by James Luceno
Cohl glanced at Boiny before replying. “Havac, think it through. You’re the brains, remember? You hired us to be the brawn.”
Havac’s face was red with fury and panic; he was trembling from head to foot. “You underestimate me. You always have.”
“All right,” Cohl said. “Maybe I have. That still doesn’t mean—”
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” Havac interrupted. “But when it comes to safeguarding the interests of the Outer Rim, people like you and Rella and me are expendable. Our advisor prefers as few loose ends as possible, in any case.”
The door opened and two of Havac’s confederates entered the room with blasters raised.
Cohl saw the sorrow in Rella’s dark, beautiful eyes. “Oh, Cohl,” she said in a sad, quiet voice.
Abruptly, Havac turned his blaster and fired.
The bolt whizzed past Rella’s head, hitting Cohl in the chest. A second bolt struck the wall behind Cohl and glanced off into the room. Twisting to one side, Cohl threw himself at the two men by the door, dropping both with a body block.
At the same instant, Rella bent her right leg, raising her foot into Havac’s groin. He stumbled backwards, gasping for breath, but managed to hold on to the blaster. Boiny hurled himself at Rella, intent on driving her to the floor, but Havac began to fire wildly, catching Rella in the neck and Boiny in the side of the head.
Wrestling with the two men he had knocked down, Cohl heard the blaster bolts and saw Rella collapse in a heap. Sudden rage rushed to his aid in ripping a blaster from one of the men and killing him with shot to the face. The other man rolled and came to his feet in a crouch, loosing a volley of bolts at Cohl.
Cohl felt intense heat sear his thigh, abdomen, and forehead. He flew back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor, the blaster slipping from his grip.
Across the room a groan escaped Boiny, and he turned over onto his back, blood oozing from his head.
Through half-closed eyes Cohl stared at Rella. A single tear moved in fits and starts down her right cheek to her jawline. Cohl extended his right hand toward her, only to have it fall to his side, like dead weight.
“Havac,” he said weakly, before his head fell to his chest.
His back pressed to the wall, a quaking Havac dropped Rella’s blaster, as if he had just realized he was holding it. He gazed wide-eyed at his comrade.
“Is—is she dead?”
Keeping his blaster ready, the human went first to Rella, then to Boiny, and finally to Cohl. “Yes—and these two are well on the way. What should we do with them?”
Havac swallowed audibly. “The authorities are hunting for Captain Cohl,” he stammered. “Perhaps we should let them find him.”
“And the others—the ones Cohl brought?”
Havac considered it briefly. Then he retrieved the scarf he had thrown to the floor and began to wind it around his lower face.
“They know me only as Havac,” he said, and moved for the door.
A uniformed detachment of Eriadu security guards escorted Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Adi Gallia to the heavily guarded door of the Supreme Chancellor’s temporary quarters in the majestic home of Lieutenant Governor Tarkin.
Sei Taria led them the rest of the way.
“I never got to thank you personally for your actions at the Senate,” Valorum said to Qui-Gon. “If it wasn’t for you and Master Gallia, I might not be standing here today.”
Qui-Gon nodded in respect and acknowledgment. “The Force was with you that day, Supreme Chancellor. But we’re not satisfied that the threat has been removed. There is reason to believe that the assault in the plaza was contrived to lure Republic law enforcement to the Senex sector, and thus distract us from a similar plan the Nebula Front hopes to execute on Eriadu.”
Valorum beetled his thick brows. “A strike against me here would undermine what little support the Nebula Front currently enjoys in the Outer Rim.”
“The Nebula Front has no more faith in the Republic than it does in the coalition of outlying worlds,” Qui-Gon replied calmly but firmly. “By attacking you here, the Front may be hoping to induce the Republic to forsake any interest in the free trade zones, and lay the ground work for a separatist movement in the Outer Rim.” He compressed his lips. “I know that it defies all reason, Supreme Chancellor, but the Nebula Front appears to have abandoned reason.”
