Star Wars_ Cloak Of Deception Part 9

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 operation." 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 style."

"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 mult.i.troop 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 s.p.a.ceborne 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 a.s.sembled 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 th.o.r.n.y circ.u.mstances. 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 pa.s.sion 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 equator, the poles, and other remote places. Beneath his ambitions--for himself, for Naboo, for the Republic at large--he had always been una.s.suming, and that apparent lack of guile allowed him to pa.s.s 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 a.s.sumed 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 ba.n.a.l confessions or the basest of misdeeds without pa.s.sing judgment--aloud, at any rate. For in his heart he judged the universe on his own terms, with a clear sense of right and wrong.

He looked to no other guide than himself.

Among the delegates who represented the worlds of the outlying systems, his reputation was particularly exalted, primarily because tiny Naboo was one of those worlds, all by itself at the edge of the Mid Rim, with Malastare-- home to Gran and Dugs--itso only neighbor of significance.

Like many of its neighbors, Naboo was ruled by an elected monarch - comand an unenlightened one, at that--but it was a peaceful world, unspoiled, rich in cla.s.sic elements, and inhabited not only by humans, but also by a mostly aquatic indigenous species known as Gungans.

When most of his peers had left public service at the accepted age of twenty, Palpatine had elected to remain a politician, and his tenure on Coruscant had provided him with singular insight into the afflictions that vexed the outlying star systems.

It was while befriending a group of Bith delegates that he first learned of the Nebula Front, and later, it was a Bith who introduced him to some of the members who commanded the organization.

By rights Palpatine should have had nothing to do with terrorists, but the founding members of the Nebula Front were neither fanatics nor anarchists. Many of their grievances with the Trade Federation, and Coruscant, were legitimate. More important, wherever the Federation was involved, it was difficult to remain impartial.

Had Palpatine been one of the many senators receiving Trade Federation kickbacks, it would have been easy to look the other way, or to turn a deaf ear--as Valorum had put it. But as the representative of a world that depended on the Trade Federation for food and other imports, as Naboo did, it was impossible to dismiss what he had heard and seen.

Eventually, the Bith had introduced him to the Front's newest leader, Havac.

For previous meetings with Havac, Palpatine had selected out-of-the-way places in Coruscant's lawless lower levels. But the current crisis in the senate had necessitated that they exercise a greater measure of secrecy, so Palpatine had chosen a humans only club in Coruscant's midlevel--a place where patricians could gather for t'bac, brandy, games of dejarik, and quiet reading-- and where there were actually fewer prying eyes than lower down. He had taken the added precaution of informing Havac of the location at the last possible moment. As tactically minded as Havac was, he lacked the expertise to catch Palpatine with his guard lowered.

"Valorum is audacious," Havac said angrily, as soon as they were seated at a table in the club's hardwood-paneled dining room. "He has the gall to announce a summit in the Outer Rim--on Eriadu, no less--without asking the Nebula Front to partic.i.p.ate."

"Unlike the Trade Federation," Palpatine said, "the Nebula Front does not enjoy representation in the senate."

"Yes, but the Front has many friends on Eriadu, Senator."

"Then all the better for you, I should think." Havac had come alone, as had Palpatine, though both Sate Pestage and Kinman Doriana were seated nearby. Palpatine had accepted from the start that "Havac" was an alias, and Pestage had subsequently confirmed the fact. Pestage had also learned that Havac was native to Eriadu, where his impa.s.sioned holo - doc.u.mentaries had established him to a few as an enemy of the Trade Federation, a proponent of nonhuman rights, a malcontent and idealist. He wanted desperately to change the galaxy, but his visual tirades against injustice had largely gone unnoticed.

He was a relative newcomer to the Nebula Front, but the Front's militant faction had recruited him to serve a special agenda.

Exasperated by Senate indifference and the Trade Federation's continued violation of the trade agreements, the militants had decided to up the stakes from mere interference in Federation business to terrorism.

Havac and the Front's new radicals were determined to hit the Trade Federation where the Neimoidians and the rest would feel it the most - comin their distended purses.

Palpatine had encouraged Havac, without actually advocating violence.

Rather, he had maintained that the surest way to effect lasting change was to work through the senate.

"We're fed up with Valorum," Havac was saying. "He treads docilely when and wherever the Trade Federation is concerned. His threat to tax the trade routes is pure rhetoric. It's time that someone convince him that the Nebula Front can be a more dangerous foe than the Trade Federation."

