Prelude to Rebellion - 8 BBY

"Dianthe Numarkos-grasha?" A youngish-looking Filvian imbish growled out the name above a din of discordant voices, rising on her hind legs to her full 140 centimeters. She gave a sharp shrug of her shoulder, dislodging the slobbering drunk who had slumped against her. The man almost fell from his stool, slurred something about lumpy mongrels, and motioned vaguely at the barkeeper droid.

The woman on the next stool swirled a glass of cheap whiskey with a bruised hand. She looked over at the imbish and brushed a stray brown lock behind her ear. "Tell V'gik Nagorstel-nagarasha he'll get his coils in a couple of days." She didn't think the weaselly Filvian deserved the honorific, but she was trying to be polite. "Just waiting for a new cycler so I can finish tuning the resonance circuits."

"Nagorstel-grasha?" repeated the Filvian. "I don't know that ixbish."

"Then what brings you to this heavenly spot?" said the woman, waving her glass through the dim haze of the dive bar.

"I need to speak with you. About a job."

"I've work lined up for the next three, four weeks. Come back then."

The imbish shook her head, her ears swiveling inward with mild annoyance. "Not servicing repulsorlift coils. Different work. Better."

Dee narrowed her brown eyes. "Different work, you say? Who sent you here? How do you know my name?"

The Filvian female took a small backward step and gestured toward the drinking establishment's swinging door with her slim foreleg. "Someone who values your talents. I would rather speak of this privately. Will you follow?"

Numarkos scowled and turned back to her glass. She considered for a moment, drained the last of the amber liquor and swiped her credit chip over the payment terminal. Her stool grated on the permacrete as she stood. "It had better be good," she said and followed behind the diminutive Filvian as she threaded her way out of the crowded saloon. They turned down the street, lit by flickering lamps and gaudy shop signs.

"Who are you?" Dee said after a block or so.

"F'lim Astormast." I have a speeder, just there. She extended a thick digit toward a nondescript open-cabin model.

Dee pursed her lips for a minute. "I know plenty of Filvians, Astormast-grasha, but I can't recall meeting you before."

"You haven't," agreed the imbish, opening the speeder's sliding door. Dee looked skeptical, but it was unoccupied, and frankly she couldn't think of any reason someone would want to abduct a mostly broke mechanic. She stepped in and sat on the bench. F'lim climbed in after her, hopped up on the facing bench, and folded her legs beneath her. "Better," she said, flashing her big square teeth in a brief smile. She fished a data cylinder from her belt and slipped it into the speeder's nav console. The engines spun up to a quiet whine and the craft slipped forward into the sparse evening traffic. She flipped a panel switch, extending the cabin's roof. It slid into place with a soft click.

"Okay, enough of the cloak and vibroblade stuff. I get my fill of that on the 'vids," Dee said. "Tell me what this is about."

F'lim's short tail swished. "Of course. I don't mean to be evasive, but—" The speeder slid past a squad of Imperial troopers in drab green uniforms and blast helmets herding a mixed group of Humans and Filvians into detention wagons. They weren't being especially gentle about it. F'lim let a deep growl build in her throat, and her nostrils flared. "Those Imperials..!" She turned back to her guest, drew a deep breath, and unclenched her fists. "My employer is Aristotle Karanos-nagrasha. You know of him perhaps?"

Dee cocked an eyebrow at the Filvian female. "Is there anyone on this vapor-starved rock who doesn't?"

"Karanos-nagrasha would like to offer you a job." When the Human made no response she continued. "He is building a new organization, and he would like you to take part."

"What would the head of Karanos Transport Systems want with a repulsorlift tech? He must have thousands on his payroll, better ones than me."

"Indeed," replied the imbish. "Karanos-nagrasha is interested in your other talents. Managerial. Administrative. Your skills as a negotiator and leader."

"Hmph," Numarkos uttered. "It's been some time since I've used those."

"Three years, since the Protectorate shut down your consultancy. Isn't that right?"

The other woman said nothing, but it took effort to keep from showing her surprise.

"And you are no fan of the Empire. Quite the opposite I expect, since they destroyed your business and charged you with sedition."

Dee ground her teeth. "Those charges were dropped."

"Yes. Karanos-nagrasha interceded on your behalf."

"What? Why?" she exclaimed. She'd always wondered why the ISB agents suddenly stopped coming around. By then it was too late, of course. No one wanted to do business with a firm that was in the Imperial Security Bureau's reticle. And half her consultants, programmers, and techs had been detained by Protectorate forces on one trumped-up allegation or another. Numarkos Technology Advocates, the business she'd spent most of a decade building up from nothing, crumbled in a few weeks.

