STAR WARS

			 CLOAK OF DECEPTION

			  by JAMES LUCENO



     For KarenAnn, one of the few people I know who has made a true difference
in the world--most assuredly in mine



     Luxuriating  in  the  unfailing  light  of  countless  stars,  the  Trade
Federation freighter Revenue lazed at the edge of Dorvalla's veil of alabaster
clouds.
     Indistinguishable from its myriad brethren,  the  freighter  resembled  a
saucer, whose center had been pared away to create two massive hangar arms and
a stalked centersphere that  housed  the  great  ship's  hyperdrive  reactors.
Forward, the curving arms fell short of each other, as if in a failed  attempt
to close the circle. But, in fact, the gap was there by design, with each  arm
terminating in colossal docking claws and gaping hangar portals.
     Like some gluttonous beast, a Trade Federation vessel didn't so much load
as gobble cargo, and for close to three standard days, the  Revenue  had  been
feeding at Dorvalla.
     The outlying planet's  principal  commodity  was  lommite  ore,  a  major
component in  the  production  of  transparisteel  viewports  and  starfighter
canopies. Ungainly transports ferried the strip - mined ore into  high  orbit,
where the payloads were transferred  to  a  fleet  of  self-propelled  barges,
tenders, and cargo pods, many of them as large as shuttles,  and  all  bearing
the Spherical Flame sigil of the Trade Federation.
     By the hundreds the  unpiloted  crafts  streamed  between  the  Dorvallan
transports and the ring-shaped freighter, lured to the breach in  the  curving
arms by powerful tractor beams. There the  docking  claws  nudged  the  crafts
through the magnetic containment fields that sealed the  rectangular  maws  of
the hangars.
     Safeguarding the herd from attacks  by  pirates  or  other  raiders  flew
patrols of bullet-nosed, quad-thruster starfighters, wanting shields but armed
with rapid-fire laser cannons. The droids that piloted the ships answered to a
central control computer located in the freighter's centersphere.
     At the aft curve of the centersphere stood a command and  control  tower.
The ship's bridge occupied the summit, where a robed  figure  paced  nervously
before  an  array  of  inwardly  inclined  viewports.  The  interrupted   view
encompassed the distal ends of the hangar arms  and  the  seemingly  ceaseless
flow of pods, their dorsal surfaces aglow with sunlight. Beyond the  arms  and
the rust-brown pods spun translucent-white Dorvalla.
     "Status," the robed figure hissed.
     The Revenue's Neimoidian navigator responded from a throne-like chair set
below the burnished floor of the bridge walkway.
     "The last of the cargo pods is being  taken  aboard,  Commander  Dofine."
Neimoidian speech, while lilting, favored first syllables and elongated words.
     "Very  well,  then,"  Dofine  replied.  "Recall  the  starfighters."  The
navigator swiveled in his chair to face the  walkway.  "So  soon,  Commander?"
Dofine ceased his relentless pacing to cast a dubious look  at  his  shipmate.
Months in deep space had so honed Dofine's natur-ral distrust that he  was  no
longer certain of the navigator's intent. Was the  navigator  questioning  his
command in the hope of gaining status, or was there some good reason to  delay
recalling the starfighters? The distinction troubled Dofine, since  he  risked
losing face by airing his suspicions and being proven wrong.
     He decided to gamble that the question had been prompted by  concern  and
contained no hidden challenges.
     "I want those fighters recalled. The sooner we leave  Dor  -  valla,  the
better." The navigator nodded.  "As  you  will,  Commander."  Captain  of  the
Revenue's skeleton crew of living beings, Dofine had a  pair  of  front-facing
red oval eyes, a prominent muzzle, and a fish-lipped slash of mouth.
     Veins and arteries pulsed visibly beneath the  surface  of  puckered  and
mottled pale-green skin.
     Small for his species--the runt of his hive, some said behind his  back--
his thin frame was draped in blue robes and a tufted,  shoulder-padded  mantle
more appropriate for a cleric than a ship's commander.
     A tall cone of black fabric, even his headpiece suggested wealth and high
office.
     The navigator was similarly attired in robes and  headpiece,  though  his
floor-length mantle was solid black and of a simpler design.  He  communicated
with the devices that encircled the shell-like pilot's chair by means of  data
readout goggles that cupped his eyes and a disk-shaped comlink  that  hid  his
mouth.
     The Revenue's communications technician  was  a  jowled  and  limpid-eyed
Sullustan. The officer who interfaced with the central control computer was  a
Gran - comthree-eyed, with a hircine face. Beaked and green-complexioned,  the
ship's assistant bursar was an Ishi Tib.
     Dofine hated having to suffer  aliens  aboard  his  bridge,  but  he  was
compelled to do so as an accommodation to the lesser  shipping  concerns  that
had allied with the Trade Federation; small companies  like  Viraxo  Shipping,
and powerful shipbuilders like TaggeCo and HoerschKessel.
     Humaniform droids saw to all other tasks on the bridge.
