by James Luceno
her right hip and checked the charge.
The airlock hissed opened, and a slim human and a reptilian humanoid
stepped into the corridor, dressed alike in caftans, coarsely woven trousers,
and knee-high boots.
The latter had tough, corrugated skin, iridescent in sunlight, and hands
the size of scoopball mitts. His flat face had multiple nostrils, and four
small horns protruded from his forehead. From his left hand dangled a sizable
carrycase.
"Welcome to Asmeru, Captain Cohl," the human said in Basic. "It's good to
see you alive and comparatively well." Cohl nodded curtly in greeting. "Havac.
" Havac motioned to his hulking partner. "You remember Cindar." Cohl nodded
again. Neither he nor the Hawk-Bat's scanners saw signs of concealed weapons
on the pair.
"Rella," he said, motioning to her by way of introduction.
Havac smiled and extended his hand to her in a courtly gesture. "How
could I forget?" "Let's go forward, where we can talk," Cohl said.
He appraised his guests as they walked. Havac wasn't the human's real
name, but rather his combat name. A former holo - documentarian, Havac had
been an alien-rights activist during the Stark Hyperspace Conflict and had
spent the past several years chronicling the various abuses of the Trade
Federation. In fact, he had no stomach for violence, but he was sharp and had
a talent for treachery.
He and Cindar weren't characteristic of the thousands of human and
nonhuman members of the Nebula Front. But they were standard issue in the
organization's burgeoning militant wing. Now headquartered on the arid planet
below, the Front had recruited from worlds up and down the Rimma Trade Route,
from Sullust to Sluis Van, but only the Ancient Houses that ruled the Senex
sector had granted them a base of operations.
"Where's the rest of your crew, Captain?" Havac asked over his shoulder.
The question hit Cohl like a just-remembered nightmare.
It was the same question he had asked the commander of the Revenue days
earlier, when Cohl's team had numbered twelve.
"You might say that a lot of them never left Dorvalla space," he said
finally.
It took Havac a moment to grasp Cohl's meaning, then he frowned in
sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, Captain. We thought we'd lost you, as well.
" Cohl shook his head. "Not a chance." "Half the Rim is talking about what
happened at Dorvalla. We really weren't expecting you to obliterate the
Revenue." "I don't like to waste time--especially when I'm dealing with
Neimoidians," Cohl said. "They'd sooner sacrifice themselves than their cargo.
Fortunately, the Revenue's commander was more cowardly than most of them.
As for destroying the freighter, you can consider that a gift." The four of
them entered the main forward cabin and seated themselves around a circular
table. Cindar placed the carrycase at the center of the table.
"I have to hand it to you, Captain," Havac said, "you've got the Trade
Federation running scared.
They've even solicited help from Coruscant." Cohl shrugged. "No harm in
trying." Havac leaned forward with a certain eagerness. "You have the
aurodium?" Cohl glanced at Rella, who unclipped a remote from her belt and
keyed a short code. A small repulsor sled bearing a lockbox lifted off the
deck nearby and floated toward the table.
Rella entered another code and the lid of the box opened, its contents of
ingots spilling rainbow light into the cabin.
Havac's and Cindar's eyes widened.
"I can't tell you what this will mean to us," Havac said.
But a hint of suspicion had crept into his partner's gaze. "It's all
here?" Cindar asked.
Cohl's neutral look became a glare. "What are you asking me?" The
humanoid shrugged. "Just wondering if any of it happened to get misplaced
along the way." Abruptly, Cohl reached across the table, grabbing Cindar by
the front of his caftan and yanking him forward. "That treasure is bloodied.
Good people died bringing it to you." He pushed Cindar back into his seat.
"You'd better put it to good use." "Stop this, please," Havac said.
Cohl glowered. "You don't like violence--except on your orders, is that
it?" Havac studied his hands, then lifted his eyes. "Rest assured that the
aurodium will be put to good use, Captain." Cindar smoothed the front of his
garment, but was otherwise unruffled by Cohl's fury. He slid the carrycase
forward. Cohl removed it from the tabletop and set it down on the deck.
Cindar watched him for a moment, then said, "Aren't you going to ask if
it's all there?" Cohl stared at him. "Let me put it this way.
For every credit it's short, I'll take a kilo of meat from you." "So, I'd
be a fool," Cindar said with a grin.
Cohl nodded. "You'd be a fool." Rella handed the remote to Havac, and
Cindar closed the lid on the lockbox.
"Where's the aurodium going?" Cohl asked mildly.
Havac looked surprised. "Captain, did I ask what you're planning to do
with your payment?" Cohl smiled. "Fair enough." Following the exchange, Rella
turned to Cohl.
"I'm sure he plans to donate it to his favorite charity." Havac laughed.
"You're not far off the mark." "Here's another bonus for you, Havac," Cohl
said. "We had some unexpected trouble at Dorvalla. Someone infiltrated the
Revenue using the same technique we used. They hid a ship inside a cargo pod,
just like we did. They tracked us when we left the freighter and came close to
ruining what I thought was a secure plan.