The speeder swung onto the curving intercity ramp toward Olminar, Filve's sprawling capital. Its inertial dampers hummed as the sedan shot forward under the accel field within the transnet that connected all of Filve's major cities. C'ralix's climate dome quickly shrunk in the rear viewport.

F'lim responded with her own question. "Are you aware that Numarkos is a sept of Clan Karanos?"

Dee realized her mouth was agape. "Uh, no. I wasn't aware of that." She thought about it for a moment. "Are you sure?"

F'lim made the strange guttural sound that passed for a Filvian chuckle. "Yes, quite. Karanos-nagrasha has followed your career for many years, off and on."

Numarkos arched an eyebrow, her interest suddenly piqued. "So… what kind of job has he for me?"

F'lim scratched idly at the padded seat with her middle digit. "I think it will be best for Karanos-nagrasha to tell you that himself." She pressed a stud on the center console, opening a compartment with food and drinks. The Filvian stretched forward, extracted a pair of chilled beer bottles. "Olminar is two hours by transnet. Can I offer you a refreshment?"

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The speeder glided to a smooth halt before a nondescript structure that looked like some kind of warehouse. A slender, distinguished-looking man emerged from the building flanked by two cloaked figures that moved like security droids. He stooped to enter the speeder. His gray hair was tucked neatly into a white turban fastened with a gold-and-gem-crusted pin. He took a seat on the rear bench and held out his hand to the imbish. "Thank you F'lim. Well done."

She took his hand and made a small bow. "Karanos-nagrasha, I have brought Dianthe Numarkos-grahsa as you requested. Numarkos-grasha, I am pleased to present you to Aristotle Karanos-nagrasha." She bowed to both of them before resuming her seat on the bench.

Dee stopped clutching the palm stunner in her pocket and extended her hand, a bit nervously. "Karanos-nagrasha."

"Good evening Dianthe. I may call you Dianthe, yes?"

Calm down, Dee. He's just a customer. Maybe. "Of course. Or Dee, if you prefer." She forced a smile, in spite of her nerves.

F'lim poured hot cups of khaff for them. The speeder turned back into Olminar's densely packed traffic pattern, eventually ascending a transnet field. In a few minutes they were circling high over the spired city a few hundred meters from the ceiling of the dome that protected the metropolis from the scorching desert outside.

"I will come directly to the point, Dianthe," said Karanos after a quick sip of the dark steaming drink. "I'm building an organization, and I would like you to manage it for me."

"What sort of organization?"

"The kind that can stand for Filve, and against the Empire."

Dee's eyes went wide, and she stopped twisting the small cup between her thumb and finger. "Your pardon Karanos-nagrasha, but KTS must have, what, a few hundred millions worth of transport contracts with the Empire?"

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"Hmm, some tens of billions I would think."

"Riiight," she drawled. "And you want to jeopardize that?"

"No, Dianthe, I do not. That is why I've asked you to run my organization."

Dee thought about that for a second. Does he want me because I'm already on ISB's sensors? "Why me?"

"You ran a successful business with many facets."

"Ran, yes," Dee said. "But millions run successful businesses. You must have thousands in your employ now."

"I have indeed, just like F'lim-iksha here. She manages personnel at Karanos, very well I might add." F'lim bowed in receipt of the compliment. "You've done something few others have these days, though. You built your business with your own hands, from nothing. No Banking Clan line of credit, no family fortune or Techno Union connections. Just hard work and determination. I admire that."

"Plenty of good it did me, too. The ISB didn't think much of my hard work and determination."

"No indeed," Karanos said, and for the first time his serene expression soured. "I have billions in contracts, and relationships with Senators, Moffs, important families of the Empire. I thought they would insulate Filve when the Protectorate arrived. How many years has it been now?" Karanos drifted into silence. "I was wrong. Governor-general Hastert takes my calls, of course, what else can she do? But she's an Imperial down to her very genes. If you aren't Human, you're not worth her notice. And if you are a Human, you're under her suspicion.

"Filve is slowly being ground under Palpatine's heel. The spaceport they're building here is barely a pretense. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but surely the Empire means to subjugate us as they did Kashyyk and so many others. And when that day comes, Karanos Transport and its subsidiaries will be annexed to one of the favored companies— Seinar, or Kuat, or CEC. Worse than that, Filve will fall."

Dianthe leaned back in her seat. Fireworks pierced the air over Cordoon Stadium, celebrating the end of the preliminaries in the Dome Series Sand Slalom World Championship. She'd meant to watch the races tonight. Another plan ruined. She turned back to Karanos. "That's... rather dire."

