CHAPTER TWO
Coruscant
Wedge Antilles had been hoping to enjoy retirement.
His career had been a long and illustrious one. He still remembered the day he had joined the Rebel Alliance as if it was yesterday, with everything else passing by in a blur. He sometimes wondered how different his life would have been had he not lost his parents, or if he had not lost Mala. Would he have even joined the Rebellion, let alone have met Iella and have two daughters with her? Would he have still be living the life of a trader, never so much as stepping a foot out of the Corellian system? In his old age, it was things like this that occupied his mind, especially since there were no longer Imperial warlords and Sith Lords to worry about.
Instead, he was worried about the very Republic he had once served.
He had tried to deny it at first, after hearing rumors of a plot to oust Chief of State Cal Omas in the early days of the Glorian War. Then there was the Sith conspiracy, which had pulled in political figures from both the Imperial Remnant and the Galactic Alliance. He would not have even known about all that had his old friend Garik Loran not insisted on drip-feeding him intelligence reports under the radar. Even Leia had contacted him, telling him there was a plot brewing within the Alliance to destabilize it, and that she had formed a Resistance to expose and bring an end to the conspiracy.
He had turned down her offer to join, even after Leia had told him that his youngest daughter Myri had joined the cause. A few weeks later, the Battle of Mandalore went down and it was reported that Darth Taral — the so-called mastermind behind the conspiracy — had been taken down. After hearing the news, Wedge had thought that was the end of it.
He had been very wrong about that.
Not long after the Battle of Mandalore, the director of Alliance Intelligence Heol Girdun — one of the conspirators involved in the Sith’s plot — had been cleared of his charges and Garik Loran, who had been serving as co-director, had been forced to step down. Wedge hadn’t even heard from Loran since then and it was quick approaching a full year since Girdun’s joke of a trial, leaving him concerned over what had befallen his former teammate.
In addition to all that, there was already talk among the Senate about removing the current Chief of State and replacing him with someone more to their liking. The names that had been thrown out there — Haydnat Treen, Fost Bramsin, Carise Sindian — were not to any of his liking; all of them reminded him too much of the corrupt politicians that had been the leading cause of the Old Republic’s fall. While he may have been too young to remember the Empire’s rise, he had been with the Rebellion long enough to recognize its early signs.
He could barely even watch the HoloNet anymore. With his wife off-world visiting a friend and both of his daughters working at their respective jobs, Wedge needed the silence in order to keep himself from going insane. If he didn’t listen to the news, then perhaps he could pretend that everything was all right and he could just relax reading a holobook or something.
Of course, he knew he was just kidding himself.
As he sat on the sofa, struggling to read the first page of the holonovel that he had been staring at for a good hour or so, he heard something fall in the kitchen. Grateful for the excuse to get up and do something, Wedge set down the datapad and walked into the kitchen, expecting to find a pan that had fallen over or something.
He flicked on the light and instead saw a cloaked figure standing in front of him.
“Hi there,” the intruder said.
“Who the hell are you?” Wedge asked, already reaching into his pocket for his hold-out blaster.
“People call me Shadow. Not exactly an inspiring name, I know.” The cloaked man shifted slightly, inclining his hooded head towards the veteran pilot. “There’s no need for the blaster. I mean you no harm.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wedge muttered.
Shadow started to slowly walk out of the kitchen and into the living room. Wedge watched his every step with the highest level of suspicion. “I’m sure you’ve aware of what’s been going on in the Galactic Alliance,” Shadow said casually, as if he was talking about the weather.
“I am,” Wedge said bitterly. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t, though.”
“Most of us can agree with that, I believe.” Shadow stepped over to a window and opened the shutters, watching the lights of airspeeders pass by in the Coruscanti night. “Would you like to help us change that?”
Wedge frowned, still not taking his hand out of his pocket or letting go of the blaster within. “Leia sent you, didn’t she?”
“I am not at liability to confirm that,” Shadow said quietly. “I was sent by someone named Fulcrum.”
This gave Wedge pause. He recognized the name as an alias used by Rebel agents during the early days of the Galactic Civil War. One of those agents, an ex-Imperial named Kallus, had helped him infiltrate an Imperial academy on Montross and rescue a group of defecting cadets. It was one of the first missions the Rebellion had given him to prove his worth before assigning him to the Tierfon Yellow Aces.
Hearing this name after so many years was enough to make him draw his empty hand out of his pocket, though he continued to eye Shadow warily. “Fulcrum couldn’t contact me directly?” he asked.
“They are otherwise preoccupied,” Shadow replied. “Besides, I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
Wedge sighed. “Well, I already know what you’re going to ask me. I already told Leia that I didn’t want any part of the Resistance. I’m supposed to be retired.”
“That was before Mandalore, though,” the agent pointed out. “I’d like to think that a lot of things have changed since then.”
“On the surface? Not really. It’s only when you get a closer look that you realize that things are changing at all.”
