masses. "FIRE DAMNIT!" Crimson bolts of death leaped from the tip of the barrel into the hearts and heads of many. One had been killed in the grenade attack, but now the defense was holding their ground.

"ARHHH!" Screamed out a soldier, then another screamed. The mobs superior numbers were taking their toll on the small--but well trained force.

"We need backup!!" Isn shouted at his comlink as he put two more rioters on the ground. One of them came at him with a vibro-shiv, Isn brought his blade up, beating his assailants arm wild, then brought it back down slicing the throat and chest. Blood spurted everywhere and the man crumpled to the ground.

Isn shot one more invader before giving the order to pull back. By now, only he and another were left, but with reinforcements on the way Von thought they would be able to hold them.

The word in the street was of resentment, and discontent. “We don’t need money from no stinking Berchestians!”

“Trogan can take care of its self, it always has, hasn’t it?”

Walking the streets day, and night, the private investigation squad for the burgeoning Republic Committee picked up all these sentiments. Disguised as civilians, merchants, or officials of the government, they entered every place possible on the poverty-wracked planet and pulled in the sentiment.

The sentiment for this cycle was worse than usual. Whoever had begun the leak that the golden “Republic” idea was falling apart had done a good job of it. A majority of the planet had been in favor of the Republic only days ago, now, they wanted nothing to do with the join. The discontent attitude had spread with alarming speed, in less than two days all seven major cities were in total revolt against the idea. It had taken months to spread a positive sentiment through the same seven cities.

“Let that slimy shapeshifter Isjhe take his filthy republic back to the dung hole he crawled out of” was one of the surprisingly common phrases the investigators had heard today. For a planet that lacked any sort of global, or even continent spanning news networks the global mood was remarkably similar.

Displayed on the wall of their temporary meeting room, the projected breakdown of public mood showed seven areas where the humor was of malcontent, while the rest of the planet either cared not, or was still in favor for the Republic.

“Deliberate” whispered one man.

“Undoubtedly” said another.

“Let us begin to unravel this thread” spoke a third. Their voices took up after one stopped, for they were a hive mind.

It took the three hive-mind investigators twenty-seven hours and thirty seconds to discover the location of their first plant. His apartment was decorated gaudily with garish, harsh colors. Too gaudy, for the section of town he lived in.

“Must have”

“blown his pay”

“all at once.”

“Yes.”

Under hot lights, using devious methods they slowly began to extract the truth from his drug-addled mind.


* * *


Trogan High Offices

The letter read “You have been guaranteed the funding for the reconstruction and re-economization of the continent Hisshi.”

Better than nothing, I guess muttered Gravious. After the nasty message he had received from Haleaus about the drug discovered in his urine, he had expected nothing. Foolish, foolish.

But now, now they were in head, shoulders, and topknot. Fool idea, a Republic. They never last! The old Republic was the last, the best, but the last. And it stood only because of the Jedi.

There were no Jedi anymore, were there? The Empire had done a good job of exterminating them, this Anthos Repulbic could count on them about as much as it could count on a Twi’lek to not twitch his Lekku. Oh, sure, there were roomers that the Bith had a Jedi cult residing on their planet, but those were unsubstantiated rumors, nothing more.

The Jedi were gone, the Republic was gone, all that was left were rogue empires, and dictatorships scrabbeling over the last shards of the galaxy. What does it matter? Why do we strive? Trogan was duying, no amount of “rehabilitation” was going to revive the dead planet, there was nothing here, nothing at all. The sights were beautiful, but with Berchest so close who would come to Trogan? No one.

Gravious stood, and wandered about his office straightening a few things up. Good help was hard to get these days, even for a planetary Governor.


* * *


Isjhe waited impatiently at the holo-com, waiting for the connection to be made to Berchest. It seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time. Finally, after five minutes of waiting an operator appeared on the flickering screen and told him “The connection you requested is not available at this moment.”

Grumbling about the need for a secure, dependable communications network Isjhe left the holo-com building, and headed toward the exit. Pulling out his com, he sent a message to his secretary to make a note of the need, as well as send a message to his assistant. A short trip was required.

Isn was wrong, very wrong. Another incursion had occurred in a side hallway about ten meters behind them. A dozen or so rioters came to a slow down as they approached the Colonel and the other soldier. They fanned out in the corridor, waiting for the Delegates soldiers to attack them.

They attacked the two men, at once. Von was able to kill one, or at least take him out of the fight, before another knocked him to the ground, and began to hit him in the face. By the third punch, Isn’s nose had been broken and his eyes blackened. After that each punch felt like someone was driving a sledgehammer into his face as hard as they could.
The other soldier was able to take out two assailants before they the ground. From there, they stripped off his helmet and began to beat him.

