Star Wars: Cloak of Deception

by James Luceno

Then the firing ceased.

  Standing rigidly in front of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, Cindar’s gaze was unfocused and his mouth a rictus of surprise. When he toppled facedown, they saw the burn of a blaster bolt that had ricocheted into the center of his back.

  Qui-Gon went to him and checked for signs of life. “He’s told us all he can.”

  Obi-Wan picked himself up from the floor, favoring his sound leg. “What now, Master?” he asked.

  Qui-Gon nodded to the Hawk-Bat. “We race Captain Cohl to Eriadu.”

  “Karfeddion?” Yoda said in puzzlement. “Off on another quest, is he?”

  Saesee Tiin glanced at Yaddle before replying. “None other than the quest that has preoccupied him for the past month.”

  Yoda touched his forefinger to his lips, closed his eyes, and shook his head in dismay. “Again, Captain Cohl.”

  Eleven of the twelve members of the Jedi Council were gathered in their high tower, with the sun disappearing around the western curve of Coruscant in an eruption of color. Adi Gallia’s chair was empty.

  “It’s not like Qui-Gon to defy the express wishes of the Council and the Supreme Chancellor,” Plo Koon said.

  Yoda’s eyes snapped opened and he raised his cane. “No. Like Qui-Gon, this is. Always forward, the Living Force. Adjust to Qui-Gon’s actions, the future will.” He shook his head again.

  “The only real danger is if he does anything to further a rift between the Republic and the Senex sector,” Oppo Rancisis said. “I fear that the events on Asmeru have already placed Supreme Chancellor Valorum in an awkward position.”

  “At a critical time,” Even Piell added. “Vandron and the other Senex noble houses could point to Asmeru as an example of the Republic’s disregard for self-governing sectors. Valorum’s goal of fostering trust in the Republic among the outlying systems would be subverted.”

  Mace Windu had his mouth open to reply when Ki-Adi-Mundi emerged from the turbolift.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, Master Windu,” the Cerean said. “But we have received an urgent communication from Qui-Gon Jinn.”

  “What is the transmission?” Mace Windu asked.

  “He and Obi-Wan are bound for Eriadu in the Hawk-Bat.”

  Yoda made his eyes wide in theatrical surprise. “Become Captain Cohl, Qui-Gon has!”

  As a trading port, Eriadu was accustomed to seeing its polluted skies filled with vessels. The trade summit, however, set a new record for traffic, both below and high in orbit.

  Among the thousands of ships anchored above the planet’s bright side was a run-down Corellian freighter, the current object of interest of a heavily armed picket ship bearing the emblem of Eriadu Customs and Immigration. Between the picket and the freighter moved a small single-winged craft, twice the size of a standard starfighter.

  Rella and Boiny watched the craft approach from one of the freighter’s starboard viewports. Dressed alike in knee-high boots, bloused trousers, vests, and soft caps with short brims, they might have been veteran spacers.

  “We’ll play this by the numbers,” Rella said. “Customs officials aren’t trained to be nasty, they’re born that way.” She glanced at Boiny. “Want to go over any of it again?”

  The Rodian shook his head. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  They went to the starboard airlock and waited for it to cycle. Shortly, three humans in flashy uniforms came aboard, accompanied by a mean-tempered saurian quadruped fitted with an electronic collar. The beast’s tongue flicked from its slash of mouth, licking the air.

  Nearly as tall as Rella, the chief inspector was a slender, light-complexioned woman. Her blond hair was pulled severely back and woven into a long braid behind her head.

  “Take Chack aft and work your way forward,” she ordered her two companions. “Let him take his time. Tag anything that gets his attention, and we’ll deal with it separately.”

  The two customs agents and their sniffer headed for the rear of the ship. The chief watched them go, then followed Rella and Boiny into the freighter’s forward cabin.

  “Your shipping manifest,” she demanded, extending her right hand to Rella.

  Rella prized a data card from the breast pocket of her vest and slapped it into the woman’s palm. The chief inserted the card into a portable reader and studied the device’s small display screen.

  From aft came a sudden growling sound. The chief looked over her shoulder.