     Dofine had resumed his pacing when the Sullustan spoke.
     "Commander, Dorvalla Mining reports that the  payment  they  received  is
short one hundred thousand Republic credits." Dofine waved  his  long-fingered
hand in dismissal.
     "Tell her to recheck her figures." The Sullustan relayed  Dofine's  words
and waited for a reply. "She claims that you said the same thing the last time
we were here." Dofine exhaled theatrically and gestured to  a  large  circular
screen at the rear of the bridge.
     "Display her." The magnified image of a red-haired,  freckle-faced  human
woman was resolving on the screen by the time Dofine reached it.
     "7 am not aware of any missing credits," he said without preamble.
     The woman's blue eyes flashed. "Don't lie to me,  Dofine.  First  it  was
twenty thousand, then fifty, now one hundred. How much will we have to forfeit
the next time the Trade Federation  graces  Dorvalla  with  a  visit?"  Dofine
glanced knowingly at the Ishi Tib, who returned a faint grin. "Your  world  is
far removed from normal space lanes," he said calmly toward  the  screen.  "As
far from the Rimma Trade  Route  as  from  the  Corellian  Trade  Spine.  Your
situation, therefore, demands additional expenditures.
     Of course, if you are displeased, you could always do business with  some
other concern." The woman snorted a rueful laugh. "Other  concern?  The  Trade
Federation has put everyone else under." Dofine spread his large hands.  "Then
what is a hundred thousand credits, more or less?" "Extortion is what it  is."
The sour expression Dofine adopted came naturally to his  slack  features.  "I
suggest you file a complaint with the  Trade  Commission  on  Coruscant."  The
woman fumed; her nostrils flared and her cheeks reddened. "You  haven't  heard
the last of this, Dofine." Dofine's mouth  approximated  a  smile.  "Ah,  once
again, you are mistaken." Abruptly, he ended the transmission, then swung back
to face his  fellow  Neimoidian.  "Inform  me  when  the  loading  process  is
concluded." Deep in the hangar arms, droids supervised the disposition of  the
cargo pods from traffic stations located high above the deck. Humpbacked craft
with bulbous noses that gave them an animated  appearance,  the  pods  entered
through the hangars" magcon orifices on repulsorlift  power  and  were  routed
according to contents and destination, as designated by codes stenciled on the
hulls. Each hangar arm was divided into three zones,  partitioned  by  sliding
bulkhead doors, twenty stories high.
     Normally, zone three, closest to the centersphere, was filled first.  But
pods containing goods bound for destinations other  than  Coruscant  or  other
Core worlds were directed to berthing bays in zones one or two, regardless  of
when they were brought aboard.
     Scattered throughout the hangars were security automata  toting  modified
BlasTech combat rifles, some with dispersal  tips.  Where  the  worker  droids
might be hollow-bodied asps, limber - necked PK'S, boxy GNK'S, or  flat-footed
binary loadlifters, the security droids appeared to have been inspired by  the
skeletal structure of any number of the galaxy's bipedal Life forms.
     Lacking both the rounded head and alloy musculature of its  near  cousin,
the protocol droid, the security droid had  a  narrow,  half-cylindrical  head
that tapered forward to a speech processor and, at the  opposite  end,  curved
down over a stiff, backwardly  canted  neck.  What  distinguished  the  droid,
however, was its signal boost  backpack  and  the  retractable  antennae  that
sprouted from it.
     The majority of the droids that comprised the  Revenue's  security  force
were simply appendages of the freighter's central control computer, but a  few
had been equipped with a small measure of intelligence.
     The  foreheads  and  chest  plastrons  of  these  lanky  commanders  were
emblazoned with yellow markings similar to military unit flashes, though  less
for the sake of other droids than  for  the  flesh  and  bloods  to  whom  the
commanders ultimately answered.
     OLR-4 was one such commander.
     Blaster rifle gripped in both hands and  angled  across  his  chest,  the
droid stood in zone two of the ship's starboard hangar  arm,  halfway  between
the bulkheads that defined the immense space.
     OLR-4 was aware of the activity around him--the  current  of  cargo  pods
moving toward zone three, the noise of other pods settling to  the  deck,  the
incessant whirrs and clicks of machines in motion - comb only in a vague  way.
Rather, OLR-4 had been tasked by the central control  computer  to  watch  for
anything out of the ordinary--for any  event  that  fell  outside  performance
parameters denned by the computer itself.
     The resounding thud that accompanied the roosting of a nearby  cargo  pod
was, given the size of the craft, well within those parameters. So, too,  were
the sounds emanating from inside  the  pod,  which  could  be  ascribed  to  a
shifting of whatever cargo the pod contained. But the same  couldn't  be  said
for the  hissing  of  pressure  relief  valves  or  the  metallic  clanks  and
stridencies that prefaced  the  slow  rise  of  the  pod's  uncommonly  large,
circular forward hatch.
     OLR-4'S long head pivoted and his oblique optical sensors  fixed  on  the
pod.
     Magnified and sharpened,  the  captured  image  was  transmitted  to  the
central control computer, which instantly compared it to a catalog of  similar
images.