Their ship turned out to be a Judicial Department Lancet." Havac and
Cindar traded surprised looks.
"Judicials?" Havac said. "At Dorvalla, of all places?" Cohl watched them
carefully. "Actually, I think they were Jedi." Havac's incredulity increased.
"Why do you think that?" "Call it a hunch. The point is, no one was supposed
to know about that opera tion." Havac sat back in his seat, perplexed. "Now
it's my turn to wonder, Captain. What are you asking me?" "Who else in the
Nebula Front knew about the operation?" Cindar snorted in derision. "Think it
through, Cohl. Why would any of us sabotage our own campaign?" "That's what
I'm asking," Cohl said. "It could be that not everyone down below agrees with
your methods--your hiring us, for example. Someone could have been trying to
sabotage you, not me." Havac nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I'll bear that in
mind." He paused briefly, then said, "What's next for you two?" "We thought
we'd retire from mayhem," Rella said, taking hold of Cohl's left hand at the
same time. "Maybe take up moisture farming." Havac grinned. "I can see that.
The two of you on Tatooine or somewhere, living among banthas and dewbacks.
It's just your style." "Why the curiosity?" Cohl said.
Havac's grin straightened. "We may have something big in the works.
Something perfectly suited to your talents." He glanced at Rella, then back at
Cohl. "It would pay enough to guarantee your retirement." Rella shot Cohl a
warning look. "Don't listen to him, Cohl. Let someone else hire out to the
Nebula Front." She cut her eyes to Havac. "Besides, we plan to retire in high
sty
le." "You want to retire rich?" Cindar said. "Buy a Neimoidian for what
he's worth, then sell him for what he thinks he's worth." "The job I have in
mind would allow you to retire in high style," Havac baited.
"Cohl," Rella said, "are you going to tell these guys to take a hike back
to their own ship, or do I have to do it?" Cohl let go of her hand and tugged
at his beard.
"It can't hurt to hear them out." "Yes, it can, Cohl, yes, it can." He
looked at her, then laughed shortly.
"Rella's right," he told Havac. "We're not interested." Havac heaved his
shoulders and stood up, extending his hand to Cohl. "Come and see us if you
have a change of heart." Much closer to the Core, the Acquisitor had returned
home. Sullen Neimoidia rotated slowly beneath the ring-shaped freighter. As
was the case in the far-off Senex system, meetings of a sinister sort were
under way; discussions centered around weapons and strategy, destruction and
death. But the ships that had brought the Acquisitor' "s guests had had no
need to sidle up to airlocks. Not when the hangar arms themselves were
commodious enough to conceal an invasion army.
In zone two of the port arm, balanced atop his claw-footed mechno-chair,
sat Viceroy Nute Gunray, in rich burgundy robes and triple-crested tiara. Off
to Gunray's right stood legal counsel Rune Haako and Deputy Viceroy Hath
Monchar; and to Gun - ray's left, the Acquisitor's new commander, smallish
Daultay Dofine, fresh from the debacle at Dorvalla and still bewildered by his
unexpected promotion.
In the center of the hangar floor hunkered a double-winged behemoth,
which bore a vague resemblance to Neimoidia's gauzy - winged needle fliers.
Ponderously exiting the wide-open jaws of the behemoth's foot ramp rode
thickly armored, russet-colored vehicles that might have been modeled on
charging banthas- - backs humped in anger, huffing clouds of hot exhaust,
laser cannons extended like tusks. And behind those came droid-operated
repulsorlift tanks, with shovel-shaped prows and top-mounted gun turrets.
Prototype war machines, the gargantuan landing craft, the monstrous
multitroop transports, and the sleekly styled tanks had been designed and
built by Haor Chall Engineering and Baktoid Armor, whose alien representatives
were standing in full view of Gunray and beaming with pride.
To Haor Chall, especially, design perfection amounted to a religious
edict.
"Behold, Viceroy," Haor Chall's insectoid representative said, gesturing
with all four arms to the closest transport, whose circular deployment hatch,
hinged at the top, was just swinging open.
Gunray watched in amazement as a rack telescoped from the hatch and
dozens of battle droids unfolded themselves before his eyes.
"And this, Viceroy," Baktoid's winged representative added.
Gunray's red eyes moved back to the landing craft in time to see a dozen
airhooks soar toward the upper reaches of the hangar arm. Blade-thin vehicles
with twin footrests and top-mounted blasters, all were piloted by droids,
whose backward leaning postures made them appear to be hanging on to the
slender handlebars for dear life.
Gunray was speechless.
While he had never seen their like, in each of the prototypes he
recognized elements of the very machines the Trade Federation had employed for
centuries in transporting natural resources and other commodities. In the
fuselage of the double-winged landing craft, for example, he recognized the
Federation's narrow ore barge. But Haor Chall had set the fuselage on a
pedestal and capped it with two enormous wings, presumably kept from sagging
by powerful tensor fields.
