"That's all you're going to tell me?"
"That's all I can tell you," Akanah said. "Good-bye, Luke. I'll be
back for you as soon as I can."
After Akanah left, Luke first took some time to explore behind all the
doors of the docking bay.
The public showers and refresher were overdue for a cleaning, no doubt
due to the fifty-credit cleaning fee.
But the prospect of a real six-head unlimited-water space"s shower was
too appealing to resist. Luke vouched for the additional charge and
secured the door so that the automated scrubdown and sterilization
could begin.
Luke tried to get even on the day rummaging through the lockers of
ship's supplies. To his surprise, there were two K-18 food packs--both
out of date, but not too badly so. He installed the older of the two
in the skiff's reprocessor and tested it, then found stowage for the
other in the crowded belly bay. The portmaster would nick his account
again for returning only one empty, but not enough to dissuade him.
When scavenging paled, Luke turned to tinkering.
The control systems terminal offered an extensive list of flight system
upgrades, with a data card burner right beside it. Most of the skiff's
flight systems were out of date, but Luke located half a dozen
aftermarket upgrades and coaxed Mud Sloth into taking them. All of
them came up virus-free-something he hadn't expected, considering the
source. But the navigation upgrade spotted Luke's handiwork on the FCZ
interlock, forcing him to restore the original, blissfully unaware
package.
In time Luke had done all the tinkering he could without risking having
something crucial arrayed in pieces on the bench or the bay floor at an
awkward moment.
He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his
first complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant.
Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently went through
the complex exercises which brought him to a profound state of restful
clarity.
It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom
of the simple words There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no
ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is
serenity.
There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and
the serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the Force and
with his connection through the Force to all that was.
Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation of
a Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an
experienced Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.
But the chaos of the real world was another matter.
When ego returned, so did will. The surrender became tainted, the
connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped away under the
continuous assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the
greatest of the masters needed to perform the practice regularly lest
they lose the discipline that made them what they were.
The drills were as much a test for the body as for the mind, and the
docking bay's newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to
muscles that were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in
too long. He stood for a long time in the place where the six needle
jets converged, letting the water flowing down his body become another
meditation.
When Luke finally emerged from the shower and once again donned his
clothes, he allowed himself to check the skiff's chronometer and see
how long Akanah had been gone.
Barely six hours had passed.
Standing beside the skiff's bow, Luke looked around the bay.
Inexplicably, it seemed much smaller when viewed through the prospect
of spending the next several days there.
Donning his hooded cloak, Luke secured the skiff, locked the docking
bay--bending a pin so that only he could unlock it again--and went out
into the night.
As he looked out across the spaceport and at the lights of Talos
beyond, his hand--out of habit--went to the place at his hip where his
lightsaber usually hung.
His fingers found only air, which puzzled him for just an instant.
Then he drew the face of Li Stonn down over his own and walked on.
It was a much-remarked irony that very little was free on a Free Trader
world. Walking and breathing were among the few activities without a
price tag--though some said that was only because the Traders'
Coalition hadn't figured out how to deny those amenities to those who
wouldn't pay.
But there was a twenty-credit service fee to enter Talos, which crowded
up against the spaceport boundary in classic Free Trader fashion.
Virtually anything could be bought on Atzerri, and no small part of the
catalog could be had within five hundred meters of Talos spaceport's
three entrances. Every major trader in the city had at least one of
the kiosk-size satellite storefronts that crowded along the broad
boulevards leading to the cabs and hire shops along the flyway ramp.
The narrow little stores were aggressively gaudy and loud. Multistory
display panels above their doorways graphically hawked their wares
while door barkers made promises and entreaties shoppers were well
advised to ignore. Every shop along the boulevard was willing to
refund service fees and provide express transport to the sponsor's main
location. Some sent small armies of droids out to stand outside
competitors' doorsteps with even sweeter offers.
The entire purpose of Traders Plaza was to snap up as many newly
arrived "greens" as possible. Once they were safely away from
competitors, they could be worked at leisure or steered to other
members of a trading alliance--a scratchback, in Atzerri argot. The
scratchback networks were elaborate. There was nothing a Free Trader
hated more than having a willing buyer and seeing a competitor get the
sale.
Luke surveyed the offerings in Traders Plaza with a mixture of wonder
and horror. The last time he had been on a Free Trader world, it had
been to try to buy weapons for the Rebellion, and there had been no
time for browsing the commercial districts. Few of the offerings in
the plaza had any appeal to him now, but his curiosity went beyond the
personal.
Information brokers offered religious, political, and technical
secrets. The forbidden vices of ten thousand worlds were available
openly and without shame. Traders who called themselves facilitators
arranged personal experiences. Embargoed technologies were readily
available alongside unlicensed copies of commercial products.
Librarians sold entertainments in every known medium without respect to
content or copyright.
Though Luke 'had prepared himself to resist the blandishments of the
sellers on Traders Plaza, his resistance was broken down by one
unexpected offering on the display board of The Galactic Archives. He
accepted a credit tab from the barker outside, then stepped into the
tiny storefront
.
"Welcome! Welcome to The Galactic Archives, your one-stop source for
everything that's worth knowing," said the hook, greeting him with a
broad, oily smile.
"Whatever you want, we havemor we'll get it for you, free. What did
you say your name was?"
"Li Stonn."
"Li Stonn, walking through that door is going to be one of the best
decisions you ever made. When you leave us, you're going to leave
satisfied--but you're not going to want to leave, because we have
everything. Did you see something particular that you were interested
in?
