“What are those?”
“My job is to represent Lothal’s interests on Coruscant,” Renking said. “That includes citizens visiting or temporarily working there. It turns out that there’s a decent-sized contingent of such displaced citizens working in the Coruscant mines.”
Arihnda’s surprise must have shown, because he smiled. “Not real mines, of course, not like yours,” he said. “These are more like reclamation operations, where centuries’ worth of dumped slag, metal shards, and other debris is dug up from around the foundations of old industrial plants. The Lothal contingent is always in flux, so I have an assistance office in the area to help them with housing and general orientation, as well as guiding them through the Coruscant bureaucratic maze.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
“About five hundred at the moment,” Renking said. “But there are miners and support personnel from a dozen other Outer Rim worlds working the reclamation projects, as well, and that number probably comes to ten thousand or more. I have people who understand bureaucracy, but no one who understands mines and the specific needs and language of miners. I think you’d be a great asset to me.”
“I’m sure I would,” Arihnda said. “What would my housing and salary be? And when would you want me to leave Lothal?”
“Housing would be modest, but salary would be far higher than here,” Renking said, studying her face. “Enough to maintain your current lifestyle, even at Coruscant prices. As to leaving, I could take you there as soon as the agreement with the Empire for Pryce Mining is finalized. Unless you’d like to help settle your parents on Batonn first, of course.”
“That would probably be best,” Arihnda said. “Assuming I can persuade them to go along with this plan in the first place.”
“I hope for their sake that you can,” Renking warned, his voice going darker. “It’s either this, or your mother’s next mining job could be on Kessel.”
“Then I’d better go talk to them.” Arihnda stood up and slipped her datapad back into its pouch. “I assume you can get the visitor ban on my mother lifted?”
“I’ll give the order as soon as you’re out the door.”
“Thank you,” Arihnda said. “I’ll be in touch.”
Five minutes later she was driving down the roadway, her mind spinning with conflicting thoughts and emotions. So this was it. After years of waiting—after years of knowing it would never happen—she was finally getting off Lothal. Not just off Lothal, but to Coruscant.
And all it would cost was her parents’ jobs and dignity, and several generations of the Pryce family legacy.
It wasn’t as if Renking was being completely altruistic, either. Part of his goal in accepting Arihnda’s thinly veiled demand was clearly to split up the family, which would help stifle any legal challenge or local stirring they might decide to mount.
But machinations and plots aside, one point stood out clearly.
Coruscant.
As a child, she’d wanted to see the lights and colors and big buildings of that distant world. In the turmoil of her teenage hopelessness and desperation, the glittering capital had seemed the epitome of the life she so desperately wanted.
Now, when all hope was past, she was finally going to get there.
Renking had his own reasons and agenda. But then, so did Arihnda.
Because along with the lights and colors and big buildings, Coruscant was first and foremost the center of Imperial political power. The power that Azadi had used to put her mother in prison. The power Renking was using to take their mine for the Empire.
The power that Arihnda would someday use to take it back.
So her parents would accept Renking’s terms. Arihnda would see to that. And then she would go to Coruscant, and work in Renking’s little assistance office, and be a good girl and a model employee.
Right up until the moment when she found a way to take him down.
All opponents are not necessarily enemies. But both enemies and opponents carry certain characteristics in common. Both perceive their opposite as an obstacle, or an opportunity, or a threat. Sometimes the threat is personal; other times it is a perceived violation of standards or accepted norms of society.
In mildest form, the opponent’s attacks are verbal. The warrior must choose which of those to stand against, and which to ignore.
Often that decision is taken from his hands by others. In those cases, lack of discipline may dissuade the opponent from further attacks. More often, though, the opponent finds himself encouraged to continue or intensify the attacks.
It is when the attacks become physical that the warrior must make the most dangerous of choices.
—
“Don’t you see?” Vanto demanded. His voice is harsh and strident. His hand gestures are wide and expansive. He is angry and frustrated. “If you keep ignoring these episodes, they’re just going to get worse.”
“How would you have me respond?” Thrawn asked.
“You need to tell Commandant Deenlark,” Vanto said. His voice is still harsh, but his gestures are calming. The anger abates, but the frustration remains. “A month in, and you’ve already had run-ins with four separate cadets.”
“Three,” Thrawn corrected. “The second incident was unintended.”
“You only think that because you’re not up on Core World slang,” Vanto said. He makes a gesture mimicking that of the supposed insult. “That isn’t in any way a mark of respect.”
“But I have seen similar gestures without such intent.”
“Not in the Core Worlds you haven’t.” Vanto sweeps his hand crosswise in front of him, indicating dismissal. “Look, three or four—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not being respected, and Deenlark needs to know that.”
“To what end?” Thrawn asked.
“Look.” Vanto pauses, the muscles in his jaw tensing and relaxing as he prepares his statement. “The Emperor himself put you here. Even if no one else knows that, Deenlark does. For his sake, you need to let him know. Because if the Emperor finds out that this has been happening and Deenlark hasn’t done anything, there will be trouble.”
“Commandant Deenlark is in a poor tactical position,” Thrawn said. “If he is told and does nothing, he risks attack by the Emperor. If he hears and acts, he risks attack by the families of the cadets.”
“So what would a good tactician do?”
“Ideally, he would withdraw to a better position or a different time,” Thrawn said. “In this case, he can do neither.”
Vanto looks toward the window. His facial heat is fading. He grows more deeply in understanding of the situation. “So what you’re saying is that we’re stuck.”
“Only for two more months,” Thrawn said. “We then graduate and leave this place.”
“And you finally get to put on that lieutenant’s rank plaque,” Vanto said. He returns his gaze and points to the pocket where the plaque is customarily concealed. His facial and throat muscles again tighten briefly. His frustration increases.
“Are you disturbed by that?”
“Disturbed by what?” Vanto asked. His voice deepens and grows more harsh. Frustration, but also resentment. “That you’re getting through four years of academy training in three months? And then jumping a rank on everyone else on top of it?”
“Have you forgotten I have already passed through many years of military experience?”
Vanto again turns his face away. “I know that. I just sometimes forget that you…I’m sorry I even brought it up.” His face smooths out as the resentment fades. His hands open and close briefly with embarrassment.
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “Do not be concerned. The incidents will stop when the offenders are emboldened enough to push their actions too far.”
Vanto’s eyes narrow. He is surprised now, with growing disbelief and suspicion. “Are you saying you want them to cross the line?”