Despite the animistic look Baktoid had imparted to the troop transports,
Gunray recognized the Trade Federation's own repulsorlift cargo pod, built on
an even more gargantuan scale. As for the folding battle droids and the Single
Trooper Aerial Platforms, they were simply variations of Baktoid's security
droids, and Longspur and Alloi's Bespin airhooks.
But one thing was clear everything he was being shown spoke less to
spaceborne defense than to groundside deployment. The realization was more
than Gunray could absorb; more than he wished to absorb.
"As you have probably observed, Viceroy," Haor ChalPs representative was
saying, "the Trade Federation already has most of the raw materials needed to
create your army." He motioned to the representative from Baktoid. "In
partnership with Baktoid, we can convert your security and worker droids to
battle models, and your barges and cargo pods to landing craft." "More units,
less money," the Baktoid representative added.
"Best of all, since the components of the landing crafts can be stored in
various places--wings, fuselages, and pedestals- - they can be assembled at a
moment's notice. You could place one landing craft in each of a hundred
freighters, or a hundred landing craft in but one of your freighters--for
singularly thorny circumstances. Either way, none who come aboard to inspect
your freighters will comprehend what they are seeing. As our mutual friend
says, you will have an army without giving the appearance of having an army."
"Mutual friend," Rune Haako muttered, just loudly enough for Gunray to hear.
"When Darth Sidious says do this, it is performed." "We enjoy dealing with
Neimoidians," Baktoid's representative stepped forward to say, "because of the
enthusiasm and awe you demonstrate for our creations. Therefore, we have other
weapons in mind for you starfighters that will no longer have to rely on
droid pilots, but will themselves answer to a central control computer.
"You may even wish to contact the Colicoids of Colla IV, who are rumored
to have developed a combat droid capable of rolling to its destinations." The
alien gestured broadly to the immense hangar. "Perfect for covering the vast
distances inside your freighters, and defending against boarding parties."
Gunray heard Dofine swallow audibly, but, once more, it was Haako who spoke.
"This is madness," he said, lowering his voice and limping closer to the
mechno-chair. "Are we merchants, or are we would - be conquerors?" "You heard
Darth Sidious," Gunray hissed. "These weapons will ensure that we remain
merchants. They are our guarantee that groups like the Nebula Front or
mercenaries like Captain Cohl will never again risk going against us. Ask
Commander Dofine. He'll tell you." "Darth Sidious keeps us in servile
tearfulness," Haako said, blinking repeatedly.
"What can we do, otherwise? Instead of honoring our request for
additional defenses, the senate threatens us with taxation. We need to take
matters into our own hands if we are to protect our cargos. Or would you have
us continue to lose ships to terrorists, in addition to losing profits to
taxation?" "But the other members of the directorate--his" "For the time
being, they are to not to know anything of this. We will apprise them of these
things gradually." "And only if necessary." "Yes," Gunray said. "Only if
necessary." w ith its countless dark canyons, precipitous ledges, hidden
recesses, and jutting parapets--its
surfeit of places to hide in plain sight--
Coruscant invited corruption. Its very geography inspired secrecy.
Palpatine had been on Coruscant for several years, and he felt that he
knew the place better than many lifelong residents did. He knew it the way a
jungle cat knew its territory. He had an instinctual understanding of its
shirting moods, and an instinctual feel for its power spots and dangerous
zones. It was almost as if he could see the coiling blackness that inhabited
the senate, and the refulgent light that poured from the spires of the Jedi
Temple.
It was a wonderful place to be for someone who had long been a scholar, a
historian, a lover of art, and a collector of rare objects; someone with a
passion for exploring life's manifold heights and depths.
Frequently he would shrug off his elaborate cloak and take up the simple
dress of a trader or a recluse. He would throw a hood over his head and wander
the lightless abysses, the dark paths and neglected plazas, the tunnels and
alleyways, the seedy underworld. Anonymous, he would make trips to the
equa tor, the poles, and other remote places. Beneath his ambitions--for
himself, for Naboo, for the Republic at large--he had always been unassuming,
and that apparent lack of guile allowed him to pass without being recognized;
to all but disappear in a crowd, as only a person of solitude might--as one
who had kept his own company for so many years.
And yet, others sought him out. Perhaps for the very reason that he
revealed so little about himself. Initially he assumed that others found his
reclusiveness intriguing, as if he led a secret life. But he quickly learned
that what they really wanted to do was talk about themselves; to solicit not
his counsel but his ear, trusting that he would guard the secrets of their
lives as closely as he guarded his own.
That had been the case with Valorum, who had forged a relationship with
Palpatine at the start of the Supreme Chancellor's second four-year term of
office.
What Palpatine lacked in charisma, he made up for in candor, and it was
that directness that had led to his widespread appeal in the senate. Here was
Palpatine, with his ready smile; above corruption, above deception or
duplicity, a kind of confessor, willing to hear the most banal confessions or
the basest of misdeeds without passing judgment--aloud, at any rate. For in