Valorum paced away from Qui-Gon, then whirled around. “Then it’s up to me to convince the delegates of the outlying sectors to loosen the yoke the Nebula Front and Trade Federation have thrown about them.”
“Supreme Chancellor,” Adi interjected, “will you at least consider postponing your opening remarks until we’ve had a chance to uncover the Nebula Front’s plan? It’s possible that assassins have already managed to penetrate Eriadu security.”
Valorum shook his head. “I won’t hear of it. At this late stage, any change to the proceedings would be interpreted as weakness or hesitancy.” He glanced at the three Jedi. “I’m sorry. I realize that you have my best interests in mind. But for the sake of the Republic, I can’t allow you to interfere.”
Adi bowed her head. “We will honor your wishes, Supreme Chancellor.”
The three Jedi turned and exited the room.
No sooner did the door close behind them than Qui-Gon said, “We must go directly to the site of the summit and see what we can learn.”
“If the attack on Valorum didn’t make him the focus of this summit, Asmeru certainly did,” Senator Bor Gracus of Sluis Van was telling Palpatine as they moved in step with the slow flow of other delegates toward Eriadu Spaceport’s immigration scanners.
Human or alien, almost everyone was draped in robes and capes of the finest cloth, including Palpatine and his temporary companion in the snaking line, who were dressed alike in richly adorned cloaks with roomy sleeves and high double collars.
Sate Pestage and Kinman Doriana, also dressed alike in black cloaks, followed closely behind Palpatine.
“Gossip to which I’ve been privy suggests many of the Core and Inner Rim delegates are whispering that the Supreme Chancellor’s actions at Asmeru were a bald attempt to curry favor with the Trade Federation.”
Gracus was a stout human with protruding eyes and a putty nose. His homeworld boasted a small but flourishing shipyard. As with other worlds along and in close proximity to the Rimma Trade Route, Sluis Van viewed its future import as preordained.
“Gossip is valuable only if it is accurate, Senator,” Palpatine said after a moment. “Supreme Chancellor Valorum is scarcely an advocate of unfair trade policies.”
“Unfair, you say? I didn’t hear you stand up and cheer when Valorum made his speech championing the advantages of taxation of the free trade zones.”
“That doesn’t mean that I think otherwise,” Palpatine said in a composed voice. “But, like you, my station compels me to echo the voice of those I represent, and, at present, Naboo remains undecided.”
Gracus gave him a sidelong glance. “King Veruna is undecided, you mean to say.”
“His troubles are on the rise, to be sure. Our regent is too enmeshed in scandal to give much thought to what lies ahead for Naboo. He forgets that our world relies on the Trade Federation for much of its industrial imports, in addition to some of its food. Naboo risks as much, if not more than any other outlying system in actively opposing the Trade Federation. It was only after much discussion and debate that I convinced King Veruna of the importance of my attending this summit.”
“You are most judicious, Senator,” Gracus said, in a way that mixed mild annoyance with admiration. “You answer my question without actually answering it. You prop Valorum, and yet you don’t.” When it was evident that Palpatine wasn’t going to reply, Gracus added, “It is my understanding that you briefed the Supreme Chancellor on the subject of dispatching an armed force to Asmeru.”
“A diplomatic delegation,” Palpatine amended.
“Call it what you will, you can’t change
what happened there. And you can’t deny that what happened there doesn’t smell more of might than right.”
Palpatine gestured in dismissal. “The details of the incident are sketchy at best, Senator. What’s more, you are ignoring the fact that, by trying to kill the Supreme Chancellor, the Nebula Front made themselves Republic business.”
“So Valorum claims,” Gracus demurred.
“The delegation came under almost immediate attack, and responded accordingly,” Palpatine said.
Gracus sniffed in derision. “The professed justification. Valorum used the incident to launch a preemptive strike, eliminating the Nebula Front’s ability to disrupt the summit, and at the same time inveigling the Trade Federation into accepting taxation.