Don't be shy about asking--" Luke pointed upward. "You had an ad up
just a few moments ago. Something about the lost secrets of the
Jedi--" "Oh, excellent choice--a real find. We just added that to our
catalog, and it's already a best-seller. Absolutely authentic
material, answers all the questions we all have about the secret
masters of the galaxy." The hook pressed a bright blue tab the same.
size and shape as the credit tab into Luke's hand. "For security
reasons, all our sensitive documents are available only at our central
archives location. Just give these tabs to any trading agent when you
arrive. Would you like a courtesy cab?"
Dual display screens in the back of the cab subjected Luke to a
concentrated dose of Galactic Archives advertising-advertising that
seemed to be tailored to the request he had made at the satellite
shop.
The offerings included Emperor Palpatine's Principles of Power, a
private publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings and
rituals; the H'kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type
claqa group-minds, among others--with a special discount if Luke took
any three or more. Most of the documents were undoubtedly frauds, and
none tempted Luke beyond idle curiosity over the skillfulness of the
fraud.
When Luke reached the traders' central site, negotiating the price of
his purchase required most of an hour, two attempts to leave
empty-handed, and a promise to bring a friend back to The Galactic
Archives with him.
The final agreement brought the price down from two thousand credits
for the Jedi file to nine hundred for the file and a pocket datapad.
By then night had settled solidly over Talos, and the bustle of
activity had shifted away from the commerce district, leaving the
flyways and walks there nearly empty. Luke walked west, drawn by a
bright nightglow in the sky. Twice he was approached from the shadows,
but the weak minds of his would-be attackers were easily influenced by
a simple projection of doubt, and they retreated to await' easier
prey.
The nightglow came from the lights of a sprawling and boisterous
entertainment district, The Revels. He could hear that it was well
named long before he reached the district boundary and paid the general
admission.
The walks were jostling-full with visitors bent on pleasure, and the
air was full of loud voices, laughter, and the music escaping from
dozens of rec centers, casinos, and club bars.
Li Stonn wandered The Revels looking for a place to sit undisturbed and
read about The Secrets of Jedi Power. Luke Skywalker wandered The
Revels listening, watching, and trying to understand what drew so many
and stirred in them such a desperately fevered energy.
With the effects of his exercises lingering, the pleasures offered on
the banner displays of the clubs and rec centers seemed shallow and
uninviting.
Be a pirate for a night at Tawntoom Territory-Play Point 5 where it was
invented! New games every five minutes! Ninety-percent payoffs!
Near-Death Experiences! Walk Right to the Edge with our Master
Torturers and Million-Credit Insurance!
Melee!--Any Weapon, Any Target! The Ultimate Personal Combat
Simulator!
The Daughters of the Erapath Princess Know Exactly What You Need-Arena
Shock-Ball Now with Ultracharge!
Li Stonn was no more interested than Luke. But there were no places to
sit outdoors--not even a half-wall or a ledge--and no peace from the
crowd or the hookmen. The managers of The Revels had cannily decided
that if a visitor needed to rest, it should be somewhere indoors, where
the average seat turned a hundred credits an hour in drinks, food, and
services.
Facing that prospect, Luke decided to leave The Revels and return to
the docking bay. It was possible that Akanah had already returned--and
if she had not, he would at least have quiet for his reading.
But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a corner and was taken
aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a club bar called Jabba's
scroll. Visit Jabba's Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the
Mighty Rancor in the Pit of Death-Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke
joined the line and paid the membership charge without haggling.
Inside, he descended a curving flight of stairs into a remarkably
faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba's desert palace on
Tatooine.
Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more tables in
front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit, but the architecture
and atmosphere were authentic.
"Why, it's just like the Palace Museum," Li Stonn said to the tall and
elegantly dressed Twi'lek barring the way at the bottom of the
stairs.
"I'm afraid my master Jabba is away on business," said the Bib Fortuna
look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. "But I'm having a little
party in his absence, and I hope you'll enjoy yourself." His
head-tails stirred in signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing
girls hurried to him.
"Yes, Lord Fortuna," the server said.
"Oola, this is a friend of mine," said the major-domo.
"Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table."
The same fiction was carried through everywhere else--an Ortolan
keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the roaring of
the rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian monkey-lizard skittering
around the room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen
Han Solo hanging in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was
concealed down the corridor to the servant's quarters, and the price
card "Oola" left for him included various services available upstairs
in the guest quarters and downstairs in Jabba's dungeon.
It was tasteless and exploitative, but the music was surprisingly
agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was
markedly more subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. Li
Stonn ordered a drink and the executioner's cut of nerf, refused all
other offers with a polite smile, and settled in to discover the truth
quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.
Shortly after his meal arrived, Luke's consciousness was pricked by
hearing a familiar name spoken at a nearby table Leia's. He looked
up, fearing that the evening's entertainment at Jabba's Throne Room
&nbs
p; would be a dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on
a break and the transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit
deserted.
Luke extended his awareness, seeking the voice and the conversation
that had intruded.
"This'll lead to war," the woman was saying. "And bravo for that. The
Republic has every right to slap the Yevetha down for what they've
done."
"That's nonsense," her companion--a slender Lafran--retorted. "It's
like going into someone else's home to break up an argument.
Completely inappropriate."
"We're not talking about an argument. We're talking about murder."
"It's still their business, not ours."
"You can't just let them get away with murder."
"What does it matter to us what anyone does outside our borders? If we
try to police the whole galaxy, we'll always be at war. Organa Solo
should just grow up, and accept that the universe is an imperfect
place."
"That's awfully cold," the woman said, "It sounds like if you heard me
screaming next door, you'd just complain about having your sleep
disturbed."
"We're all responsible for protecting ourselves--and no one else," the
Lafran said, shrugging. "We have no business going into Farlax to pick
a fight over someone else's business. If a single Fleet pilot dies
there, the Princess should be put on trial--for murder and treason."