     Discrepancies were noted.
     Even as  OLR-4'S  photoreceptors  were  scrutinizing  the  rising  hatch,
additional security droids were already hurrying to assume  positions  on  all
sides of the suspect pod. OLR-4 planted his bootlike feet in a  combat  stance
and leveled his blaster rifle.
     The open hatch should have revealed the interior of the pod, but  instead
it exposed what seemed to be yet another hatch, sealed shut. OLR-4 did succeed
in identifying the composition of  the  inner  hatch,  but  the  droid's  puny
processor was not up to the task of making sense of what it was  seeing.  That
was the province of the central control computer, which was quick to solve the
puzzle--though not quick enough.
     Before OLR-4 could move, the inner hatch had telescoped from the pod with
enough force to launch two security droids and  three  worker  droids  halfway
across the hangar. Immediately, OLR-4 and three  others  opened  fire  on  the
battering ram and the cargo pod itself, but the blaster bolts  were  deflected
and sent ricocheting through the hold.
     A pair of droids leapt onto the wide-bodied pod,  hoping  to  attack  the
striking device from behind, but their efforts were  in  vain.  Blaster  bolts
found them first, quartering one, and all but obliterating the other.
     It was only then that OLR-4 realized, in his limited capacity, that there
were unfrlies behind the battering ram. And judging by the  precision  of  the
bolts, the intruders were flesh and bloods.
     With cargo pods gliding overhead and a hundred labor droids continuing to
tend to their tasks, oblivious to the firefight occurring in their midst, OLR-
4 rushed to one side, firing steadily and intent on gaining a  better  vantage
on the intruders. Bolts sought him as he moved, sizzling  past  his  head  and
shoulders, and streaking between his pumping legs.
     In front of him two security droids lost their heads  to  well  -  placed
shots. A third droid remained intact, but dropped to  the  deck  nevertheless,
hopelessly dazzled by untamed, coruscating electrical charges.
     OLR-4'S internal monitors told him that his blaster was  overheating  and
close to depletion.
     Though obviously aware of the droid's predicament,  the  central  control
computer did not countermand  its  orders;  so  OLR-4  kept  firing  while  he
attempted to angle behind the battering ram.
     Off to his right another droid was blasted from the top of the  pod,  its
torso sent twirling in clumsy circles as it flew off into the hangar, only  to
collide with a settling cargo pod. A droid with a missing  leg  hopped  as  it
shot, until its sound leg was blown out from under it, and it  fell,  skidding
across the deck, sparks flying from its vocoder chin.
     OLR-4 shifted left and  right,  dodging  blaster  bolts.  He  had  almost
reached the pod when a bolt caught him in  the  left  shoulder,  spinning  him
through a complete  circle.  He  staggered,  but  somehow  managed  to  remain
upright, until a second bolt struck him in the opposite shoulder. Spun through
another circle, he landed on his back, with his legs wedged beneath  the  pod.
Looking up, he had a glimpse of the  armed  force  that  had  infiltrated  the
freighter: a dozen or so bipedal flesh and bloods, sheathed in  mimetic  suits
and black body armor, their faces hidden behind rebreather masks, whose oxygen
recyclers resembled fangs.
     OLR-4'S photoreceptors focused on a human with long black hair that  fell
in thick coils to his broad shoulders. The servomotors of  the  droid's  right
hand tightened on the blaster's trigger bar, but the fatigued  and  overheated
weapon's only response was a mournful whirr, as it powered down and shut off.
     "Uh-oh," OLR-4 said.
     Glimpsing him, the long-haired human swung and fired.
     OLR-4'S heat sensors redlined and his overloaded systems wailed. Circuits
melting, he relayed a final image to the central control computer, then winked
out of existence.
     The reassuring hum of machines on the Revenue's bridge was interrupted by
a grating tone from the scanner array. Gliding  across  the  command  walkway,
Daultay Dofine queried the droid stationed at the scanner.
     "Long-range monitors report a cluster of small ships advancing all  speed
on our position," the droid answered in a metallic monotone.
     "What? What did you say?" The Sullustan elaborated.
     "Authenticators identify the ships as CloakShapes and  one  Tempest-class
gunship." Dofine's jaw dropped. "An attack?" "Commander," the  droid  intoned,
"the ships are continuing to advance." Dofine gestured wildly to  the  outsize
display screen. "I want to see them!" He  had  started  for  the  screen  when
another worrisome tone sounded, this time from  the  station  of  the  systems
officer, which was also set below the walkway.
     "The central control computer is reporting a disturbance in zone  two  of
the  starboard  hangar  arm."  Dofine  gaped  at  the  Gran.  "What  sort   of
disturbance?" "The droids are  firing  on  one  of  the  cargo  pods."  "Those
brainless  machines!  If  they  ruin  any  of   the   cargo--was   "Commander,
starfighters are onscreen," the Sullustan reported.
     "It could be nothing more than a glitch," the Gran went on.
