by James Luceno
“Some of us were born to be betrayed,” he whispered. “I can’t make it up to you, Rella. But I can try with everything I’ve got left to avenge you.”
Supported on the crutch the Rodian had fashioned from a length of pipe and a cloth-padded brace of plasteel, Cohl followed Boiny out into the corridor. The bound and blindfolded customs agents were scarcely aware of them as they moved stealthily toward the warehouse’s spaceport entrance. The female agent whose uniform Rella had taken remained unconscious from the shot Boiny had given her aboard the ship.
The front room was loud with the noise of launches and landings, despite the roll-away doors being closed. The repulsorsleds were still hovering a meter off the sawdust-strewn floor, and everything else was much as Cohl remembered it.
Boiny studied the room for a moment, then walked to the center of the floor, two meters from the lead sled.
“There was a cargo crate here.”
Cohl eyed the telltale marks in the sawdust. “Too large for a weapon’s crate.”
Looking around, the two of them spotted the portable holoprojector at the same time. It was resting on the retracted landing strut of one of the sleds. Boiny reached it first. Setting it atop the sled, he activated it. Cohl limped over as the device was beginning to cycle through its stored images.
“The summit hall,” he said, in response to the 3-D image of the majestic dome-roofed building, and the mount it crowned.
Boiny allowed the images to cycle again, pausing the device when it displayed a remote view of the wooded mount, and the four broad avenues that terminated at the hall.
“The vantage from the cluster of rooftops we saw earlier,” Boiny said, already initiating a reverse scan through the images. “Havac could be planning to attack Valorum before he arrives at the summit.”
Cohl tugged at what was left of his beard while he considered it. He gestured to the holoprojector. “He didn’t forget to take this. He wanted it to be found—just the way he wanted us to be found.”
Abruptly, Boiny ducked down beneath one of the repulsorsleds. “Here’s something he probably doesn’t expect to be found,” he said as he was standing up.
Cohl narrowed his eyes at the stubby metallic cylinder Boiny showed him. “A restraining bolt?”
“But an uncommon variety.” Boiny brought the bolt to eye level. “Similar to the ones we fired into the security droids aboard the Revenue, but altered to suit a more advanced droid. Maybe a combat model.”
“Havac has a droid,” Cohl said, mostly to himself. His eyes searched the floor. “Could that be what was in the crate? Or is this one restraining bolt of a bunch?”
Boiny adopted a skeptical look. “The Nebula Front employing droids? That can’t be right.” He regarded the bolt again. “One thing is certain, Captain. This bolt has already been in a droid. I can see the impressions left by whatever tool pried it out.”
Cohl took the bolt and clenched his hand around it.
“I warned Havac that someone in the Nebula Front had informed the Judicial Department about our plans to attack the Revenue. Suppose he decided to take extra precautions when planning this operation.” Cohl looked at Boiny. “Havac said that the Front had lured the Jedi to Asmeru. That could mean that the attempt on Valorum’s life on Coruscant was a ruse, designed to divert attention from Eriadu.”
“Right,” Boiny said uncertainly.
Cohl glanced at the holoprojector. “Havac leaves us and the holoprojector to be discovered by the authorities …” He grinned wickedly. “I’m not sure how Havac plans to do it, Boiny. But I think I know what he’s planning to do.”
“Captain?” the Rodian said in confusion.
Cohl shoved the restraining bolt into his breast pocket and began to limp toward the corridor.
Boiny followed him, gesturing back to the holoprojector. “Shouldn’t I at least delete this thing?”
Cohl shook his head. “Hide it in plain sight, just as Havac did. The only way we’re going to get to him is by making sure that everyone else keeps chasing their own tails.”
Outside the front entrance to Lieutenant Governor Tarkin’s palatial residence, Valorum, Sei Taria, and the rest of the Coruscant delegation waited for their caravan of repulsorlift vehicles to arrive. Fashionable tunics and brocaded cloaks were once again the order of the day, except in the case of security personnel, who were nearly as numerous as the diplomats.