“Release them.” A metallic voice ended the beatings.

“What the—?” In a dazed manner asked one of the civilians before being interrupted again.

“Release them.” It warned again.

“Get it!” Screamed another rioter. Not the best move for the unarmed civilians as the battle droid fired one bolt for half of them, while his counterpart fired one for the rest. It was over in seconds. The super battle droids showed their value on the inside that day, as four of them were able to quell the riots.

On the outside though, it was a different story. Property damage was escalating everywhere within a few block radius of the compound. AT-STs were called upon to put down these violent riots. Dozens of people died from this, sadly.



Three Days Later

Colonel Von still wore a bandage on his nose; his eyes black and his face tattered with minor cuts and scrapes. The Colonel was walking through a garden while accompanying Delegate Enchi Kipo. The Delegate was still a bit stirred up from the commotion that had occurred a few days prior. His senility had doubled since the attack, probably from the added stress of the pressure to stay alive.

“Isn;” Enchi said, “I am nominating you for a position in the Anthos Butchery.”

“Butchery?”

“Military, butchery they are all the same.”

“Not exactly sir.”

“They aren’t?”

“No sir.”

“They both hurt the sheedas.”

“Sheedas?” Von thought to himself what the hell is a sheedas.

“The peace man.”

“Have you had a nap today?”

“Are you insulting me?”

“No sir.”

“I think you are!”

“I’m not sir.”

“Chebo Kifen Hitushi.” He began to spoke in gibberish.

“He’s lost it.” Isn said into his comlink, “We’re in the garden.”

“Understood;” A voice came back.

“Jitugoo! Jitugoo!”

“Short-sighted idiots, the lot of them!” Tarrion exclaimed, holding up a datapad in front of the other’s face. “Look at this. Look at it, will you.” The other man glanced lazily up at Tarrion, then took the datapad from him and scanned the report.

“They’re saying that Balmorra is backing out,” Tarrion continued, exasperated and strained beyond his normal boundaries. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Vehlek said, putting the datapad back on the table with a sigh. “If rumours that Balmorra is backing out get around on Berchest, then we could lose the majority of the voters on this matter.”

“Exactly, but think of the repercussions. If Berchest backs out now, then it’ll spell certain doom for Torn, maybe even the Free Government... Mesk will make sure of that.” Tarrion got out of his seat and began pacing around the small office again. “You know how fragile this whole thing is, and you know that Mesk is against it. He only holds the minority of the voters now because of the propaganda that my department’s been putting up around the place.”

“What’s his percentage in the last poll?”

Tarrion stopped his pacing and marched back to the desk, bringing up a file on his computer. “Twenty-seven percent of the voters are with him; they don’t want Berchest in the Republic.”

“Well,” Vehlek said, leaning back in his chair, “that isn’t so bad.”

“Isn’t so bad?!” Tarrion was losing his patience, and was quick to bring up another file. “Look, that’s up from twenty-one percent three days ago! This is bad...”

“No it’s not.” Vehlek was still sitting in his chair calmly, refusing to lose his nerves like the Free Government’s attaché seemed to be. “All that is, is the people’s response to the propaganda. We knew this would happen as it began to wear off. There’s an initial sway, as everyone gets caught up in the movement, then a few days later people start coming to their senses again. There’s no way to stop it, as by introducing more propaganda and promotional material cracks begin to appear in your methods, and you lose supporters quicker. There’s no way you can stop the votes from levelling off; it has to happen eventually.”

“Hah, alright, so what do we do now then?” Tarrion looked sceptically at Vehlek, his eyes searching the other’s face for any sign of the pressure he himself was under. It was alright for Vehlek to be calm, he thought. The man was just a Republic worker, stationed on Berchest to help the Republic gain a foothold. He’d come to Tarrion for help, as Tarrion was one of the chief campaign leaders for the Free Government. If the deal with the Republic went down the sinkhole it would be Tarrion who got the sack, not Vehlek.

“Well, either Berchest becomes a member world of the Republic before the public interest in the propaganda runs out, or...” he trailed off, and looked meaningfully at Tarrion.

“Or what?” Tarrion asked, bemused by the sudden coldness that had come over Vehlek’s face. He noticed for the first time that, if need be, Vehlek would make quite a formidable presence. “Or what?” he asked again, but the inkling of an idea was already there, inside his mind.

“You know what I’m thinking.” Vehlek mouthed the words; no sound issued from his mouth, but Tarrion understood.

He was thinking; the office could be bugged. There was no sure reason for it to be, or that it was, but the chance was still there. He was thinking; they had openly talked about the propaganda, but this was far more serious. If word of their involvement in this got out, whatever this was, their lives would be over.

A shiver went up Tarrion’s spine. Vehlek nodded meaningfully, then picked the datapad up again and began reading the rest of the report.





