Alan Foster - The Approaching Storm

Well, as she had just more or less told Barriss, that was one of those outcomes only time could decide. Skywalker was not her responsibility, and she was glad of it. She was not sure she would have been as patient with him as was Obi-Wan. An unusual teacher for an unusual student, she reflected. She urged her suu-batar to lengthen its stride slightly.

Unity delegate Fargane's stomach was not all that was growl ing. The senior delegate was tired. Tired, and angry. He missed his home in distant Hurkaset, he missed his relatives, and the family business never did as well without him around to dispense the worldly advice of which he was a master. It was all the fault of these representatives of the turgid, pompous Republic Senate. These "Jedi." Prior to their arrival on Ansion, delegate Ranjiyn had declared that their reputation preceded them. Well, haja, as far as Fargane was concerned, their reputation had receded with them. They had been accorded respect and greeted as potential saviors of the peace, only to vanish into the endless plains of Ansion.

It was time to make a decision. Though he was still not cer tain which way he intended to vote, he was certain of one thing: that vote was long overdue. He said as much to his colleagues.

"They are still out there somewhere," delegate Tolut in sisted. "We should maybe wait a little longer." Standing by the third-floor window, the bulky Armalat gazed pensively northward. Even his patience was beginning to wear thin. During their only encounter, the Jedi had impressed him mightily. But clever parlor tricks were no substitute for substance. Where were they- and more important, where was the treaty they had promised that would at last settle long- standing matters of disagreement between the city folk of the Unity and the Alwari nomads?

"I'll tell you where they are." Everyone turned toward the speaker. As official observer for a coalition of Cuipernam merchants, Ogomoor had no power to affect the proceedings of the Unity Council. He could only offer an opinion. But as day after day continued to pass with neither sign nor word from the visiting Jedi, his views acquired greater and greater weight.

"They've gone."

The human delegate Dameerd frowned. "You mean they've left Ansion?"

Soergg's majordomo feigned indifference. "Who knows? I mean that they are no longer with us. There are other ports be sides Cuipernam, and a good ship can touch down anywhere. Perhaps they've gone back to Coruscant, or perhaps they're dead. Either way, they've failed to deliver on what they promised: the acceptance by the Alwari of a new social understanding on Ansion." He gestured meaningfully. "How much longer will you delay? However you vote on this matter of secession, this eternal uncertainty is bad for business."

"I am in full agreement with you there," Fargane huffed.

Ranjiyn eyed the senior delegate respectfully. "I concede that a decision should be made. Ansion's future waits on those of us gathered here."

A conflicted Tolut tried to stall. "Can't we give these well- meaning visitors a little more time?"

"Who says they are well meaning?" Kandah snapped. "Shall we let them define themselves? They serve other masters. The Jedi Council, the Republic Senate, perhaps others. They do as they are told. If they have been told to leave without speaking to us, I would not be surprised. It would be characteristic of the kind of long-winded political maneuvering so typical of the Senate." Her voice rose angrily. "I don't like being treated in this manner!"

"By the end of the week, then." Ranjiyn was insistent. "I say that if we have not heard anything from them by then, we should take the vote."

"Well!" muttered Volune aloud. "A decision at last. While I tend to agree with Fargane that too much time has been wasted on this matter already, I will accede to that timetable." He looked over at the senior delegate, human eyes meeting those of the slightly shorter Ansionian. "Fargane?"

The representative made a gurgling noise in his throat. "More time wasted. Haju, very well. But no longer," he con cluded warningly. "Tolut?"

The Armalat turned from where he had been staring out the window. "These Jedi are good people, I believe. But who knows what they have been told to do, or what has happened to them? They presume too much." The heavy head gestured affirmatively. "The end of the week. It is agreed."

It was so decided. No more delays, no more excuses. Jedi or no Jedi, treaty or no treaty, they each of them had responsibilities to their individual constituencies, whose citizens had been clamoring for a final decision on the matter of secession. Concerned communications had come as well from offworld, from the Malarians and the Keitumites, whose own futures were so closely and formally tied to that of their Ansionian allies.

Ogomoor was delighted. The end of the week was farther away than his master would have liked, but neither was it next solstice. Soergg and whoever he was working for would be much pleased.

The majordomo was much pleased with himself.

Ogomoor had just delivered a minor bit of good financial news to his bossban and was on his way out of the lounging chamber and back to his office when Soergg erupted behind him.

"It's not possible!" the Hutt bellowed into the commdroid, whose job it was to hover close to the massive, lumpy head during business hours.

Adroit fellow that he was, Ogomoor was able to divine sev eral things simultaneously from his master's exclamation. First, when someone declares loudly and violently that something is not possible, it is probably an accomplished fact. Second, things that are supposed to be not possible that become reality almost always imply negative consequences. And third, there was no point in hurrying from the room because in all probability he would immediately receive an order to return.

All this flashed through the majordomo's mind in an instant; just long enough for him to mentally prepare himself. Soergg continued listening to whoever was on the other end of the transmission. The Hutt's huge eyes bulged and veins throbbed on his neck region and head. He must be upset indeed, Ogo- moor knew, for those blood-carrying tubes to force themselves to the surface through so much intervening fat.

He listened patiently if uneasily. Patently, his bossban was not receiving good news. As bad news traveled rapidly down the chain of command through the Hutt's many enterprises, it was his destiny to be among the first to share in it. Occasionally, Soergg would interject a comment or two into the largely onesided conversation. As the Hutt continued to listen, these rapidly grew both stronger and more profane in tone.

When at last the transmission ended, the enraged bossban swung furiously at the mechanical deliverer of bad news. A heavy hand smacked the guiltless hovering droid into the nearby wall. It crackled once before falling to the ground, shattered. Ogo-moor swallowed hard. If the Hutt was angry enough to sacrifice expensive equipment on the altar of his rage, it did not bode well for his organic, more easily broken, subordinates. The major-domo took care to remain well out of the Hutt's reach.

Soergg was not in the mood to mince words, even at the sac rifice of his beloved sarcasm. "Those accursed Jedi are back!"

"Back?" Ogomoor looked blank. "Back where?"

Vast yellow eyes glared down at him, and Ogomoor was glad he had not moved any closer. "Back here, you idiot!"

Genuinely taken aback, the first assistant gaped at his master. "Here? In Cuipernam?"

"No," Soergg growled dangerously. "In my sleeping quarters." Voicing a curt command, he called forth another comm-droid from the cabinet in which they were stored in multiples. "They're at the city inn where they stayed subsequent to their initial arrival. At least we retain one competent informant! Get over there. Take whatever you need. Hire whomever you need.