'A little respect,' Sienar suggested in a soft rumble. 'Commander,' Ke Daiv added with another cracking of his arm joints.
'Tell me about your arrangement.'
'I do not mind dying. I am in disgrace with my family, and death is not feared.'
'I have no intention of killing you, or of letting you die,' Sienar said. 'The droid is here in case you have instructions to kill me. It's completely under my control.'
'Why would anybody wish to kill you? You are commander.' 'Such insolence!' Sienar said with a tsk-tsk. 'Almost ad mirable. Please, I'll ask, and you'll answer.' 'You show weakness in your phrases.' 'No, I show politeness, and that is my culture and my upbringing, and you show ignorance about me, and that is a true weakness, Ke Daiv.'
Ke Daiv fell silent again and faced the closed port.
'You have other weaknesses. Your contract with Tarkin is all you deserve, because you failed to kill a Jedi.'
'Two Jedi,' Ke Daiv corrected.
'An understandable lapse, but still, a disgrace to your superiors and, I presume, your clan. Do you hope to make up for this disgrace by succeeding in this mission?'
'I always hope for success.'
Sienar nodded. 'Killing Jedi is a mug's game, Ke Daiv. They are strong and they have honor, and they respect all peoples and their ways. Why would you want to kill them?'
'I have no honor in my family, and that is all I may say,' Ke Daiv told him.
'I did some research before I left, and discovered, in the Blood Carver genealogical registry on Coruscant, that you are listed as 'extended,' which means, I believe, a kind of extreme probation. Is this true?'
'It is true.'
'Tell me how this happened. That is an order.'
'I am constrained,' Ke Daiv said.
'If you disobey my order, I can have you executed. . under the Trade Federation rules these officers still believe in and follow. That would remove you from any chance of redeeming yourself and put you on the list of permanent exclusion from the Art Beyond Dying. That is the finale of life within the Blood Carver belief system, a glorious conception of the afterlife, with which I, personally, would hate to interfere.'
Ke Daiv's head bowed slightly, as if under some weight.
'You have contacted my clan,' he said. 'You bring me shame beyond my ability to erase.'
'No, I haven't contacted your clan,' Sienar said. 'And I intend you no shame. I respect the Blood Carvers and their ways, and you are in enough trouble already. But I ask you listen closely to what I have to tell you.'
Ke Daiv lifted his head and brought his nose flaps submissively back against his cheeks.
'You followed your quarry to the bottom of the Wicko refuse pit, and remarkably, you survived the garbage worms there. You climbed back against all the odds and reported your failure. That is bravery befitting any clan warrior, and a commitment to duty beyond anything I've heard about on Coruscant for decades. Yet there is a rumor going around that. .'
Sienar hesitated for effect and shook his head incredulously. 'There is a rumor going around that in the future of the Republic, there may be no room for your people. No room for any race but humans. I, personally, will not support such a scheme. Will you?'
Ke Daiv glared at Raith Sienar. 'This is true?'
'It is what I have been told, by an old friend and classmate who seems to know.'
'Tarkin?'
Sienar nodded and, using his most persuasive voice, trained by years of speaking with armament and ship agents and fleet buyers, said, 'Examine your memory of Tarkin and disagree with me if you must.'
Ke Daiv closed his eyes, opened them, said nothing.
'Let us talk some more,' Sienar said, 'and see if there are plans on which we can agree.'
Sienar, of course, did most of the talking.
Chapter 25
The great stone and lamina doors swung open again, as quietly as the little hush of current that crept down the open bowl of the room beyond. The celebratory crowd had pulled back to the periphery of the great room, leaving only Sheekla Farrs near the door. She was now joined by Gann.
They peered curiously into the big round chamber. The spikeballs once more covering the walls were as still as the stone to which they clung. At the bottom of the bowl, a slight descent from the big doors, a pile of debris rose two meters above the stone floor.
A sigh came from the crowd.
Farrs called out two names.
Obi-Wan Kenobi got to his feet first and touched himself with quick gestures. Three spikeballs clung to him, one on each arm and one on his chest. Their grip was tenacious, and he did not try to dislodge them, much as he wanted to. He looked around the piles of shed spikes and shells littering the bottom of the bowl, the detritus of the