“This is Vehlek. I need to speak with Isjhe Kaant.” Vehlek stood in his office; a small, meagre affair that was obviously intended as a temporary workspace. On his desk were scattered various documents and samples of the propaganda that was being distributed.

“I’m sorry Mr Vehlek, but Mr Kaant is currently unreachable.”

“Damn... could I leave a message for him?” Not being able to talk directly to Kaant or any of the other co-ordinators at this time changed Vehlek’s plan, but only slightly. He could still go ahead with the preparations.

“Of course.” There was a pause. “The recorder is now switched on, please state your message.”

“This is Vehlek. I’m planning the victory celebrations now, but I need to know; should the banner be red or white? I’m not sure which colour the ministers from Asenhead would take more offence to... That’s the end of the message.”

“Thank you, Mr Vehlek. Mr Kaant will receive you message shortly. Have a nice day.”





“Believe me, I know that this can work,” Candidate Torn said, staring hard at Tarrion. The other was obviously uncomfortable in the Candidate’s large office, but he did his best to hide it.

“Yes, I know that you’re behind this move one-hundred percent, Mr Torn, but do you really think it’s wise to continue down this path? I mean, look at the numbers.” He held out a datapad for Torn to take, which he did. “See, more and more people are siding Mesk on this issue-”

“But we still hold the majority,” stated Torn.

“Yes, but that may not last. We can’t keep up this level of support, especially with these rumours flying around about Balmorra backing out. The people are insecure, they won’t think the Republic will be worth joining if we can’t show them that we’re on top of the situation. They’ll side with Mesk, and you’ll be ruined!”

“I know, I know...” Torn trailed off, looking thoughtfully into space. “But... we have to do this. If we succeed, then Mesk will be ruined. The Peoples Government will collapse, and we will be in a strong alliance with other like-minded worlds.” Seeing the hopeless look on Tarrion’s face, he continued.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking; this is crazy. But I’ve been fighting off Mesk for years, and its time to end it. Whether we win or lose, it’s time for this to stop. Berchest has to unite under one government, or all the political in fighting that has plagued us for so long will destroy us.”

“Alright, sir, but I still don’t think this is a wise move.”

“Trust me on this one, Tarrion.”

Clak’dor – Unrevealed Location

“Mr. Ghent here is right. We’ve been over the data for months now. We’ve all agreed to do this; I don’t see why everyone is having second choices. Just because of a roomer that Balmorra is leaving … “

“It’s more than a roomer!”

“How do you know? Mr. Kaant told me himself earlier that it was unconfirmed.”

“Well … everyone knows about it. There must have been a press release.”

“There was none. I checked.”

“Then how did the details of this get out?”

“Guess.”

No one spoke. The thought of Leak was on everyone’s mind. A high level, deliberate leak…

“Leak. It was a leak. Probably pre-mature, based off of someone’s off hand comment, but a leak none the less. Now, everyone sit down, and lets analyze this from a different perspective … and send in the investigators.”


Enrout to Berchest

Idling along through the Rift, Isjhe’s shuttle finally made its way through, but only after a half hour delay. Blasted Rift, cuts profit by unknown margins thought Isjhe. The Rift was the bane of everyone in a hurry, and the blessing of those looking for a quick credit. Communications died within the Rift, scanners were halved, hyperspace was impossible. Just before entering hyperspace the shuttle up-linked to the holo-net to allow its passenger to check his messages.

“You have one message”

Isjhe waited impatiently for the voicemail to download, and drummed his fingers. The communications for this sector were particularly bad. Updates were needed.

“This is Vehlek. I’m planning the victory celebrations now, but I need to know; should the banner be red or white? I’m not sure which colour the ministers from Asenhead would take more offence to...”

Isjhe frowned for a moment, formulating a reply. Red or White… what did he mean by red or white … ah … Realization dawned, and the Diplomat hit record on his com.

“Vehlek, this is Isjhe. White goes well with blue, but Red would suffice, if white is unavailable.”

His recording completed, he hit send and messaged up to the cockpit that he was ready to leave.

Leaning back and watching the starlines turn into the mottled purple of hyperspace Isjhe wondered how this whole mess had begun.

“Why, and how in the galaxy did someone decide to begin a rumor? A vicious thing, rumor, vicious and cunning…”

Glancing impatiently at his crono he sighed, and leaned back. Only twenty minutes left.

The alley was dark and hidden, situated well away from the centre of the city of glowing crystal. Rows and rows of tall, dark buildings leaned over it on either side, and the streets that crossed it at each end were but small specks of white in an otherwise greyish black mess.

Dirt littered the cheap, unpainted duracrete, which was scuffed and gratified like the walls of the buildings; they too seemed to have been neglected for a long time.