“I trust that your stay with us has been pleasant,” Tarkin was saying to Valorum.
“Very pleasant,” Valorum replied. “Permit me to extend the same courtesy to you, should you ever visit Coruscant.”
Tarkin smiled without showing his teeth. “I hope, Supreme Chancellor, that Coruscant will one day be a second home to me. All the Core, in fact, from Coruscant to Alderaan.”
“I’m certain it will.”
The captain of the Senate Guard detail approached with a durasheet in hand. In place of the customary ceremonial rifle, a state-of-the-art blaster was slung over his shoulder.
“We have the hovercade route, Supreme Chancellor.”
“May I have a look at it?” Tarkin asked.
The guard looked to Valorum for permission.
“Let him see it.”
Tarkin perused the durasheet. “A bit circuitous—perhaps needlessly so. But we should have no problem arriving at the summit hall by the appointed time.” He glanced down the long drive that led to the mansion. “The governor should be here momentarily. Then we can all depart.”
Tarkin was about to add something, when a land-speeder leapt into view, making fast for where he and Valorum were standing.
“What now?” Tarkin asked as the two-seater pulled up to the house and came to a halt.
Absent their Jedi cloaks, Adi Gallia and Saesee Tiin climbed from the hovering vehicle and made straight for Valorum. Tiin did the talking.
“Supreme Chancellor, there is a problem. We have confirmation that assassins contracted by the Nebula Front have breached Eriadu security. Qui-Gon Jinn and several other Jedi have gone to the spaceport, in the hope of intercepting them.”
“The danger is no longer conjectural, Supreme Chancellor,” Adi said earnestly.
Valorum’s forehead wrinkled in apprehension. “I want them found,” he said at last. “I will not have the summit interrupted.”
Tiin and Adi nodded. “Will you now consent to our accompanying you?” Tiin asked.
“No,” Valorum said flatly. “Appearances must be maintained.”
Adi looked hard at him. “Then will you at least agree to keeping your vehicle’s force field enabled?”
“I absolutely insist on it,” Tarkin interjected. “It is Eriadu’s obligation to assure that no harm comes to you.”
With obvious reluctance, Valorum nodded. “Until we’ve reached the grounds of the summit hall.”
His face blushed with sudden anger, Tarkin swung to a group of Eriadu security guards, who were standing behind him. “See to it that the streets are cleared. Arrest anyone you have cause to suspect. Don’t concern yourselves with legalities. Take whatever steps are necessary.”
Eriadu security agents were already on the scene by the time Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Vergere, and Ki-Adi-Mundi reached the customs warehouse.
One human agent was aiming a scanning device at several repulsorsleds parked just inside the entrance, still supporting a dozen tall and narrow cargo containers, whose opened hatches revealed them to be empty. Elsewhere in the large space, a group of infuriated customs agents were being interrogated.
The uniformed human commander of the security detail entered from a dimly lighted corridor. Behind him moved two green-scaled and chitin-sheathed insectoid bipeds, with large black eyes, short ridged snouts, and toothless mouths.
Qui-Gon saw Obi-Wan’s jaw go slack.
“Verpine,” he explained. “Organs in the chest enable the species to communicate by means of radio waves. But they can also speak and understand Basic, with the assistance of translator devices
. Their keen senses make them brilliant at detail work.”
“Verpine,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head in wonder.
Seeing the four Jedi, the commander approached, while the pair of aliens set about scrutinizing the sawdust-covered floor.
Qui-Gon introduced himself and the others.
“We have two dead humans in the rear room,” the commander said, after giving Vergere the same look Obi-Wan had given the Verpine trackers. “One male, one female, each dead of blaster bolts fired at close range, but from different weapons. Carbon scoring on the floor and walls indicate a full-scale blaster fight. Blood spots show that at least one of the combatants who got away was a Rodian. Bacta patches, synthflesh, and who knows what else is missing from the room’s medkit. We’re waiting for results on finger- and handprint analysis.”
“Captain Cohl’s partner is a Rodian,” Qui-Gon said.
