Three days past before the man’s body was found. An automated cleaning robot bumped into it while taking a shortcut through the alley to get back to its base, and classified the body as a Level Three obstruction. This warranted investigation by a droid with a slightly higher IQ, which eventually led to the police being called in.

Vehlek wasn’t worried that it had taken so long for the body to be found. His initial hopes were that someone would have stumbled upon him after one or two days, but three was still a good number. In the time it took for this to happen, Mesk had moved up to thirty-eight per cent in the polls, and was quickly recovering his former prestige among his supporters.

Tarrion came running into Vehlek’s office on the morning after the body had been found, half broken down with nerves and fear.

“They’ve found Trust!” he exclaimed, out of breath and brandishing a news sheet at Vehlek.

“I know,” was all he said, his smile turning to a look of mild concern as he glanced at Tarrion’s face. “You aren’t getting scared now, are you?”

“No!” Tarrion said defensively, clutching the sheet to his chest like a shield. “It’s just that... well, what if they link Trust to us? What if someone was watching that night? What if we were seen?” He was panting, his eyes wild and sweat beading his forehead. Vehlek let him speak freely, as he knew for a fact that his own office wasn’t bugged.

“Now calm down,” he said, when Tarrion had finished and had begun pacing the small office. “Look, sit here, relax.” Vehlek pulled out a chair that sat in front of his desk, pushed Tarrion into it, then took his own chair.

“Now, they can’t link Trust to us, because I made sure there was no evidence they could use to make that connection. If someone were watching, the body would have been discovered before now, and if we were recognised then we’d already be in a jail cell,” Vehlek said, listing off and calmly dismissing Tarrion’s fears on his fingers.

“Damn it, how can you be so calm?!” Tarrion exclaimed, edging forward in his seat as Vehlek lounged lazily behind the desk, seemingly oblivious to any agitation.

“Easy,” he said. “I know that nothing can go wrong. We are representatives for the Anthos Republic. We have a massive sector-political power backing all of our actions here. Every single thing I do is cleared with my superiors first, and there is absolutely no way that they would let any harm come to you or me.” Which was of course completely untrue. Vehlek hated lying to Tarrion, whom he liked more than most other people he met, but he knew that the other would have to be calm - at least outwardly - now that Trust’s body had been discovered. If lying to Tarrion would save both their lives, and possibly the Republic, then it was worth it.

It seemed to work. Tarrion sagged in his seat, taking reassurance from the calm facade that always dominated Vehlek’s face. They sat in silence for a few minutes; Vehlek preparing papers and files for a meeting later in the day, Tarrion simply staring at the wall. Then his vacant expression vanished, and he looked again at Vehlek.

“You never told me why we had to kill him,” he said. Vehlek stopped shuffling papers around and looked up into Tarrion’s face. It reminded him of a child’s face, now that he came to think about it. That was probably why he hated lying to Tarrion so much; to tell a lie to a child was a terrible thing. An innocent child, gullible, who would believe anything you said simply because you were someone they looked up to.

Now Tarrion was the child asking his parents what sex was, or why the family dog had to be put down. Difficult questions; that’s what his face reminded Vehlek of. The biggest question... why?

Vehlek leaned back in his chair, and made sure he had eye-contact with Tarrion before he answered. He knew that this point could easily go astray; that Tarrion could misinterpret it... but it had to be made, and there was only one way to make it.

“We killed a man,” he began, his voice steady, normally calm, but with a slight edge to it. “That man was carrying documents detailing Mesk’s planned movements for the next fortnight, plus some personal visits he was to make and some that haven’t even been confirmed yet; and are thus not even available to some of the people in his own government.

“There were financial records, personal information, a list of contacts he was close with... lots of evidence to prove that whoever put together that folder has inside information, and is serious in finding out as much as they can about Mesk.” He sighed, and then said, “You follow?”

“Yes,” Tarrion replied.