     Dofine's blinking red orbs darted from one alien to the other in mounting
concern.
     "Starfighters changing vector. Breaking into two elements." The Sullustan
turned to Dofine.
     "Flying the imprint of the Nebula  Front."  "The  Nebula  Front!"  Dofine
rushed to the display screen, then raised his long, fat forefinger to indicate
the jet-black gunship. "That ship--was "The Hawk-Bat" the Sullustan said in  a
rush. "The ship of Captain Cohl."  "Impossible!"  Dofine  snapped.  "Cohl  was
reported to be at Malastare only yesterday."  Jowls  quivering  slightly,  the
Sullustan regarded the screen. "But that is his ship. And where  the  Hawk-Bat
ventures, Cohl is not far behind!" "Starfighters are forming up  for  attack,"
the droid updated.
     Dofine turned  to  the  navigator.  "Enable  defense  systems!"  "Central
control computer reports continued blasterfire in the starboard hangar.  Eight
security droids destroyed." "Destroyed?" "Defense system has the Nebula  Front
starfighters in target lock. Deflector shields are  raised--was  "Starfighters
firing!" Intense light exploded behind the rectangular viewports and shook the
bridge hard enough to rattle a droid off its feet.
     "Turbolasers responding!" Dofine swung to the viewports in  time  to  see
hyphens of pulsed, red light streak from the freighter's equatorially  mounted
batteries.
     "Where is our closest reinforcement?"  "One  star  system  distant,"  the
navigator said.
     "The Acquisitor.
     More heavily armed than the Revenue." "Send a distress  call!"  "Is  that
wise, Commander?" Dofine understood  the  implication.  Rescue  was  always  a
belittling event. But Dofine was certain that he could offset the  humiliation
by protecting the Revenue's cargo.
     "Just do as I say," he told the navigator.
     "Starfighter elements are forming up for a  second  run,"  the  Sullustan
updated.
     "Where are the starfighters? Why aren't they moving in to  engage?"  "You
recalled them, Commander," the navigator reminded.
     Dofine gestured wildly. "Well, relaunch them,  relaunch  them!"  "Central
control computer requests permission to isolate zone two of starboard hangar."
"Seal it!" Dofine  sputtered.  "Seal  it  now!"  The  masked  group  that  had
infiltrated the Revenue were a diverse lot--as varied as the starfighters that
were flying support- - humans and  nonhumans,  male  and  female,  stocky  and
slender. Protected by camouflage suits and matte-black armorply, and  sporting
gripsole deckboots and combat goggles, they emerged from behind the  battering
ram that had afforded them an element  of  surprise,  firing  state-of-the-art
assault rifles and shoulder-slung field disrupters.
     The handful of security droids that were still standing collapsed to  the
deck, limbs splayed or hopelessly entwined.
     The human OLR-4 had nearly gotten the drop on strode  fearlessly  to  the
center of the yawning hangar, checked a readout on his wrist comm, and  tugged
the rebreather and goggles from his face.
     The firefight had left a vagrant tang in the air, the smell of ozone  and
scorched alloy.
     "Atmosphere is ena4," he told the rest of his band.  "But  oxygen  levels
are equivalent to what you'd find at four thousand meters. Off your masks, but
keep them handy--especially you t'bac addicts." With  some  muffled  laughter,
the team complied.
     Beneath the apparatus, the human's dark-complexioned  face  was  still  a
mask: thickly bearded with coarse black hair, and rashed from temple to temple
with small diamond-shaped tattoos. His violet eyes surveyed  the  damage  with
obvious dispassion.
     There wasn't a security droid in sight, but the deck  was  littered  with
their remains. Labor droids of several varieties continued to route a few pods
to berthing spaces.
     A human member of the team kicked aside the severed  arm  of  a  security
droid. "These things could be dangerous if they ever learn to think straight."
"Shoot straight," the bearded man amended.
     "Tell that to Rasper, Captain Cohl," another said--Boiny, a  Rodian.  "It
was a droid that sent Rasper on his way." A green  -  skinned  and  round-eyed
male, Boiny had a tapered snout and a crest of pliant yellow spines.
     "A lucky droid, a luckier shot," a Rodian female remarked.
     "That doesn't mean we treat this like an exercise," Cohl  warned,  eyeing
everyone. "The central control computer will be deploying  backup  units  soon
enough, and we've got a kilometer to go before we hit the  centersphere."  The
infiltrators glanced down the curved hangar toward a bulkhead that  loomed  in
the distance. High overhead were massive  box  girders  and  I-beams,  cranes,
maintenance gantries, and hoists, a puzzle of atmosphere and vectoring ducts.
     A human female--the only among them--whichistled softly. "Stars' end, you
could hide an invasion force in here." As dark-complexioned as Cohl,  she  had
short brown hair and an elegantly angular face. Even the  mimetic  suit  could
not camouflage her shapeliness.
     "That would mean spending some of the profits, Rella," a male human said.
"And the Neimoidians don't do that unless they can spend  it  on  new  robes."