“And I suspect that he had other reasons, as well. Everyone anticipated the Senex Houses to protest the violation of their territory, but they have been very silent thus far. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that a deal has been struck between Valorum and House Vandron. Should House Vandron agree not to protest what happened at Asmeru, the senate—or at least Valorum—will agree to overlook House Vandron’s continuing Rights of Sentience violations and lift the restrictions that have made it impossible for the Senex to trade with Republic worlds.”
“Whether slavery or spice smuggling, the Core Worlds take little interest in the injustices that plague the Outer Rim,” Palpatine said in a world-weary voice. “Violations notwithstanding, the Republic would gladly trade with the Senex, if the Senex had something of value to offer. If that wasn’t the case, the Trade Federation would have been disbanded long ago. But, in fact, the Neimoidians and the rest have set themselves up as irreplaceable, because of what they transport to the Core.”
Gracus appeared flustered. “Nevertheless,” he sputtered, “the Outer Rim worlds are now in turmoil. Even those who don’t openly support the Nebula Front are decrying the fact that the Republic took it upon itself to intercede at Asmeru.”
Palpatine summoned an ambiguous smile. “I’m certain that the Supreme Chancellor will ease everyone’s concerns when he addresses the delegates.”
“And we’ll all be eager to hear what he has to say,” Gracus replied contemptuously, “since with one hand he seeks to punish the Trade Federation with taxation, while with the other he strokes them by eradicating the Federation’s most dangerous antagonist.”
Palpatine’s seeming good humor didn’t falter. “One must make adjustments as necessary. Despite assiduous planning, not everything can be foreseen.”
A faraway look came into his eyes. “The landscape we inhabit is an everchanging one, Senator. One moment we are in the light; the next we are in the dark, left to find our own way through. If events could truly be divined—if one were to be granted such awesome power—then perhaps the future could be directed along one line or another. But until then, we stumble through, groping blindly for the truth.”
Gracus snorted. “Perhaps you should consider placing your name in nomination for high office, Senator.”
Palpatine brushed the remark aside. “I’m content to play my small part behind the scenes.”
“For the moment, I suspect,” Gracus said, as Palpatine hurried ahead of him in the line.
Nute Gunray’s red eyes meandered over the line of delegates waiting to be scanned by Eriadu’s primitive scanning devices. His gaze fell on two human senators—one rotund and plebeian; the other, straight-backed and refined—engaged in what appeared to be a spirited exchange. He looked down from his mechnochair at Senator Lott Dod.
“Who is the human in the blue cloak—there, speaking with the pudgy one?”
Dod followed the viceroy’s raised forefinger. “Senator Palpatine of Naboo.”
“A friend of ours?”
Dod shook his head dubiously. “He gives all indication of holding to a middle course, Viceroy. Although I heard that he encouraged Valorum to send judicials to the Senex sector.”
“A potential friend, then,” Gunray said.
“Soon enough, we will know where everyone stands.”
Behind them, squatting on the duracrete, was the shuttle that had carried them to the surface, an organic-looking ship, with a quartet of clawed and segmented landing gear, a pair of generator vents that resembled eyespots, and a rear deflector shield assembly that rose from the ship’s flat body like a raised tail.
Gunray and Dod wore robes, mantles, and headdresses—crimson and cordovan for the viceroy; deep purple and lavender for the senator. Fore and aft and to both sides of them marched security droids, their blaster rifles mounted behind their right shoulders. The droids constituted the Neimoidians’ reply to Eriadu’s offer to provide protection. In addition, the Trade Federation Directorate had insisted that a small shield generator be installed in that section of the summit hall assigned to them.
A mere glance at the protestors who stood five-deep along the perimeter of the spaceport facilities told Gunray that the members of the directorate had made a prudent decision—despite the ridicule to which they had been subjected by their peers in the Galactic Senate.
The directorate’s other six, shielded by Eriadu security agents, led the Trade Federation cortege as they neared the terminal. At the head of the line walked the Federation’s four human directors—two from Kuat, one from Balmorra, and the other from Filve. And behind them came the directorate’s Gran and Sullustan members, all wearing costly tunics and caplets, though a far cry from the extravagant ones affected by Gunray and Dod.