  “Your sniffer must have gotten a whiff of our galley,” Boiny said jocularly.

  The woman’s stern expression didn’t waver. “I can’t make sense of this,” she said after a moment, motioning to the reader’s display screen with the backs of her fingertips. She eyed Rella with suspicion. “What, exactly, is your cargo, Captain?”

  Rella leveled a blaster at her. “Trouble.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. Noises behind her prompted her to glance over her shoulder once more. Two robust humans and a Gotal answered her obvious surprise with pernicious grins.

  “We’re holding the other two aft,” Lope said. “The animal’s dead.”

  “Good work,” Rella said, deftly disarming the chief.

  Pressing the blaster to the woman’s ribs, she steered her toward the freighter’s communication suite.

  “I want you to raise your ship,” Rella said while they walked. “Tell whoever’s in charge that you’ve discovered a load of contraband, and that you need the entire inspection crew over here on the quick.”

  The woman tried to turn out of Rella’s grip, but Rella only tightened her hold and shoved her down into the chair at the control console.

  “Do it,” Rella warned.

  The woman hesitated, then complied, resignedly.

  “The entire crew?” someone on the picket ship asked in disbelief. “Is it that bad?”

  “It’s that bad,” the chief said toward the console pickup.

  Rella switched off the feed and took a step back to appraise the chief. “I’m going to need your uniform.”

  The woman stared at her. “My uniform?”

  Rella patted her on the shoulder. “That’s a good girl.” She swung back to Boiny and the others. “Position yourselves at the airlock and be ready to receive company.”

  The mercenaries enabled their blasters and hurried off.

  Not fifteen minutes later, and now wearing the chief’s uniform, Rella entered the bridge of the picket ship and swept her eyes over the instruments. Boiny’s charge, the chief, followed, her wrists sporting stun cuffs and the rest of her clothed in Rella’s spacer garb.

  Boiny motioned the woman into the copilot’s chair, then pressed his sucker-tipped forefinger to a communications bead in his right ear.

  “Lope wants to know what he should do with the inspection team,” he said to Rella.

  She answered while continuing to study the instruments. “Tell him to secure them in the aft hold of the freighter.”

  She eased into the pilot’s chair and adjusted it to her liking. Drab Eriadu filled the forward viewport. Rella switched on the communications array and swiveled to face the chief.

  “Send a message that you’re bringing a load of confiscated cargo down the well. Say that you want the cargo transferred to the customs building for immediate inspection, and to have hoversleds standing by to meet you.”

  The woman smirked. “That’s against procedure. They won’t do it.”

  Rella smiled. “Thanks for the warning. But they will do it this time, because the people in the customs building are on my team.” She gave it a moment to register. “Glare at me all you want, chief, but you’re going to do it eventually.”

  The woman bent toward the audio pickup, clearly hoping that Rella would be proved wrong. But after listening to the transmission, the voice on the other end replied, “We’ll have the hoversleds waiting.”

  The chief continued to glower at Rella. “You think no one knows we boarded your ship?”

  “I’m aware of that,” Rella said. “But we don’t need all day to
accomplish what we came here to do.”

  She fastened the chief’s seat harness in such a way that the woman could scarcely move. Then she accepted an adhesive strip from Boiny and plastered it over the chief’s mouth.

  “You sit tight for a while,” Rella said, squatting to eye level with the woman. “We won’t be long.”

  She and Boiny went aft to the picket’s small rear compartment. Cohl and the mercenaries were already there, pressed in among a half-dozen two-meter-tall cargo tubes that had been conveyed from the freighter. All of them were wearing rebreathers and extravehicular suits, with armorply vests beneath.

  “Is this necessary?” one of the humans was asking Cohl, gesturing to the upright cargo tubes.

  “I suppose you’d rather blast your way through customs, is that it?”

  “No, Captain,” the man answered sullenly. “It’s just that I don’t like tight spots.”

  Cohl laughed ruefully. “Get used to it. It’s going to be nothing but tight spots from this point on. Now, in you go.”

  Reluctantly the man opened the cargo tube’s narrow hatch and squeezed inside. “It’s like a coffin in here!”