Boiny loosed a high-pitched laugh. "You grow up a half  -  starved  Neimoidian
grub, that's what happens." Cohl raised his bearded chin to two of his band.
     "Stay with the pod. We'll make contact when we have the bridge." He swung
to the others. "Team one, take the outer rim corridor. The  rest  of  you  are
with me." The Revenue shuddered slightly. Muted explosions could be  heard  in
the distance.
     Cohl cocked an ear.  "That'll  be  our  ships."  Sirens  began  to  blare
throughout the hangar. The labor droids stopped in their tracks,  as  a  basso
rumble gathered underfoot.
     Rella gazed at the far-off bulkhead. "They're sealing  off  the  hangar."
Cohl waved a gesture to the first team. "Move out.
     We'll rendezvous at the starboard turbolifts.
     Set your suits to pulse--that ought to confuse the  droids--and  use  the
concussion grenades sparingly. And remember to monitor your oxygen levels." He
took a few steps, then stopped. "One more thing: You get blasted by  a  droid,
bacta rehabilitation comes out of your pay." Daultay Dofine stood  rigidly  on
the bridge's walkway, watching in arrant horror as the Nebula Front showed his
ship no mercy.
     The motley starfighters fell on the Revenue in full force, pick ing  away
at the freighter's fat arms and triple-thrustered hindquarters  like  ravenous
birds of prey. Many of the unshielded droid ships were annihilated as soon  as
they emerged from the vessel's protective force field.
     Emboldened by their effortless mastery,  the  enemy  craft  violated  the
embrace the hangar arms threw about the centersphere by strafing  the  command
tower at close quarter. Ion  cannon  fire  from  the  gunship  sent  waves  of
aggravation through the  Revenue's  deflector  shield.  Violent  light  washed
against the bridge viewports.
     It was all Define could do to keep himself rooted on the walkway,  as  he
cursed the terrorists under his breath.
     In return for having been awarded what amounted to  exclusive  rights  to
trade in the outlying star systems, the Trade Federation had  pledged  to  the
Galactic Senate on Coruscant that it would content  itself  with  remaining  a
mercantile power,  and  refrain  from  becoming  a  naval  power  through  the
accumulation of war machines. However, the further the  giant  ships  traveled
from the Core, the  more  often  they  fell  victim  to  attacks  by  pirates,
privateers, and terrorist groups like the Nebula Front, whose broad membership
had grievances not only with the  Trade  Federation,  but  also  with  distant
Coruscant itself.
     As a result, the senate had granted permission for the freighters  to  be
equipped with weapons of defense, to safeguard them in the  unpoliced  systems
strewn between the major trade routes and hyperlanes. But that had only forced
the raiders to upgrade their armaments and, in  turn,  prepared  the  way  for
periodic strengthenings of Trade Federation defenses.
     Skirmishes in the Mid and Outer Rims--throughout the  so  -  called  free
trade zones--had since become commonplace. But Coruscant was a long  way  off,
even by lightspeed, and it was not always easy to ascertain who was  at  fault
and who had fired first. By the time matters reached the courts, it often came
down to the word of one party against the word of another, without resolution.
     Things might have gone differently for the Trade Federation but  for  the
Neimoidians, who were as penurious as they were avaricious. When it  had  come
to fortifying  the  giant  ships,  they  had  sought  out  the  most  cut-rate
suppliers, and they had insisted that protecting the cargo was their paramount
concern.
     Against all sound judgment, it was the Neimoidians who had  dictated  the
placement of quad laser batteries around the outer wall of the hangar arms.
     While the equatorial  arrangement  was  adequate  for  repelling  lateral
attacks, it proved completely ineffective for countering attacks launched from
above or below, where nearly all the freighters' crucial systems were located:
tractor beam and deflector shield generators,  hyperdrive  reactors,  and  the
central control computer.
     Thus the Trade Federation had been forced to invest in bigger and  better
shield generators, thicker armor plating, and,  ultimately,  in  squadrons  of
starfighters. But starfighter allotments were subject to senate sanction,  and
freighters like the Revenue frequently found  themselves  defenseless  against
fighter craft piloted by seasoned raiders.
     Well aware of these shortcomings, Daultay Dofine saw  the  ship  and  its
cargo of precious lommite rapidly slipping from his grasp.
     "Shields holding at fifty percent," the Gran  reported  from  across  the
bridge, "but we are imperiled. A few more strikes and we'll be disa4."  "Where
is the Acquisitor?" Dofine whined. "It should have arrived by now!"  A  volley
from the Nebula Front's gunship--Captain Gobi's personal  gunship--rocked  the
bridge. As Dofine had learned in  previous  engagements,  sheer  size  was  no
guarantee of  protection,  much  less  victory,  and  the  freighter's  three-
kilometer diameter only made it a target that couldn't be missed.
     "Shields marginal at forty percent." "Quad lasers one through six are not
responding," the Sullustan added. "The starfighters are concentrating fire  on
the deflector shield generator and drive reactors." Dofine firmed  his  fleshy
lips in anger.