"Do you doubt it?" Karanos challenged, his voice low. "Ask F'lim-iksha if what I say is dire."

Dee looked at the imbish, who stared at the carpeted speeder floor. "Astormast-grasha?"

"My ixbish'ka— husband, and my sister. They were taken by the Imperials. Just last week." The Filvian didn't look up, but the droop of her ears showed her despair.

"That's terrible," was all Numarkos could think to say. After a long silence, she turned back to Karanos. "You still haven't told me why I'm the one you want to run this organization of yours."

Karanos shook his head, making his jeweled turban pin sparkle in the cabin's light. "Not my organization Dianthe. It will be yours. If you accept it."

She turned down the corner of her mouth. Why is he being so obtuse? "With respect, Karanos-nagrasha, that's not an answer. You haven't told me anything. Not what this organization is, or what it's supposed to do, or why you chose me. Look, if you want my help, drop the damn circlespeak and give me some straight answers. Otherwise, take me back home." She folded her arms and glared at the shipping magnate.

F'lim's black eyes glittered and her tail slapped against the seat, but Karanos held up his hand. "No, it's fine F'lim-iksha. Numarkos-grasha deserves a forthright response." He turned back to Dee.

"Why did I choose you? I've had my eye on you for years, dear. As I said, what you built was no mean feat. I know good organizational and leadership skills when I see them. And then, when NTA was taken from you, I watched you do what you had to do to survive. Your parents— I knew them, you know— would have been most proud of their daughter's accomplishments.

"Now, as to the organization. The Empire, you see, thrives on propaganda, on misinformation. It pits us against each other, stirs petty disputes into conflagrations to keep us focused on mean squabbles while it steals more of our freedoms by the day. My— your organization will counter that narrative, expose the Empire's lies, and provide the Dufilvian peoples with the truth the Empire isn't telling them."

"Counter Imperial propaganda? Sounds like a big risk. Anyone who speaks out against Emperor Palpatine's New Order goes missing or turns up dead in an alley. Do you remember Ronata Zhiss-grasha? That five-part exposé she ran on HoloNine? When they found her body it looked like she'd been tossed to a pride of starving w'lorta hounds. How do you plan to succeed where the pros have failed?"

"By being smarter, I suppose. But I won't be succeeding at all, my dear. That task falls to you. There can be no connection back to me, no whiff of Karanos Transport Systems upon your operation. That is another reason I chose you. The Numarkos sept is small, and so far removed from the main line of Clan Karanos that, even when the Empire does learn who you are— and they will, eventually— the chances of connecting you to Karanos are nearly zero."

"That is certainly a comfort," Dee said dryly. "Sounds to me like you just want someone to distract the Empire so they don't look too closely at you."

"Not entirely incorrect, but no. I don't start ventures that are doomed to failure. The organization is well funded and well equipped. You'll have the latest communication, sensor, and analysis gear in a state-of-the-art ship. On Filve it might be hard to find you, but in space… in space you'll be nearly untraceable. Here," he said, drawing a small box from his pocket, which he held out to her. "This is it. The key to the organization, to Razorclaw."

"Razorclaw? That raptor that hunts in the ticher forests?"

"The same. It's an ambush predator, you know. It attacks other predators, prey larger than itself. And it has a piercing call that demands attention."

"I see," Dee said, letting the word trail off.

"You don't like the name? I found it clever myself."

"That's hardly the point," she replied. "It sounds like the fantasy of an old man who has too much time and money on his hands."

F'lim gave a little start in her seat and looked quickly between the two Humans. If he was angered by her provocation, Karanos didn't rise to it. He gave a slight shake of the box in his hand. "Open the box. Judge for yourself."

Dee hesitated a second, then took it. She touched the lockplate and the lid slid back. Inside was a crystal pendant on a gold chain, a laser pointer, and what looked like a stimpack. "Am I giving a presentation first and then getting lit, or the other way around?"

The corner of Aristotle's mouth curled into an amused grin. "The pointer modulates at specific wavelengths and frequencies. Shine it through the crystal, if you please."

She did, and found herself staring at a complex mathematical formula projected holographically through the gemstone. Various elements of the formula changed values as she watched. "What is it?"

F'lim answered. "A formula that defines the coordinates of a certain intersystem rogue asteroid. It is not very large; only a few tens of meters. Even if someone stumbled upon it, no one is likely to give it a second look."

"And?"