The commander made note of it on a datapad, then pointed to the group of customs agents. “They were taken by surprise by no less than eight heavily armed assailants, most of them human, but at least four Nikto and a couple of Bith.
“After the surprise raid, they were stashed in the corridor, so they can’t provide much in the way of additional information. But the woman, there, is chief officer of the customs ship the terrorists commandeered. She identified the dead female in the back room as captain of the Corellian freighter she boarded. She’s still a bit dazed from a knockout injection, but she says she also saw a Rodian, and she thinks she remembers seeing a Gotal and a couple of human males.
“Everyone appears to have left the warehouse through a rear door that opens onto the spaceport service road. We’re assuming that they’re piloting skimmers or landspeeders.”
The commander stepped toward the center of the room and gestured broadly. “Everything here is just as we found it, except that little piece of hardware, which we discovered beneath one of the sleds.”
Qui-Gon and the other Jedi followed his finger to a portable holoprojector, sitting atop a cargo crate.
“Whatever else he is, Cohl is not careless,” Qui-Gon said.
“Deliberate is the way we’re reading it, too. But even professionals have been known to make mistakes.”
The commander walked over to the holoprojector. He was about to activate it, when one of his assistants intruded.
“Commander, the Verpine say that there are signs of well over a dozen men, several of whom arrived inside these tall containers. At some point, most of them gathered around what must have been a crate, just over here, perhaps to observe whatever images the holoprojector contains. Among them was a Gotal, who also arrived inside one of the containers. Bits of fur were found inside the second-to-last container, and also on the floor there, in large amounts.”
“A tussle?” the commander asked.
“Could be, sir. Gotals have a tendency to shed when they’re taken by surprise or frightened.”
“What would have frightened him?”
“No telling, sir.”
The commander glanced up from his datapad. “Anything else?”
“The prints leading down the corridor and back. One pair is certainly Rodian. The blood in the rear room explains why the Rodian was walking unsteadily when he returned to this room. The one who accompanied him back here wasn’t doing very well either, judging by the fact that he was supporting the left side of himself on a crutch, improvised from a length of pipe. Footprints of the two walking wounded are all over this room. The Rodian retrieved something from underneath one of the hoversleds, but we can’t be sure what that was—unless it was the holoprojector. Evidence suggests that the pair left by the rear door, same as the others, but they were on foot, at least until they reached the pubtrans booth on the corner.”
The commander finished his note taking and looked at Qui-Gon. “All this give you any insights?”
“Captain Cohl, the Rodian, and the woman must have been ambushed in the rear room.”
“Ambushed? By Havac?”
Qui-Gon nodded.
“Havac thought all three were dead?”
“No, he expected us to find Cohl and the Rodian alive.”
“Why would he risk that?” the commander asked.
Qui-Gon looked at him. “Because he wants to throw us off the scent.”
The commander scratched his head in thought.
Obi-Wan slid the holoprojector toward him. “Let’s see what we find in here.”
Lope peered through the small doorway that led to the roof of the Nebula Front’s safe house in the southern part of the city. A security craft made a low pass from the south, continuing on in the direction of the summit hall.
“Right on schedule,” he told the five human and alien terrorists crouching on the stairs below him. “We have ten minutes.”
The Gotal squeezed by him and scampered out onto the roof, his ringed horns twitching as they monitored the hazy air for portents.
Five meters from the doorway, the Gotal flashed Lope an all-clear sign and disappeared behind the first of the many domed rooftops they would need to traverse before attaining a clear view of the summit hall.
Lope and the rest hurried outside, rounding the same dome that now concealed the Gotal. On his hip, Lope wore a sheathed vibroblade, and on his wrist, a rocket launcher. The others carried both in-close weapons and blasters.
Beyond the first dome, the expanse of interconnected roofs was a terrain of spherical hills and steep peaks, cut through with shallow ravines and washes. Octagonal towers, slender steeples, and antenna arrays rose above the domes like isolated trees.