Palpatine made an offhand gesture, as if in dismissal. "It's true that the Supreme Chancellor has little understanding of the Nebula Front's objectives, but he is not your primary obstacle." Havac held Palpatine's heavy-lidded gaze.

"We need a stronger chancellor. Someone who wasn't born into wealth."

Palpatine gestured again. "Look elsewhere for your enemies. Look to the members of the Trade Federation Directorate." Havac mulled it over for a moment. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we do need to look elsewhere." He grinned faintly and lowered his voice to add, "We have made a powerful new ally, who has suggested several courses of action."

"Indeed?"

"It was he who provided the data we needed to destroy a Trade Federation freighter at Dorvalla."

"The Federation has thousands of freighters," Palpatine said. "If you expect to be victorious by destroying their ships, you're deluding yourvs. You must get to the princ.i.p.als. Just as I have been doing in the senate."

"Do we have any friends there?"

"A meager few. Whereas the Trade Federation has the support of many important delegates--Toonbuck Toora, Tessek, Pa.s.sel Argente... They are enriched for their loyalty." Havac shook his head in outrage. "It's pathetic that the Front needs to buy senatorial support, in the same deplorable fashion that it is compelled to employ mercenaries."

"There is no other way," Palpatine said, with a purposeful sigh. "The courts are useless and biased. But corruption has its advantages when you can simply purchase the votes of unscrupulous delegates instead of having to convince them of the virtues of your position." Havac rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "We have the funds you asked for." Palpatine's eyebrows went up. "Already?"

"Our benefactor told us that the Revenue--his "It's best if I don't know how you received them," Palpatine interrupted.

Havac nodded in comprehension. "One possible problem. It's in the form of aurodium ingots."

"Aurodium?" Palpatine sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Yes, that could present a problem. I can't very well distribute ingots to those senators we hope to... impress."

"Too easy to trace," Havac said.

"Precisely. We'll have to have the aurodium converted to Republic dataries, even though that will require some time." Palpatine fell silent for a moment, then said, "May I suggest that one of my aides help you set up a special account with a bank on an outlying world that won't ask questions about the origin of the ingots. Once the aurodium is safely deposited there, you'll be able to transfer funds through the InterGalactic Bank, and draw against the account in the form of Republic credits." Havac clearly liked the idea. "I know you'll put the funds to the best possible use."

"I'll do all within my power." Havac smiled in admiration. "You are the voice of the outer systems, Senator."

"I am not a voice of the outer systems, Havac," Palpatine rejoined. "If you insist on awarding me an honorific, then consider me the voice of the Republic. You need to remember this, because if you begin to think in terms of inner systems against outer systems, star sectors against rims, there can be no unity. Instead of equality for all, we will end up with anarchy and secession." s tanding just outside of the Jedi Temple's east-facing gate, Qui-Gon gave thought to where he should wander.

The day was warm and cloudless, except to the north, where microclimatic storms were swirling about the summits of some of Coruscant's taller buildings, and Qui-Gon had nothing to do.

He set out walking into the sun, memories of his youth surfacing, as if images glimpsed in the riffling of a deck of sabacc cards. As ever, he saw himself inside the Temple, meditating, studying, training, making friends and losing some. He recalled a day he had stolen into one of the spires and had had his first real look at Coruscant's fantastic cityscape, and how from that moment forward he had yearned to explore the city-planet from bottom to top. A quest that would remain a dream until well into his teen years and, in fact, had yet to be completely fulfilled.

On those rare occasions when students were permitted to leave the Temple, they moved about like groups of tourists, and always in the company of chaperons of one sort or another. Visits to the Galactic Senate, the Courts Building, the Munic.i.p.al Authorities Building... But in those early explorations Qui - Gon saw enough to understand that Coruscant was not the fa4 land he had first imagined it to be. The planet's climate was more or less regulated, its original topography had long ago been leveled or buried, and what nature there was existed indoors, where it could be tended to and controlled.

Because it resided in all life, the Force was in some sense concentrated on Coruscant. But one felt the Force differently there than on worlds in their natural state, where the interconnectedness of all life created subtle shifts and rhythms. If on many worlds the Force was a gentle murmur, on Coruscant it was a howl--a white noise of sentience.

Qui-Gon had nothing in mind beyond walking. The huge holomap in the High Council spire indicated hundreds of distant trouble spots and emergencies, but the Reconciliation Council hadn't gotten around to a.s.signing him and Obi-Wan to any of them. He wondered if Yoda and some of the others were angry about his seeming obsession with Captain Cohl.