“Exactly.” Shadow turned to face the retired pilot. From beneath the rim of his hood, Wedge could tell the agent’s face was concealed by a mask as black as the cloak he wore. “And by the time the rest of the galaxy notices the changes, it will be too late. That is the purpose the Resistance serves, General Antilles: To stop things before it is too late.”
“Don’t call me that,” Wedge said, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m retired. It’s just Wedge, now.”
“You can’t keep using retirement as an excuse for long, general,” Shadow said sharply. “Do you plan on lounging here in your apartment while the rest of Coruscant burns?”
“I can always move to Corellia,” Wedge muttered.
Shadow laughed bitterly. “As if the rest of the Core Worlds will be any better off. Even as we speak, a schism is in the works. What you’ve been seeing in the Senate is just a taste of what is happening behind the scenes. The Alliance is falling apart, Wedge Antilles. Its very name has become an oxymoron.”
Wedge eyed the agent evenly. “What does the Resistance want me to do about it?”
“The same things you’ve been doing all your life,” Shadow said. “To lead and to stand for what is right.”
“I can’t do those things forever, pal. I’ve been getting on in my years.”
“Think of it this way: If what you do for the galaxy today fails, then perhaps they never deserved it in the first place.”
Wedge frowned. “And what if I say no?”
“You won’t. I’ve been given express orders to bring you back to my superiors whether you like it or not.”
“Ah. So this is a kidnapping then.”
“Don’t think of it as a kidnapping,” Shadow said. “Think of it as mandatory relocation.”
Wedge closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He should have known this day would come. “In that case, I won’t give you any trouble then.”
He reached again in his pocket and before he knew it he was being pinned to the floor. Shadow loomed over him, his mask nearly pressed against Wedge’s face, as he held the veteran’s right arm in a vice-like grip.
“Fulcrum told me you would be stubborn about this,” Shadow said calmly.
“How does Fulcrum know me so well?” Wedge asked through gritted teeth.
“From what I’ve gathered, she’s been married to you for nearly thirty years.”
And just like that, everything clicked into place in Wedge’s head.
“Yeah,” he said. “That does sound like her.”
* * *
While the rest of Coruscant slept, Club Kasakar was buzzing with activity. Neon lights illuminated the nightclub, casting a vibrant glow on its patrons as they gambled, danced, drank, and traded illicit materials. In the heyday of the New Republic, such venues would have been shut down without a second thought. But since the election of Luewet Wuul, the Galactic Alliance’s standards had dropped considerably and the criminal underworld had benefited greatly from it. Even notable politicians and officers could be seen participating in the questionably legal activities that went down at Club Kasakar. If anyone recognized them, no one spoke a word of it, especially if they wanted to wake up alive tomorrow.
Sitting in a secluded booth, wearing a cloak that concealed most of his face, Wallen Nix watched it all with a look of disgust. He felt that all of the work he had done for the Alliance had been for naught. Why bother catching crooks and solving murders if the very people he worked for was just going to sweep it under the rug or just start committing more crimes themselves?
He had to remind himself that the Alliance he used to work for was no more. He wasn’t sure when exactly the shift had happened, or perhaps it had simply been a gradual change. But the government that currently ruled Coruscant (in the loosest sense of the term) was not the same he had worked for less than a decade ago.
Sitting across from him, head hung low over a glass of Tevraki whiskey, was an indigo-skinned Twi'lek, wearing a cloak similar to Wallen’s. While the detective knew his former lieutenant better as the Kel Dorian Xemer, Club Kasakar did not exactly cater to the non-oxygen breathing species. As such, the shape-shifting Shi’ido had put his talents to use to take on the form of a seemingly innocuous Twi'lek who easily blended into the crowd. If anyone asked, his name was “Pol Vao.” If anyone got too close to comfort, his name was “Your worst nightmare.” Wallen had enough faith in his long-time partner to pull the act off.
The two of them were not exactly alone in the club either. To Wallen’s left, a young woman with vibrant red hair and an equally red minidress flirted with a group of gamblers sitting at a sabacc table and casually asked them questions about an elusive Cabal that allegedly operated here on Coruscant. The men there were distracted enough by her looks that they would forget whatever would happen to them if they blabbed about something they weren’t supposed to blab about. Which they did.
Across the room, in Wallen’s line of sight, an Anzati bounty hunter and her big scary Gamorrean partner surrounded a frightened Balosar sitting at the bar, going for a more intimidating route in getting the same information. From the looks of things, it was having an equal rate of success.
Turning back to the Twi'lek sitting across from him, Wallen said in a low voice, “Looks like our friends are making progress.”
“Provided that the information they get is useful,” Xemer replied. “For all we know, the Cabal could have already moved their operations from Coruscant after your run in with them.”
Wallen had considered the possibility, recalling the last time he had visited Club Kasakar with his lieutenant Taaku about a year ago, searching for a Cabal operative named Vixen. They ended up encountering a dangerous creature known as a Xylini and had narrowly escaped with their lives. When this mission had come up, Taaku had turned it down while Wallen had accepted it. He was eager to get to the bottom of the Cabal’s operations and potential influence over the corrupted Alliance and — hopefully — put an end to them.