The diverse domes resembled the knobbed lids of giant cook pots. Some buildings were topped by long barrel vaults, and others with hip roofs, covered with tile or slate. Small houses with tiny windows graced the few level sections.
With the Gotal at point, they began to move at a steady clip, worming through tight meanders, negotiating precipitous ledges, and leaping to adjacent rooftops. Their mimetic suits allowed them to blend with the gray roof tiles, reddish bricks, and acid-rain-stained domes.
They scaled a tall roof and dropped down into a hollow formed by a quartet of contiguous domes. Then they edged around a massive cupola that gave them their first unobstructed view of the summit hall. East of the domed building was a range of high hills, shrouded in particle-laden haze. Far to the north, a broad river emptied itself into a slender projection of the sea.
A long stretch of flat roof ran all the way to the final dome, below which two streets joined to become a broad boulevard that arrived ultimately at the summit hall mount.
They were halfway across the flat roof when sounds of a commotion reached them from street level. Forging through his fear of heights, Lope crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down over the low retaining wall. Squads of riot-control security troops were rerouting ground traffic and dispersing bystanders who had gathered for a glimpse of whatever dignitaries might pass by.
In a building across the street, people drew curtains over their windows or pulled shutters closed. From slowly cruising landspeeders, announcements blared in half a dozen languages, threatening dire consequences for anyone caught on the rooftops or found loitering in restricted areas around the summit hall.
Lope saw a hovercade approaching from the south and waved for one of Havac’s men to join him at the wall. The convoy of ten repulsorlift vehicles was being escorted by as many speeder bikes piloted by helmeted police.
Havac’s man trained electrobinoculars on the fifth vehicle in line. “Valorum,” he uttered in a hushed voice. “Eriadu’s governor and lieutenant governor are with him.”
Lope asked for the electrobinoculars.
“Your boss should have listened to reason and let us hit Valorum here.” He patted the rocket launcher strapped to his right wrist. “One shot with this and the job would be done.”
Havac’s confederate took back the electrobinoculars. “For the moment, Havac’s your boss, too. Besides, Valorum’s riding under th
e protection of an energy shield. Now, get on the comlink and inform the team at the summit hall that the target will be arriving through the south gate.”
Lope crawled back to where the others were waiting, and removed a small comlink from his pocket. “Valorum’s right below us,” he explained.
He activated the comlink and keyed in the number Havac had given him, but all he got for his efforts was an earful of static. “You need to get above some of these antenna arrays,” the Gotal suggested. “Try from the top of the big dome.”
Lope nodded. Jogging in a crouch to the base of the dome, he began his ascent. But he was just short of the ornamented summit when he heard engine noise behind him. Over his shoulder, he saw three airspeeders approaching rapidly from the direction of the summit hall.
He slid down the dome and hurried back to the others. “Hover patrol headed our way.”
The woman Cohl had hired glanced at her wrist timer. “It’s too soon for them to be making another sweep.”
Everyone hunkered down as the blunt-nosed hovers sped overhead. But the trio of vehicles went only a short distance before coming about for a second pass.
“They spotted us,” the Gotal said.
Lope armed the rocket launcher. “We can remedy that.”
Raising his right forearm, he fixed his sights on the lead vehicle.
From the passenger seat of an airspeeder, all of Eriadu City looked the same. That, at least, was Qui-Gon’s considered opinion after more than an hour of searching the city from above for the location of the roofscape image stored in Havac’s holoprojector.
Bisected by a slow-moving, muddy river, the city was a confusion of domes, interior courtyards, and precarious towers, cleaved by narrow streets and a few broad avenues. Dwellings were built on top of one another in haphazard fashion, sprouting annexes here and additional levels there, extending from the bay clear to the barricade of hills at the city’s back.
It was little wonder that none of the security officers had been able to identify the span of roofs Havac’s holoprojector had singled out. When a quick study of 2-D maps had only complicated matters, copies of the stored image had been fed into the terrain-following computers of three airspeeders, in the hope that a series of overflights would allow the computers to match the image to an actual roofscape. But flights to the north and to the east of the summit hall had failed to yield even a possible match.