"The asteroid houses a vault containing the funds for running Razorclaw. It can only be opened with the formula. Within the vault is a quantity of nova crystals from Karanos-nagrasha's personal fortune which, valued at current exchange rates—" The imbish looked up, doing the calculation in her head— "is approximately one hundred eighty million credits."

Dee whistled between her teeth. "Well funded. That's an understatement."

"Indeed?" F'lim continued. "We estimate it to be sufficient for up to twenty years of operating costs."

"Twenty? More like ten times that," Dee said.

F'lim shrugged, making the sustenance gland on her back bounce a little under her smock. "Razorclaw cannot operate openly. Everything you buy, any transactions you make, must be on the black market. Prices there are..." She snorted through her nostrils in the way that Filvians did to express surprise or disbelief.

"Fair enough." Dee had done her share of dealing with underground economies since losing NTA. Imperial credits had to be processed through Imperial clearinghouses and were traceable, credit chips even more so. Nova crystals could be sold through shadow brokers with nothing in the way of a paper trail to lead back to her. "How do I get the vault resupplied?"

"In whatever way you see fit, dear Dianthe," Karanos said. "Only, it won't be through KTS or any of its holdings. Razorclaw can have no financial connection to KTS, however tenuous. Assuming you deplete the funds you will have to find more."

Dee dropped the pendant and laser back into the box. "And the stim?"

"Not a stim, a biomarker," F'lim corrected. "It will slightly alter selected nucleotide sequences in your mitochondrial DNA."

"What for?"

Aristotle interrupted. "You haven't asked how you will get to the vault."

"No, I haven't. How will I get to the vault?"

"On the ship I mentioned before. Its core systems are keyed to certain nucleotide sequences in a human's mitochondrial DNA."

Now Dee smiled along with Karanos and F'lim. She decided to see where this mad-sounding plan might lead. "The ship?"

"Indeed. My yacht, Lethe's Jewel."

"Wasn't she lost in hyperspace? The story was all over the 'net."

"A necessary ruse, I'm afraid. It was always my intention that the Jewel should be a mobile base of operations for Razorclaw. But a vessel with the necessary specifications can't just be found in any shipyard, so the Jewel is a bespoke design. And since I've had two attempts on my life in the past few years, it drew no questions when I armed her, more heavily than might be thought normal, but then I am a man given to paranoia." Karanos tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. "There are stories on the Corpnews holonet saying so nearly every week."

"So, I get a ship, a treasure vault on a tramp asteroid, and an organization that's going to broadcast anti-Imperial programming to make all the free peoples of the sector rise up against their oppressors. Do I have that about right?"

"Your skepticism is not unwarranted, nor your cynicism, I suppose. The Empire took much from you. It has taken much more from billions, even trillions of sentients. There are others in the galaxy who think as we do. Senators still loyal to the old Republic. Imperial defectors who have witnessed the brutality of Palpatine's New Order. You've seen it yourself, in your business that they dismantled, the roundups and arrests in the dead of night; the disappearances. But there are others working in small groups throughout the galaxy, from the Core to the Unknown Regions, who are taking action to challenge that Order.

"My dear, I'm not an ideologue, I'm a businessman, a merchant. But I'm also a man who loves liberty, not just for Humans, but for all people of Filve. Every sentient in this galaxy deserves the chance to live their best life. I want Razorclaw to be one small part of a much larger effort to give them that chance, and I'm asking you to join me in that effort." Finished, Aristotle folded his thin hands in his lap.

Dee looked solemn. "You're talking about rebellion."

"Yes. I suppose I am."

The cabin was silent, save for the bare hiss of the air processor. Dianthe looked from F'lim to Karanos and back again. The speeder slowed to a stop at an immense mansion; Karanos's, she supposed. She could go back to cursing the Empire and servicing repulsor coils at Dev's shop; forget this fantasy of opposing the Empire. Or she could, just maybe, do something to make things better. The speeder door slid open and the roof slid back. A blue and silver BD-3000 luxury droid emerged from the home's tall entrance. The feminine droid took Aristotle's hand and helped him from the vehicle. "Welcome home, Master. I trust your journey was comfortable?

"Yes it was, Artemisia," Karanos turned back to Dee. "Just think about what I've said, Dianthe Numarkos-grasha."

"No need," she answered, pressing the head of the stimpack's injector to her wrist. "I'm in." For better or worse, she added to herself.

Karanos smiled, and seemed genuinely happy. "That pleases me a great deal. Film-iksha will take you back home. In two or three days' time one of my employees will bring a speeder to Dev's for repair. Please take care of it personally. Also, be sure to put your affairs in order before then. It may be quite some time before you set foot on Filve again."