  “Then just be happy you’re still alive,” Cohl said, securing the door from the outside.

  With similar aversion, the others began to secrete themselves.

  “You, too, Cohl,” Rella said.

  “Wish I could be joining you, Captain,” Boiny said with a smile.

  Cohl scowled. “You’re lucky there was a Rodian on the inspection team, or I’d have you sharing a canister with Lope.” He turned to Rella. “I don’t know exactly how we would have pulled this off without your help.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Save it, Cohl. I just want to get us out of it in one piece.”

  He stepped into the canister. “Seriously. I don’t deserve you.”

  “That’s the first true thing you’ve said. But that’s just who I am.” She reached into the canister to fasten the collar of Cohl’s space suit. “We can’t have you catching a chill.”

  Cohl grinned at her.

  She sealed the cargo tube and looked at Boiny. “Ready the ship to leave orbit.”

  As promised, a half-dozen hoversleds were on hand to meet the customs ship when it touched down at Eriadu’s overtaxed spaceport.

  Now fettered only by stun cuffs, the chief was the first to step from the picket’s hatch. She took one look at the humanoid and alien operators of the hoversleds and inhaled sharply.

  “Who are you people?” She asked in utter dismay.

  “You don’t really want to know that,” Rella said from just behind her.

  She nodded to Boiny, who placed a small styrette to the chief’s neck and injected her with a measure of clear fluid. Instantly, the woman slumped back into Boiny’s arms.

  “Stow her in one of the empty cargo canisters,” Rella said. “We’ll take her with us for safekeeping.”

  She hopped down onto one of the hoversleds. “We have to work fast,” she cautioned Havac’s downside contingent of terrorists. “It won’t be long before the freighter is discovered and searched.”

  Rella rode one of the repulsorlift flatbeds to the picket’s aft hatch, which was already open. There, she leapt into the rear compartment and rapped her knuckles against the matte surface of Cohl’s container.

  “Not much longer,” she said quietly.

  When the coffinlike canisters had been loaded, the flotilla of hoversleds moved across the spaceport’s duracrete apron to the customs warehouse, where more of Havac’s terrorists were guarding the roll-away doors.

  To all sides, ships were arriving and launching. Closer to the spaceport terminals, passengers were disembarking from the shuttles that had carried them from transports anchored in orbit. PK and protocol droids were everywhere, as were teams of security agents, waiting to hustle diplomats and dignitaries through immigration. Massed along the spaceport’s stun-fenced perimeter, mobs of demonstrators were declaring their discontent, with chanted slogans and crudely lettered signs.

  The hoversleds streamed into the warehouse in single file, the roll-away doors closing behind them. At once, the humanoid and alien pilots began to unseal the canisters, which opened with a hiss of escaping atmosphere.

  Cohl climbed from his coffin, pulled off his rebreather, and jumped to the sawdust-covered floor, gazing around expectantly. The place smelled of spacecraft exhaust and hydrocarbons.

  “Punctual, as ever, Captain,” Havac said, as he and a group of his cohorts emerged from behind a palisade of stacked cargo bins. Sporting a colorful headcloth and scarf that left only his eyes exposed, the Nebula Front militant started for the now motionless sleds, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw Rella.

  “I thought you’d retired.”

  “I had a memory lapse,” she told him. “But I’m about to get over it.”

  Havac appraised the gathered mercenaries and turned to Cohl. “Will they follow orders?”

  “If you feed them regularly,” Cohl said.

  “What do we do with this one?” Lope asked, indicating the still-unconscious customs chief.

  “Leave her there,” Havac answered. “We’ll take care of her.” He swung back to Cohl. “Captain, if you’ll follow me, we can conclude your part in this.”

  “That suits me fine,” Cohl said.

  Havac glanced at Lope and the others. “The rest of you wait here. I’ll brief you when I return.”

  In a restricted area of the spaceport, Adi Gallia met Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan as they stepped from the sharp-nosed shuttle that had brought them downside.

  “The High Council’s favorite Jedi,” Adi said as Qui-Gon approached, his long hair and brown cloak stirred by the wind. “I half expected you and your loyal Padawan to come bolting overhead in Captain Cohl’s gunship.”