     "Instruct the central control computer to activate all droids,  all  ship
defenses, and prepare to repel boarders," he brayed. "Over my dead  body  will
Captain Cohl set foot on this bridge." In the  starboard  hangar  arm,  Cohl's
team had barely made it through the bulkhead door when every  device  in  zone
three conspired  to  prevent  them  from  getting  one  meter  closer  to  the
acceleration  compensator  shaft  that  connected  the  centersphere  to   its
embracing arms.
     Overhead cranes threw grappling claws at them; towering derricks  toppled
in their path; binary loadlifters dogged them like mechanical nightmares;  and
oxygen levels plummeted. Even  worker  droids  joined  the  fray,  brandishing
fusioncutters and power calibrators as  if  they  were  flame  projectors  and
vibroblades.
     "Central control's turned the entire ship against us," Cohl yelled.
     Rella squeezed off bolts at a posse of hydrospanner-wielding PK droids.
     "What did you expect, Cohl--the  royal  welcome?"  Cohl  gestured  Boiny,
Rella, and the rest of his team toward the final bulkhead that  stood  between
them and the centersphere turbolifts. Sirens shrieked and howled in  the  thin
air. Crisscrossing and ricocheting blaster bolts created a pyrotechnic display
worthy of a Republic Day parade on Coruscant.
     Cohl fired on the run, losing count of how many droids he had dropped and
how many blaster gas cartridges his weapon had expended. Two of his band  were
pinned down by droid fire, but there was little he or anyone else could do  to
help them. With luck they would get to the rendezvous point, even if they  had
to drag themselves there.
     Pursued by three binary loadlifters, the team  raced  through  the  final
bulkhead door and fought their way to the closest bank of turbolifts.
     The hatch that accessed the transfer tubes was locked down.
     "Boiny!" Cohl shouted.
     The Rodian holstered his blaster and hurried forward, eyeing the hatch up
and down, then moved to the control panel set  into  the  wall.  Preparing  to
slice the code, he rubbed his palms together and cracked  his  long,  suction-
tip-equipped fingers. Before he could lay a  hand  on  the  panel  keys,  Cohl
slapped him in the back of the head.
     "What is this, amateur night?" Cohl asked with a  menacing  scowl.  "Blow
the thing." Define was pacing the walkway when the bridge hatch  blew  inward,
loosing a brief storm of paralyzing heat that tumbled him to the deck.
     Cohl's band of six hurried in behind a  roiling  cloud  of  smoke,  their
mimetic suits allowing them to blend even with the burnished bulkheads of  the
bridge.
     Quickly and efficiently, they disarmed  the  Gran  and  shot  restraining
bolts onto the chest plastrons of the droids.
     Cohl waved one of his men toward the communications station.
     "Contact the Hawk-Bat.
     Tell them we've secured the bridge.  Have  the  starfighters  deploy  for
defense, and stand by to cover our exfiltration."  He  waved  another  of  his
cohorts toward the Gran's duty station. "Order the central control computer to
stand down. Have it open all bulkheads in the hangar arms." The  human  nodded
and dropped down below the walkway.
     Cohl tapped a code into his wrist comlink and raised  it  to  his  mouth.
"Base team, we have the bridge. Move the pod into zone three and set  it  down
as close as possible to the inner wall  hangar  portal.  We'll  be  here  soon
enough." Cohl zeroed the comlink. His eyes roamed over the faces of  his  five
living captives, settling finally on Dofine. Then he drew his blaster.
     Spreading his arms wide in  a  gesture  of  surrender,  Dofine  took  two
backward steps as Cohl approached.
     "You would shoot an unarmed individual, Captain Cohl?" Cohl  pressed  the
barrel of the weapon to Dofine's ribcage. "I'd shoot an unarmed  Neimoidian  -
comand I'd sleep better for it." He glared at Dofine for a long  moment,  then
holstered the blaster and turned to the Rodian member of his band.
     "Boiny, get to work. And be quick about it." Cohl swung back to Dofine.
     "Where's the rest of your crew, Commander?" Dofine  swallowed  and  found
his voice. "Returning by shuttle from Dorvalla." Cohl nodded.  "Good,  that'll
simplify things." Repeatedly poking Dofine in the chest with  his  forefinger,
Cohl moved him backwards along the walkway until they reached the  navigator's
chair. A final poke sent Define off the walkway and into the seat.
     Cohl jumped down to face him. "We need to discuss your cargo, Commander."
"The cargo?" Dofine  stammered.  "Lommite--destined  for  SluisVan."  "To  the
depths with the ore," Cohl snarled. "I'm talking about the  aurodium."  Dofine
tried to keep his red eyes from bulging. His  nictitating  membranes  spasmed,
and he blinked half a dozen times. "Aurodium?" Cohl leaned toward him. "You're
carrying two billion in aurodium ingots." Dofine stiffened under Cohl's  gaze.
"You--you must be mistaken, Captain. The Revenue is carrying ore." Cohl raised
himself to his considerable height.
