Free Star Wars: The Old Republic: Fatal Alliance by Sean Williams Page A

Duros fingers. Numb from head to foot,
he could barely accept what had just happened. The best he could
manage was to find ways to profit from it.

    As
his former colleagues pressed in to offer their congratulations, he
realized that this put him in an ideal position to make sure that the
Republic didn't gain from the Hutts' offer. He could downplay the
importance of any information he discovered-even actively interfere
with the auction, if it came to that. Whatever the Hutts had, the
Republic wouldn't get access to it.
    And
then there was the Republic fleet that awaited the outcome of his
investigation. If he could send them on a fruitless quest to an empty
sector of the galaxy, that could help the Empire in a dozen tangible
ways. That the Supreme Commander of the Republic's military forces
and parts of the Senate were absorbed in this unfolding drama was
also useful. What had started as a minor curiosity could end up
playing a deciding role in the conflict, if he was careful.

    "When
do you want me to leave, sir?"

    "Immediately.
Your security detail is waiting."

    "Thank
you, sir. "

    Ula
swallowed his nervousness, made his farewells, and exited the room.

    *
* *

    He
didn't get very far. In the hallway outside the Supreme Commanders
suite of offices, a squad of six soldiers awaited him. They wore
smart service dress uniforms and saluted on sight of him.

    "Sergeant
Robann Potannin, " the lead soldier introduced himself. "We
are your escort, Envoy Vii. "

    Potannin
was swarthy and muscular, and though he was as tall as Ula, he loomed
as though from a great height.

    "Thank
you. Sergeant Potannin. I'll be grateful for your protection on
Hutta. What's the arrangement? Shall we rendezvous at the appropriate
spaceport when the shuttle is ready?"

    "Shuttle
departs in one hour, sir. "

    "Then
I'd better get moving, hadn't I?"

    He
moved off along the corridor, and the squad fell into formation
around him. He stopped, and they stopped, too.

    "Where
are you going?" he asked Potannin.

    "Escorting
you to Diplomatic Supplies, sir. "

    "That's
not where I'm going. I need to swing by my apartment to pack my bag,
and I'm sure I can manage that on my own. "

    "Negative,
sir. All offworld necessities are provided by Diplomatic Supplies. "

    "But
my clothes..."

    "Not
required, sir. Ceremonial attire is being tailored to your
measurements as we speak. "

    Ula
had never seen this side of the Republic administration at work. It
was surprisingly, and irritatingly, efficient.

    "I
have a pet voorpak, " he said, improvising wildly. "If I
leave it alone, it'll die. "

    "Not
to worry, sir. Provide us with your key and I'll have it cared for. "

    "No,
no. That's not necessary. " Ula ran a hand through his hair.

    Both
packing a bag and his imaginary pet were covers for his real
intention. He wanted to send a message from his apartment to his
Imperial masters, informing them of this sudden development.
Otherwise they might worry at his silence.

    Luckily,
he had prepared for every contingency.

    Pulling
his comlink out of his pocket, he said, "I'll call a neighbor.
She'll look after it. Give me a moment. "

    He
walked a short distance from Potannin and placed a quick call. The
neighbor was imaginary, too, but the number was real. It led to an
automated message service that was regularly checked by Watcher
Three's network of agents on Coruscant. After the tone, he recorded
his name and ordered two innocuous dishes from a nonexistent menu.
The name of the first dish contained nine syllables, the second
thirteen, and those numbers allowed Ula's real message to be decoded
from stock phrases every Imperial operative knew by heart: he had
experienced an unplanned interruption and would reestablish contact
as soon as possible.

    At
least via the voice-drop his abbreviated message would get through.
Who knew when he would find an opportunity to send another?

    That
thought triggered a whole new wave of trepidation. Bad enough to be
in the spotlight, but