Night was falling, and a cold wind blew through the alley, scooping up paper rubbish and depositing it mere feet down the way; to be picked up again, and again, and again... the city cleaners hardly ever came here. The wind blew, and tossed some of the rubbish into the legs of a man, billowing his coat and causing him to pull it tighter around him for the warmth.

He was a tall man, with a well-built frame hidden beneath his coat that bespoke a rigorous physical training. He wore a concealing hat, and his features were quite unremarkable. There was something about the way he stood, though. He was used to waiting, a necessary part of his occupation, but now he was agitated. He was wondering whether to stay, or to go. To wait a little longer, and see what would happen? He decided to wait.

Night fell, and the wind grew colder. Down towards the alley mouth, sounds could be heard; people talking, walking, in the distance a hoversled heaving along one of the few roads, straining under its load. An animal stirred among the garbage, and after ferreting about for a minute left the alley at a trot, off for a night’s worth of hunting.

It was getting very dark when Vehlek arrived. The man almost didn’t realise he was there at first, he moved so quietly.

“You’re late,” he said, as Vehlek came to a halt in front of him.

“I know.” Vehlek was wearing the same clothes he had been in all day, from the meeting with Tarrion to the rushed transmission to Kaant. He still wore the casual, light-hearted mood that was his trademark, but in the darkness of the alley this made him almost menacing. “There were some minor details I had to hammer out before I came here; it took a little longer than I would have hoped, but there were no problems.”

“I’m glad,” the man said, then looked suspiciously down the alley, apparently searching to eavesdroppers. Above, the towering buildings mingled with the dark of the night sky, but a little light filtered in from the streets at either end, which was enough to see by. When he was satisfied that they were indeed alone, he turned back to Vehlek. “So what’s the job?”

“Observation, possibly incapacitation,” Vehlek said casually, pulling an envelope from his coat pocket and handing it to the man. “You’ll find all the necessary information in there, but I’m not going to go into details at the moment. I need... the individual in question to be followed. I want you to do it personally, not one of your lackeys.” The man had taken a photograph out of the envelope, and was looking at it with mild surprise.

“So you just want me to follow him? Take down his movements, that sorta stuff?”

“For now, yes.” The man seemed to consider this, a frown on his face.

After a few minutes, he said, “You said ‘possible incapacitation’? Do I take this to mean you want him put out of action permanently, or just a temporary ailment... until Berchest becomes a member of the Republic?”

“Don’t talk about motives here,” Vehlek snapped. “Not anywhere. I want to keep this under wraps.”

“Well what if I don’t,” the man retorted. “You know as well as I do, if Mesk is out of the picture then we’ll be forced into the Republic by that Torn fellow. That doesn’t bode too well for people like me...”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll make sure that you’re appropriately compensated for the lack of business. And don’t say his name again,” he added as an afterthought.

“Alright, but I want that in writing,” the man had put the photo back inside the envelope, and was now tucking that inside his coat. He straightened it out, as if making ready to leave.

“I can’t give you that,” Vehlek said apologetically. “Due to the nature of this, nothing can be filed.” He nodded to the man’s chest, indicating the envelope he had hidden there. “You’ll have to burn that, too, once you’ve studied it.”

The man scoffed at this, but saw the look on Vehlek’s face and decided better than to make an argument of it. “Alright. I’ll have a look at the rest of this when I get back to the office. See you round, Mr. Vehlek.”

The man made to leave, but a noise behind him made him turn, and he tripped on a box that hadn’t been there a minute before. As he did so Vehlek rushed forward, and caught the man full on. He let out a little scream of pain as he slumped on Vehlek’s smaller form, then fell to the ground on his back.

Vehlek stepped back, looking quickly from the man lying on the ground to the two ends of the alley, checking that he hadn’t been seen. There was another man there now, who had walked stiffly out of the shadows and was now staring down at the man’s body, transfixed.

“When you told me we might have to kill someone, I always thought it would be Mesk,” Tarrion commented, not taking his eyes off of the man’s body.

“Yes, well, that would have been just a little too obvious,” Vehlek said, casually bending down and removing his knife from the man’s chest. He wiped it on a newspaper that lay by his feet, then hurled it away into the alley.

“Come on, we’d better get out of here before someone comes,” Vehlek said, after he’d checked that the man was indeed dead. He began walking down the alley, Tarrion hurrying to catch up.

“Do you think the blood will ruin the documents?” Tarrion asked, after a moment of silence.

“Only parts of them. The police will get the idea, though.” Vehlek laughed. “Mesk’s department have always been good with homicide, they’ll figure out what’s going on sooner or later.” They came to the end of the alley, and turned out into the narrow pedestrian street. “Later, probably... the cleaners hardly ever come here.”