“Can we take this Asmeru business as a sign that Valorum is secretly in our camp?” the Sullustan was asking the Gran.
“Not unless Valorum surprises everyone here by withdrawing his taxation proposal,” the Gran replied.
“My attorneys assure me that the Republic has no legal right to tax the free trade zones,” Gunray said in Basic, from atop his ambulatory throne.
One of the humans from Kuat looked over his shoulder at the Neimoidian and laughed. “The Republic will do as it wishes, Viceroy. You’re a fool to believe otherwise. Valorum is as much our adversary as ever.”
Gunray suffered the humiliation in silence. What, he wondered, would the Kuati have made of Darth Sidious’s assertion that Valorum was the Trade Federation’s strongest ally in the senate? Would the Kuati have been so quick to taunt and scoff?
Gunray doubted it.
The arrogant human and the others knew nothing of the covert deal Gunray had struck with the Sith Lord. They viewed the Neimoidians’ continuing purchases of upgraded droid weaponry as wasteful, and symptomatic of the Neimoidians’ increasing sense of paranoia. But they rarely contested the expenditures, since the weapons afforded the fleet an added measure of protection. Similarly, they knew nothing of Sidious’s plan for the Trade Federation to extend its reach beyond the outlying systems to the galactic rim itself.
And yet, Gunray was anxious.
The Sith Lord had communicated with him only once since arranging the meeting between the Neimoidians and the Baktoid and Haor Chall arms merchants. The communication had been brief and one-sided, with Sidious stressing the importance of Gunray’s attending the trade summit, and assuring him, as ever, that everything was going according to plan.
“The way to defeat Valorum,” the other Kuati was saying, “is to persuade our signatory members that they gain nothing by decamping and seeking individual representation in the senate.”
“Even if that requires offering them lucrative trade incentives,” the Sullustan added.
“But our profits,” Gunray blurted, despite his best efforts to control himself.
“The Republic taxes will have to be absorbed by the outlying systems,” the directorate officer from Balmorra said. “There is simply no other way.”
“And if the taxes are too exorbitant for the outlying systems to absorb?” the Gran asked. “Our share of the market will be lost. This could very well cripple us.”
This time Gunray managed to stifle himself.
It is all a charade, Sidious
had said. Taxation is but a minor obstacle in our path to greater glory. Allow your counterparts in the directorate to say and do as they wish. But refrain from offering any response—especially at the summit itself.
Our path, Gunray thought.
But had he entered into a true partnership, or one in which Sidious would emerge as the Neimoidians’ overlord? How long could a Sith Lord content himself with mere economic power? And what was likely to become of Viceroy Nute Gunray once Darth Sidious set his sights on a target more worthy of his dark expertise?
Already Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar and Commander Dofine had aired their separate misgivings about the alliance—scarcely realizing that the partnership had as much been forced on Gunray as offered to him.
The Sith Lord had promised that he would communicate with Gunray once more before the summit began. Perhaps, the viceroy hoped, all would then be revealed.
Havac and his cohort returned to the main room of the customs warehouse, and the distant rumble of spacecraft launches. The five mercenaries Cohl had assembled were sitting on the edges of the repulsorsleds that had borne them to the warehouse.
From the jittery way Havac moved, Lope knew that something unexpected had taken place. He jumped off the hovering sled to gaze down the corridor that led to the rear of the building.
“Where’s Captain Cohl?” he asked Havac.
Above the scarf that swathed his face, Havac’s eyes narrowed as he swung to face him. “Cohl went out the back way. But he sends his luck.” Before anyone else could raise questions, he asked Lope, “What’s your preferred weapon?”
Lope took a second look down the corridor, then returned to the sleds. “Blades—of any length.”
Havac turned to one of the other humans. “Yours?” he asked, in an increasingly confident voice.
“Sniper rifles.”
Havac glanced at the Gotal.
“I’m not a shooter. I’m a lookout.”
Havac studied the remaining pair of humans—a brutish-looking man and an equally rough-cut woman.