“Good. Well, now the police have this information. They know that there is someone out there, right now, watching Mesk’s every move. And soon, they’ll know that he wants Mesk dead.” Vehlek stopped speaking, and looked away from Tarrion for a second, glancing out the window.

“I... I don’t understand,” Tarrion said, when Vehlek didn’t continue his explanation. Vehlek quickly looked back at Tarrion, smiled slightly, and continued.

“They’ll know that someone wants Mesk dead when they search Trust’s apartment, which they should be doing now.

“Remember three nights ago in the alley, Trust was annoyed because I was late?”

“Yes,” Tarrion said, cautiously.

“Well,” Vehlek said, “it was because I was using the opportunity of Trust being out to break into his apartment and plant some documents in his personal computer.”

He saw the look on Tarrion’s face, and quickly added, “It was nothing fake this time, though. Trust has been involved in several assassinations in the past; the police never came close to catching him. I just planted evidence that gave them the final connection, proving that he was a contract killer.”

Tarrion, evidently, still didn’t understand. His face was screwed up in concentration as he tried to work out Vehlek’s motives.

“I don’t understand,” he said, sounding confused. “How would Trust being an assassin help? He’s dead, there’s nothing he can do.”

Just like a child, Vehlek thought. So innocent, so stupid. And I haven’t even hit him with the bombshell yet... damn.

“That’s really the point here, Tarrion,” Vehlek said, stretching his arms and folding them across his chest. “And before you ask it; I’ve only known Trust was a contract killer since I started looking for one to use. If I’d known before, I would have turned him over to the police immediately.” Again, a lie, but it had to be done.

“The point is that Trust is dead, and he was a contract killer. He was found with a profile on Mesk.” Here it comes, Vehlek thought. “And he has been murdered. It doesn’t matter as much that he was a bad person, but the fact is that one sentient, living, conscious being has made the choice to kill another sentient, living, conscious being. This is first degree murder, and it elevates the case in the eyes of the police. It’ll get noticed. They will have to realise that there is a murderer out there.” Vehlek had tried to get through it as quickly as possible, but he could see that it was having an effect on Tarrion. Murderer. He plunged on, maintaining his calm facade.

“Now, this could be interpreted in several ways. Maybe Trust is the man who gathered all the information, and he was planning a hit on Mesk when he was attacked by someone working for Mesk, or one of his supporters. Maybe it was a mugging. Maybe the person who hired Trust to follow Mesk got tired of working with Trust, and decided to put him out of the picture.

“Regardless of how they do this, the police know two things for certain. One, that there is someone out there gathering information on Mesk, watching his every move and following him everywhere. And two, that they have a murderer on their hands. The chances that the two people are one and the same are too great for them to ignore the situation.” He finished, sighed, and hoped Tarrion would understand.

After a moment he spoke up. “So what will they do? Why did Trust have to die? I don’t think you’ve even answered that question yet...”

“They’ll get Mesk out of the city,” Vehlek replied. “It’s too dangerous for him here... They might even take him off the planet, I don’t know. This way, Mesk is out of the capital while the proposal is going through government. With the leader of the opposition gone, unable to make public appearances, or to show that he’s here, that he’s one of the people and that he stands by them... he’ll lose marks for that, and that could make the difference for us.”

“And what about Trust?” Tarrion said, his eyes boring accusingly into Vehlek’s own. “Why did he have to die?”

“To prove a point,” Vehlek said. “To prove we’re serious.”

Muttering under his breath about certain legislation that was already beginning to saturate the Republic’s still small senate, Kaant sorted through the piles of documents on his desk. Why did people insist upon trying to pass laws that history had proven to be unsuccessful?

The answer to that question he would never know.

The holo-projector in the corner of the room blared the current news, and Kaant paused to watch.

As the investigation into the death of Trust continues, representative Mesk has been removed from Berchest in the interest of safety.

The vid shifted to the image of Berchest’s head of security, with the sound fading in in time to catch him say “We don’t want to take any risks”.