     "I'll  say  it  once  more.  You're  carrying  aurodium  ingots--butribes
proffered by Outer Rim worlds to ensure the continued blessing  of  the  Trade
Federation." Dofine sneered, in spite of himself. "So it is currency you seek.
I had always heard that the notorious Captain Cohl was an idealist. Now I  see
that he is a simple thief." Cohl almost grinned. "We  can't  all  be  licensed
thieves like you and the rest of your bunch." "The Trade Federation  does  not
deal in violence and death, Captain." Cohl grabbed two  fistfuls  of  Dofine's
rich raiment and yanked him halfway out of the chair. "Not yet you don't."  He
pushed Dofine back into the seat. "But we'll save that for another  day.  What
matters now is the aurodium." "And should I refuse to submit?" Without  taking
his eyes from Dofine, Cohl pointed to his Rodian comrade.  "Boiny,  there,  is
affixing a thermal detonator to the Revenue's fuel-driver control system. As I
understand it, the device will trigger an explosion large  enough  to  destroy
your ship in... Boiny?" "Sixty minutes, Captain," Boiny shouted, holding aloft
a metallic sphere the size of a stinkmelon.
     Cohl pulled an object from the thigh pouch pocket of his mimetic suit and
slapped it against the back of Dofine's left hand. Dofine saw that  it  was  a
timer, already counting down from sixty minutes. He raised his eyes to  Cohl's
steadfast gaze.
     "About the ingots," Cohl said.
     Dofine nodded. "Yes, all right--if you promise to spare the  ship."  Cohl
laughed shortly. "The Revenue is history. But you have my word I'll spare your
life if you do as you're told." Again, Dofine nodded. "That way I'll at  least
live to see you executed." Cohl shrugged.  "You  never  know,  Commander."  He
straightened and grinned  at  Rella.  "What  did  I  tell  you?  Easy  as--was
"Captain," Cohls man at  the  communications  station  cut  him  off.  "Vessel
emerging from hyperspace.
     Authenticators paint her as the  TradeFed  freighter  Acquisitor."  Rella
made a plosive sound. "You were saying,  Cohl?"  The  look  Cohl  directed  at
Dofine was one of genuine surprise. "Maybe you're not as thick-skulled as  you
look." He leapt up onto the walkway and turned to the viewport array.
     Rella joined him.
     "The scenario has changed," Cohl announced to everyone.  "The  Acquisitor
will launch starfighters as soon as it's within range.
     Order the Hawk-Bat to take the fight to the freighter." Dofine allowed  a
smile of satisfaction. "Perhaps you will have to forgo  your  treasure,  after
all, Captain Cohl." Cohl shot him a withering glance. "I'm not leaving without
it, Commander--and neither are you." He reached for Dofine's  right  wrist  to
regard the countdown timer.
     "Fifty-five minutes." "Cohl," Rella said leadingly.
     He looked at her askance. "Without  the  aurodium,  we  don't  get  paid,
sweetheart." She took her lower lip between her perfect teeth.
     "Yes, but we have to be alive to spend it." He shook his  head.  "Death's
not in the cards--at least not in this hand." Close to the  bridge,  a  Nebula
Front starfighter, chased down by packets of  lethal  energy,  vanished  in  a
nimbus of white-hot gas and debris.
     "Fire from the Acquisitor" one of the mercenaries reported.
     Sudden disquiet tugged at Rella's features.
     Cohl ignored the look she sent him.  Plucking  Dofine  from  the  command
chair and standing him on the walkway, Cohl shoved  him  toward  the  bridge's
ruined hatch.
     "Double time, Commander. Our departure window has just narrowed." I n the
chaotic gloom of the starboard hangar arm, a final pod moving on  repulsorlift
toward a zone three docking bay didn't draw much attention.
     Somewhat turnip shaped, it was larger than most of the pods that had been
routed into zone three, though not as large as the one the  Nebula  Front  had
infiltrated, and nowhere near the size of some of the ore  barges.  More,  the
pod gave no hint that, like the terrorists' craft, it carried a living cargo.
     Strapped into back-to-back seats were two human males who, in dress, were
the polar opposite of Daultay Dofine. Their light-colored tunics and  trousers
were loose fitting and unadorned, their knee-high  boots  were  made  of  nerf
hide, and they affected neither headpieces nor jewelry.
     Their modest  garments  only  made  their  obvious  guile  all  the  more
mysterious.
     The fraudulent cargo pod  lacked  viewports  of  any  sort,  but  vidcams
concealed in the hull transmitted assorted views  of  the  hangar  to  display
screens inside the craft.
     On observing the disorder Cohl's band had left in its wake, the young man
in the forward seat remarked in a nasal voice, "Captain Cohl has  left  us  an
easy trail to follow, Master." "He has indeed, Padawan. But the trail you take
into the forest may not be the one you wish to follow  when  leaving.  Stretch
out with your feelings, Obi-Wan." Fairly squeezed into the aft seat, the older
man was also the larger of the pair. His broad face was fully bearded, and his
thick mane of graying hair was pulled back from a gently sloping, noble  brow.