Still, like Xemer said, it was a strong possibility that the Cabal had already taken their business elsewhere. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t still be elsewhere in the Core Worlds, close to the heart of the government.
Taking a sip from his glass of Savareen brandy, Wallen took the opportunity to scan the room again. Near the sabacc table where the woman in the red dress was at, a well-dressed man who looked to be in his early thirties sat and clinked glasses with an entourage of young men his age and attractive women of different species, including humans, Twi'leks, and Zeltrons. Something about the man’s features struck Wallen as familiar, though he could not quite put his finger on it. He softly kicked Xemer’s leg under the table to get his partner’s attention.
“Man at three-o-clock,” he whispered. “Holding a glass of blossom wine. Any info on him?”
Xemer glanced briefly at the man in question. “Darius Naberrie,” he said in a low voice. “Senator of Naboo. Supposed to be getting married to a Serennian noble tomorrow, I believe. He must be having his bachelor’s party.”
“Naberrie,” Wallen echoed. Even the name tasted familiar as it rolled off his tongue. “As in House Naberrie?”
“One and the same.” Xemer nodded before raising a hairless eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?”
Wallen shook his head. “No. Just thought it was someone I knew.”
“In any case, it wouldn’t hurt to keep tabs on him. If he’s here at a place like this, then who knows what kind of dealings he’s been involved in.”
Wallen grunted in assent as he took another sip of his drink before risking another glance at the sabacc table. The woman had departed and was headed for the back exit. As she walked by, she briefly caught Wallen’s eye and rubbed the side of her nose. He responded with a barely perceptible nod. He then looked over to see the Anzati and the Gamorrean walking away from the Balosar. The latter glanced at Wallen and flared his nostrils.
“We should probably pay our tab,” Wallen said, setting down his glass.
“Agreed,” Xemer said, already getting out of his side of the booth. “Shall we split the bill?”
“Of course. No way in hell am I paying for all the drinks you’ve had.”
“It was only a few,” Xemer protested.
“I don’t know what planet you’re from where seven is ‘few,’ but it’s not from where I’m from.”
The shape-shifter huffed, his indignation at least partially genuine. “At least I can hold my liquor better than some people….”
* * *
“Next time, Piggy can wear the minidress,” said Myri Antilles. Xemer already had the airspeeder in the air as soon as she had sat down, sandwiched between the Gamorrean in question and their fellow Wraith Jesmin Tainer.
“I thought you liked playing the ‘party girl,’” said Jesmin, removing the Anzati prosthetics from her face.
“I do. I just sometimes think we should change things up a bit. Have me be the big scary bodyguard while Piggy plays the distraction.”
“Been there, done that,” Piggy replied, the grunts and squeals of his species translated through an implant built into his throat. “Have I ever told you about the Wraiths’ mission to Ryvester?”
Myri shook her head. Jesmin restrained a smirk but said nothing.
“To make a long story short, I had to play the part of a belly dancer to take down an Imperial warlord.”
Myri’s eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. “A… belly dancer?”
“Yup. My outfit did not leave much to the imagination, either.”
“Thanks,” Wallen grunted, sitting upfront next to Xemer. “I really needed that image in my head.”
“You’re welcome,” Piggy said. “You should consider yourself lucky though; if you had actually been there, the image would have forever been ingrained in your memory. At least, that’s what Face and the others tell me.”
Xemer glanced at the three Wraiths through the rear-view mirror. “So, were you able to get anything from those patrons?”
“The Balosar spilled a lot of beans,” said Jesmin. “He says that the Cabal has reduced their presence on Coruscant and have spread their operations to other planets in the Core.”
“Just as we suspected,” Wallen muttered. “Any names?”
“Hosnian Prime, Corellia, and Sedratis. He clammed up before we could press him for any more.”
“That should give us a good starting point, at least,” Xemer said. “What about you, Myri?”
“Those guys were a lot more interested in either me or their game then talking about the Cabal,” the red-haired woman said, folding her arms over her chest. “Only one of them — a smuggler named Lance Nebula — gave me anything useful. He said that the Cabal have been mapping out a secret hyperspace route connecting Corellia to Ord Talavos, which they’ve been using as the center of their network.”
“Sounds like they have an interest in Corellia,” Wallen remarked. “Isn’t Sedratis on the same hyperlane as Corellia?”
Xemer nodded. “Looks like we’ve figured out their new hot spot. Let’s bring this back info back to Fulcrum after we rendezvous with Shadow and General Antilles.”
Myri shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Um… are you talking about my dad? He’s supposed to be retired.”
“He won’t be after Shadow’s talked to him. Fulcrum was very insistent that Wedge be brought in for this.”
Myri let out a deep breath. “Great. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see him.”
“He probably won’t be too happy about that dress you’re wearing,” Jesmin commented.
“Shut up, Ranger Girl.”
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