The reporter continued with a lot of hot air, which essentially said, “Nothing has changed since three days ago as to the demise of this man”.

Shaking his head Kaant muted the projector, and continued with his paperwork. He had spoken to both Mesk and Torn about the issue the other day; neither seemed inclined to agree with him on anything. Maybe the empire did have the right idea, shoot those who spoke against you, rule with an iron fist? Kaant smiled slightly.

Torn had given Kaant an earful during their conversation, as had Mesk.

“As we approach the date assigned for the joining of Berchest into the Republic,” Torn had droned in that strangely annoying voice of his, “There is bound to be a lot of protesting, even violence in dispute with our decision. Changing or joining governments is never a popular political stance or action.”

“But there will be no join, unless Mesk agrees, correct?” Isjhe had asked, prodding the man to reveal all.

“Yes, correct. However, rumor currently has Mesk leaving Berchest for a remote location in light of the “attack” as we call it here at the office. His popularity levels will decrease eventually, and the minions who serve under him will fall away. Without his dynamic personality present to persuade them to continue with their idealistic position, they will soon loose interest in continuing against us.”

“I see,” said Isjhe, nodding his head.


Torn was pro-republic, and had done all he could to persuade the people to show favor upon the idea. However, it was easier to tear something good down, than it is to build it up.


Mesk was the teardown man.


“This idea for a Republic is revolting, truly it is. You would take away our freedom, rule over us with laws we would not pass ourselves, and eventually turn into your own pseudo empire. They’re all the same, these fly-by-night republics, democracies, empires, federations, they are a dime a dozen. Not while I am in the position to deflect such an atrocity will I allow this to pass”


No matter how hard you persuaded, how you cajoled, or what you said, he would not back down. Steadily against the idea, he stood firm with his beliefs. Isjhe could not help but admire the man for standing firm, but he was a hindrance to the creation of the Republic.

The Republic would protect the people; yet allow them to rule as they pleased. There would be no interference with internal governing; the Republic would be strictly external, dealing with the galaxy outside the haven that the Anthos sector was to become.

But there was no convincing Mesk of that. He had seen too many well-intentioned governments fall, bringing down entire sectors with their collapse. Too many so-called “for the people” governments become corrupted, and vile. The taint of the late Palpentine’s Empire was still fresh upon the mind of Mesk, even though decades had passed. Berchest had no desire to become the tool of another corrupt government; that Isjhe could understand.

“The Republic will not become corrupt,” whispered Isjhe as he continued sorting his paperwork into piles. “Separate Clak’dor, Berchest, Trogan, we will all fall. At best, we will struggle to get by, much like Trogan is doing at the moment. But combine us, and we stand tall.”

His musings were interrupted by a beep on his pager, one he ignored. There was work to be done, work that could not be pushed off.




*




Two men strolled down the busy marketplace, their hands in their pockets, a casual additude adapted by both. They blended in remarkably well, the clothing non-descript and the speech natural. They chatted merrily together, about the wife, the kids, and this whole new ‘republic’ idea everyone seemed so hyped up about.

“Aye, the wife, she doesn’t think it’s such a good idea, this Republic. Say’s we’ll all become the servants of that dark sith lord they call Isjhe. Says he eats people for lunch.”

“You jest!” cried out his companion, looking with a shocked expression to the first. “Surly he doesn’t do that now!”

At his outburst, several people paused in their browsing to look over at the two men, who had stopped in the center of the road.

“Aye, she heard it from a friend, who knows a woman in on Clak’dor, who works for the wife of the main man-servant for the sub-butler in the house of a minor Bith Lord, straight from the Bith Lord, this Isjhe is a sith who dresses in pure blood red, and eats people.”

Someone in the crowd guffawed loudly, and another cried out “The Sith are dead, you ignorant fool.”

“Fool!?!” cried out the man, his voice wrought with indignation. “Fool? Ignorant? I shall have you know I am no such thing!”

