It's all going to change.
No more wars flaring up in each generation.
No more career politicians wringing what they can out of the system.
No more talk of freedom that just means a handful can do as they please while the rest struggle for survival.
No wonder the old guard feared the Sith, if that was what they threatened —the end of chaos that served only the few.
Jacen returned the thumbs-up to Lekauf. "You ain't seen nothing yet."
HM-3 plucked out a datapad. "I'll keep you apprised of the progress of the amendment, Colonel Solo. Is that all for today?"
"I may consult you again. You make all this easier to understand."
"That's my job."
Jacen just wanted to check. He had the germ of an idea. "Funny thing, laws and regulations, aren't they? That amendment gives me—and others, of course—the ability to change the amended law itself, doesn't it? It's quite circular."
HM-3 didn't care about right and wrong: just legal and illegal. If Jacen had designs on manipulating the amendment for uses beyond speeding up the dispatch of medical supplies, then the droid didn't regard it as part of his remit.
"Yes," HM-3 said. "It is."
Jacen tackled the pile of intelligence reports that had stacked up on his desk with renewed enthusiasm. The air was alive with imminence, of things about to happen. The endless thoughts of whom he would have to kill to achieve his sacrifice had gone away for a while, but they'd be back. In the meantime, he had a new tool with which to effect change.
I can change the law that lets me change laws.
If I use that wisely, I can bypass the Senate when I need to.
The power of simple human reason was as effective as the Force some days.
TEKSHAR FALLS CASINO, KUAT CITY, KUAT
What happened to the clones?" Mirta asked.
Kuat City stank of credits. Fett had never been able to understand how an industrial society whose wealth was built on heavy engineering still had an ancient aristocracy. Funny place. Anachronistic. Ahead of him, the smarter part of Kuat City glittered, elegant towers and spires that seemed a refined echo of the industrial skyline of cranes in the orbital shipyards.
He knew Kuat well. He'd once saved its shipyards from an attempt to destroy them. He hoped the place was going to show him some gratitude.
"Cannon fodder," he said, answering Mirta at last. He brought the speeder bike to a halt by an arcade of smart shops. "They died."
"Not the one I saw. He said some left the army."
"The only way out," said Fett, "was death or desertion."
"None of them retired?"
"Depends what you mean by retired. I heard a few ended up in care homes run by well-meaning peace campaigners, though."
Mirta seemed to be working out what retire meant for men who were trained to kill, who'd been kept apart from regular society, and who had an artificially shortened life span. The slight jut of her chin—a sure sign she was annoyed—communicated itself through the helmet. There was only so much she could hide.
"Did you ever hunt deserters?"
"No." He'd seen plenty, though. "Didn't pay enough."
"Did you care about them, Ba'buir?'"
Okay, she finds comfort in playing Mando. But I'll never get used to that name. "Not really."
"They were your brothers."
"No, they weren't." He motioned her to get off the speeder. "Blood isn't everything. You know that's the Mando way."
"But I bet you'll be shooting that clone a different line," she said. "How else are you going to get him to help you? Beat it out of him?
He looks as tough as you are."
"Maybe I'll just ask nicely," said Fett. "Right now I need to walk into the Tekshar and have a chat with Fraig. That might be a little inconvenient for him."
The Tekshar Falls was one of those feats of architectural near impossibility at which the Kuati excelled. Other establishments in the galaxy had impressive water features, but the Tekshar was a waterfall, a raging, hammering torrent from a river diverted at vast expense into the entertainment center of the city. It provided its own hydroelectric power, which was just as well given the ferocious array of lights that pierced the curtains of water. The casino was set within the waterfall itself, part construction, part natural stone, with turrets jutting through the water like tree fungi. To get to the entrance, gamblers had to walk through water plummeting five hundred meters.
"Pity, I've just had my hair done," Mirta said, solidly encased in armor from head to toe. "Is this how they stop the riffraff from coming in?"
"We are the riffraff," said Fett. "And we're going in."
He paused to hack into the Kuat police database from his HUD
system. They wouldn't mind. He was just contributing to law and order around here. Images of scumbags, petty villains, and serious bad boys —and girls—scrolled down the display inside his helmet. He waited, and shortly FRAIG, L., appeared. For gangland vermin, Fraig looked remarkably respectable: fresh-faced and framed with gold curls that would have made a mother weep. Fett suspected that if Fraig still had a mother, he'd have sold her to a Hutt by now.
"So you're just going to stroll in," said Mirta.
"I only want to ask him a question."
"It's never that easy, is it?"
"We'll see." Fett strode down the tree-lined boulevard that led to the foot of the falls and forked around it. Only the stupidly wealthy had the time to gamble this early. It said a lot for Fraig's business acumen.
"There's no reason for him to get upset. Just check that your jet pack's primed."
"We might be leaving rapidly, then . . . ," Mirta said, keeping up with him without apparent effort, a reminder that he was slowing down.
"Will they make a fuss about letting us in dressed like this?"
"It's all about making an entrance." Fett wiped the windborne spray from his visor. "People usually find my dress acceptable. Sooner or later."
He walked straight across the bridge at the wall of roaring water and churning white foam. The falls parted like a curtain to create a wide portal. Behind, the casino was a vividly lit—and completely dry—haven.
"Very impressive," said Mirta.
It was a nice trick played by automated force fields triggered by a motion
sensor. But it was, as he often thought, all about presentation. A little theater. It always helped.
"Keep up," he said.
The lobby of the casino was a study in opulence, as if someone had taken a bet on how many credits they could spend on each square meter. It was everything Fett didn't care for: flocked wall coverings, gilding, mirrors, and low-level lighting, all the trappings of illusion, and hard to clean, too. The lobby parted into two sections, one leading to the restaurant and the other to the gaming tables. Fett consulted his investment portfolio via his HUD. He noted TIRUAL CONSTRUCTION HOLDINGS.
"Let's not do too much damage," he said. "I think I have shares in this place."
There was a steward at the front desk and a few very large assistants —humans, Trandoshans, and Gran—walking in slow, considered circles around the thick purple carpet that dragged at Fett's boots like tar. He'd never seen a Trandoshan in a formal suit before, and wondered what poor old Bossk would have made of that. It was also unusual to see a Gran in this line of work. It was clear none of them was there to help diners make informed choices from the wine list.
The steward was scanning a screen in his desk, probably matching Fett's image to the database of guests he needed to recognize for one reason or another. Judging by his sudden flinch, he'd found FETT.