  “We left the Hawk-Bat in orbit,” Qui-Gon replied without humor. “What’s the situation here?”

  “Master Tiin, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Vergere, and some of the others are on their way from Coruscant.”

  Qui-Gon planted his hands on his hips. “Did you ask security to run a check on Corellian freighters?”

  Adi gave him a long-suffering look. “Do you know how many Corellian freighters are in orbit just now? Unless you can provide a registry or a drive signature of some sort, there’s little anyone can do. As it is, it will take customs and security a week to search every vessel.”

  “What about Captain Cohl?”

  Adi shook her head, the tails of her tight-fitting bonnet whipping about her handsome features. “No one fitting Cohl’s description has passed through Eriadu immigration.”

  “Could we have arrived first, Master?” Obi-Wan asked. “The Hawk-Bat is about the fastest ship I’ve ever flown in.”

  Adi waited for Qui-Gon’s response, which was to shake his head negatively.

  “Cohl is here somewhere. I can feel him.”

  The three of them glanced around, reaching out with the Force.

  “There is so much disturbance just now, it’s difficult to focus on any one thing,” Adi said after a long moment.

  Determination quickened Qui-Gon’s gaze. “We must prevail on the Supreme Chancellor to allow us to take the place of his Senate Guards. It’s our best hope.”

  Havac led the way down a long corridor. Against one wall were slumped a dozen or so bound, gagged, and blindfolded customs agents, who voiced muffled exclamations of fury as Cohl, Rella, and Boiny passed. Havac continued on to a room that housed the warehouse’s small power plant.

  He opened the door and gestured everyone inside. Flickering overhead fixtures illuminated a clamorous generator, along with scores of unopened shipping crates. The room reeked of lubricants and liquid fuel.

  Havac’s demeanor changed as soon as he shut the door behind him. He unwound the cloth scarf that concealed his face and threw it to the floor.

  Cohl regarded him curiously. “What’s gotten you so jumpy, Havac?”

  “You,” Havac seethed. “You’ve nea
rly ruined everything!”

  Cohl swapped brief looks with his comrades, then said, “What are you babbling about?”

  Havac fought to compose himself. “The Jedi learned that you’ve been hiring assassins, and that you’re planning something for Eriadu. Your likeness is all over the HoloNet!”

  “Again, the Jedi.” Cohl narrowed his gaze at Havac. “I thought you and Cindar were supposed to keep them occupied.”

  “We did our part. We lured the Jedi to Asmeru, and we managed to lure even more of them away from Eriadu. But you, you left a trail any amateur could follow, and now Cindar’s dead because of it.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I don’t sob,” Cohl said flatly.

  Havac ignored the remark and began to pace the floor. “I’ve been forced to modify the entire plan. If it wasn’t for the help of our advisor—”

  “Take it easy, Havac,” Cohl cut him off. “You’re going to give yourself a stroke.”

  Havac came to a halt behind Rella and aimed his forefinger at Cohl. “I’m going to have to use the ones you delivered to fashion a diversion.”

  Cohl’s features warped into a mask of acrimony. “I can’t allow that, Havac. I didn’t deliver them here to be killed. They trust me.”

  “Content yourself that they’ll die rich, Captain. What’s more, I don’t care what you think you can and cannot allow. I won’t have you interfering in this.”

  Cohl laughed shortly. “You’re going to stop me?” He turned and started for the door.

  “Stay where you are!”

  Havac made a sudden grab for Rella’s blaster. She tried to turn away, but wasn’t in time. Havac threw his left forearm around her neck and pressed the blaster to the side of her head.

  Cohl stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly toward him. Boiny was about as far from Havac as he was, but neither of them risked a move.

  “You haven’t got the stomach for this kind of work, Havac,” Cohl said in a controlled voice. “Put the blaster down and let her go.”

  Havac only tightened his choke hold on Rella. She clamped her hands on his forearm.

  “You said it yourself, Captain: anyone can be killed. I’ll do it if you try to leave. I swear, I’ll do it.”