He stepped from the center of the road, and up close to the crowd of bystanders, his eyes bright. The opportunity to have public attention always loosened his tongue.

“The one known as Isn Von is also a Sith, and he, shoots lightning from his fingers, fire from his eyes, and eats dogs. They have sworn a blood oath, Von and Kaant, to see Berchest a wasted land of gophers and skeletons. That,” he said with an authoritative voice, “Is why they have begun this whole Republic idea.”

There was a bit more protesting as to the contrary, but people had lost interest already. As they drifted off, the man shouted again, “Mark my words!”.

But no one was listening, they had all left. Grumbling about how inconsiderate the world was, the two continued on their way.

“It is here I must leave you, friend,” said the second after a spell of walking.

“You believe me a fool too?” replied the man, still convinced his information was true-blue.

“No, but I must go, my ship awaits.”

“So you DO believe me!”

“Yes, in a way, for I,” the second paused for effect, causing the man to lean forward in anticipation,” have seen this Isjhe.”

“Really?” said the man with baited breath.

“And he is swathed in red, as you say.”

“I KNEW IT!” cried the man, practically jumping. “It’s true, every single word!!!”

The second man smiled a small, secret smile, and patted the man on the shoulder. “Don’t let them fall to the deceit my friend.”

“I think”

“he is”

“one of them”

The three members of the hive-mind entity that was Hamel spoke in sequence, their thought patterns one. Six eyes watched the two men in the street, one of them excited, one calm. Too calm, too calculating, and far too sure of himself.

Suspect #36 would not become a blank card, as had the previous #30.

Working in perfect unison, the three members of the hive mind Hamel slowly meandered out into the public street, blending with the crowd. The six eyes watched their prey, watched him pat his companion on the shoulder, whisper something, and then turn away. He wrapped his cloak about him in a manner similar to the others in the crowd, in an attempt to vanish, blend.

It would have worked too, had they not been watching. One of the entity took point, stepping ahead of the suspect and walking before. Though the hive mind the other two, one on the far right and one behind, told him exactly where to step. Suddenly tripping in a well-practiced and calculated move, the foremost member of the entity connected with the ground. The suspect, right behind the member, stepped around him and offered a hand. Accepting it, the first member stood. He thanked the suspect, and walked off, instantly blending with the now busy street.

A careful man

Not wanting to appear

Callous. Uncaring.

We must

Watch.

A darkened ally to the left of the crowd opened the opportunity for them to strike. As he stepped by, one of the entity walked up to the rear of the suspect, while another came up to the side. A simple push, and the one on the side entered the ally with the suspect, while the man in the rear seemed to fill the place all three had occupied a moment before. Smooth, smoother than possible for one not mind-linked with his partner.

“Hey, what is this!” cried the suspect, staggering in the ally. The second of Hamel slowed from his push, and blocked the exit.

The suspect glared about, full of bluster and bravado. Entity one and three also entered the ally, identical twins to the second. The first was covered in a moisture of mud, sludge, and water, causing the man to start slightly.

“You will

Come with

Us. Now,” they said in unison. It was not a question, but a statement. One that left little doubt in the mind of the suspect as to its meaning. His calm façade fell, and he turned to run. A concrete wall prevented the move.

“I haven’t done anything!” he protested loudly, trying to draw the attention of someone on the main street. A quick tranquilizer shot to the neck from Hamel #2 made him fall limp suddenly, while Hamel #3 called a transport droid.

There would be an interrogation tonight.


*


The lights blurred for Ic V’s vision, and he blinked. A hot light above his head made sight impossible, his eyes watered instantly. With a quick movement, he confirmed the dread he felt in the pit of his stomach, strapped in. The sound of cold steel made him glance furtively to the side, and his eyes widened at the sight of the shadow before him. Cold metal grabbed his eyelids, forcing them apart in a split second. He hardly had time to scream before he was immobilized, eyes forcibly gazing straight into the hot light above his head.

“Now, Mr. Ic, let’s start from the beginning.” The voice was cold, calculating. It came from nowhere, yet everywhere at once.

“For a refresher course, you have been here for forty six hours, and we have used several types of truth drug on you in an attempt to obtain the name of your employer, yet you continue to evade us quite remarkably. We believe it would be a characteristic of your species, this drug resistance. Tell us, who ordered you to begin paying people, most notably Mr. VonBuer, to spread rumors about the new Republic?”

Ic twitched, the information given him coming like a fall of lava on his head. He didn’t remember anything about previous questions!

“Ah, Mr. Ic, Mr. VonBeur was taken into custody the other day by three detectives, he identified you as his supervisor, we know you know about what we speak of. Our patience is growing thin.”

Ic thought madly, VonBeur was taken? He has spilled the spice? He, Ic, had spent hours under drugs? Patience growing thin??? He didn’t remember!

“Let’s put it this way, Mr. Ic,” the voice boomed, “Unless you tell us who you report to…” The sound of a high-powered carbonite drill emerged as another source of sound, seemingly all-consuming to the ears of Ic. A shadow passed over the burning, searing light above.

“Unless you tell, we’re going to remove your eyes.”

Through the confusion of not remembering any prevous questions, the last comment registered loud and clear in Ic’s head … Remove my eyes?


And then the words began to flow.

The three men sat around the table in the dark, gloomy apartment. Two of them radiated a cool, calm collectedness, while the third seemed to be under so much pressure that he was about to burst. He sat jittering on the edge of his seat, rocking back and forth, his teeth chattering madly and his small, sleep-deprived eyes darting around the room in random spasms.

“Calm down, friend,” Vehlek said, when it seemed he was beginning to become annoyed with Tarrion’s edginess. “There is no-one here who wants to hurt you. No danger, no need to fear. Now calm down.” The man never raised his voice, never showed any outward sign of the annoyance he felt inside. I should have used someone else... just like a child. It’s a love / hate relationship, all right...

Sometimes Vehlek found himself pitying Tarrion. Sometimes he felt great rushes of joy when the young man solved a difficult problem or came up with a cunning new plan. But sometimes, like now, the other just got on his nerves, further accentuating the analogy he had made before, of Tarrion being a child.

“Ok, ok...” Tarrion said to Vehlek, forcing himself to stop twitching and focusing instead on his whisky, which he downed in one, before getting up to pour himself another glass. Vehlek drank nothing, while the other man at the table, Isjhe Kaant, had in front of him a tall glass full of a frothy blue liquid that made small popping noises every few minutes.

Tarrion came back to the table, sat down, and immediately began rocking back and forwards again. With an inaudible sigh Vehlek gave up, and tried to concentrate on planning the speeches he was writing on his datapad for tomorrow’s ceremony. If there was one.

They sat in silence like this for the next few hours. Tarrion eventually stopped refilling his glass and went to sleep on Vehlek’s couch, while Kaant got out a datapad and began working on his own speech for tomorrow. He took a thoughtful sip of his blue drink, glanced at the crono hung loosely on the wall, and spoke for the first time in hours.

“It’s midnight.”

Vehlek sighed, stood up, and walked over to the couch. With a tap on the shoulder he woke Tarrion.

“Wha...?” the younger man asked, lost in a hazy of alcohol and sleep.

“It’s time.” And then Tarrion was fully awake, falling off the couch in his scramble to get back to the table. Vehlek follow, and placed himself carefully in his seat. Tarrion eyed him nervously, urging him one; Kaant simply nodded. As head Co-ordinator on Berchest, this was Vehlek’s privilege, and he was permitted to take his time with it.

Slowly, he reached out his hand to the centre of the table, and pressed button that bordered the table-mounted holoprojector. Instantly, a friendly-looking, wide-mouthed female’s head filled the men’s vision, and her crystal-clear voice rang out through the apartment.

“...and in breaking news, the results of today’s poll have just been tallied and released to the media. Berchest has voted to join the Anthos Republic.”