His eyes were a sharp blue, and the bridge of his strong nose  was  flattened,
as if it had been broken beyond the repair of bacta treatments.
     His name was Qui-Gon Jinn.
     His counterpart at the  controls  of  the  pod,  Obi-Wan  Kenobi,  had  a
youthful, clean-shaven face, a cleft chin, and a high, straight forehead.  His
brown hair was cropped short, save for a short tail at the rear of  his  head,
and a single, thin plait that fell behind his ear to  his  right  shoulder,  a
sign of his Padawan rank. Peculiar to the order to which Qui-Gon  and  Obi-Wan
belonged, the word meant apprentice or protege.
     That order was known as the Jedi Knights.
     "Master, do you see any sign of their  craft?"  Obi-Wan  asked  over  his
shoulder.
     Qui-Gon turned in his seat to indicate an open pod at the lower  left  of
Obi-Wan's heads-up display screen.
     "That one. They must be planning to launch  from  the  inner  rim  hangar
portal. Set us down nearby, with our hatch facing away from their pod. But  be
mindful not to draw attention. Cohl is sure to have posted  sentries."  "Would
you like to assume the piloting, Master?" Obi-Wan asked peevishly.
     Qui-Gon smiled to himself. "Only  if  you're  tiring,  Padawan."  Obi-Wan
compressed his lips. "I'm anything but tired, Master." He regarded the display
screen for a moment. "I've found us a good place." As if under the guidance of
droids in the hangar traffic stations, the pod settled on its quartet of disk-
shaped landing gear. The two Jedi fell silent while they  watched  the  vidcam
feeds. After a long moment, a pair of human males  emerged  from  Cohl's  pod,
oxygen masks covering their faces and disrupter rifles cradled in their arms.
     "You were right, Master," Obi-Wan said softly.
     "Cohl is becoming predictable."  "We  can  hope,  Obi-Wan."  One  of  the
sentries circled the pod, then returned to the open hatch, where the other was
waiting.
     "Now's our chance," Qui-Gon said. "You know--was  "I  know  what  to  do,
Master. But I still don't understand your reasoning. We  could  surprise  Cohl
here and now." "It's more important that  we  discover  the  location  of  the
Nebula Front's base, Padawan. There'll be time then to put an end  to  Captain
Cohl's exploits." Qui-Gon inserted a small breathing device into his mouth and
flipped a switch that opened the circular front hatch. A cacophony of skirling
sirens greeted them. The two Jedi climbed out into the red glow  of  emergency
lighting that suffused the hold.
     No object was more symbolic of the Jedi Knights than the  polished  alloy
cylinders Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan wore  on  the  hide  belts  that  cinched  their
tunics. With the belts' abundance of utility pouches,  the  thirty-centimeter-
long cylinders might have been tools of a sort--and, indeed, the  Jedi  viewed
them as such- -  but,  in  fact,  they  were  weapons  of  light,  actual  and
figurative, and had been employed by the Jedi for thousands of generations  in
their self-appointed mandate to serve the Galactic Republic as the stewards of
peace and justice.
     The crystal-focused lightsaber, however, was not the  true  source  of  a
Jedi's power, for that sprang from the omnipresent energy field that permeated
all life and bound the galaxy together, an energy field the Jedi knew  as  the
Force.
     Tens of thousands of years  the  order  had  devoted  to  the  study  and
contemplation of the Force, and as  by-products  of  that  devotion  had  come
powers beyond the ken of ordinary folks: the power to move objects at will, to
cloud the thoughts of lesser minds, to peer forward in time. But most of  all,
the ability to live in symbiotic accord with all life, and thus be  allied  to
the Force itself.
     Moving with preternatural silence  and  swiftness,  Qui-Gon  advanced  on
Cohl's pod, the lightsaber gripped in his right hand,  concealing  himself  at
every opportunity behind other pods. With all the noise in the hangar, he knew
that it wasn't going to be easy to distract the two guards. But he had to  buy
Obi-Wan at least a few moments.
     Sprawled atop the curving nose of one of the pods was what remained of  a
battle droid's upper torso and elongated head. Glancing  at  Cohl's  sentries,
Qui-Gon thumbed the activator button above the lightsaber's ridged handgrip.
     A rod of brilliant green energy  hissed  from  the  sword's  alloy  hilt,
thrumming as it came in contact with the thin air. With  a  single  one-handed
swipe of his lightsaber, Qui-Gon cleaved the droid's head from its thin  neck.
At the same time, he extended his left hand, palm outward, andwitha  blast  of
Force power sent the severed head hurtling across the hangar, where it  struck
the deck with a strident clank, not five  meters  from  where  the  terrorists
stood.
     The pair swung to the sound, with weapons raised.
     And in that instant, Obi-Wan disappeared in a blur, headed for Cohls pod.
     Midlevel in the freighter's centersphere, Cohl,  Rella,  Boiny,  and  the
rest of Cohl's band gazed wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the cache of  aurodium
ingots, which had been removed from the Revenue's security cabin  and  piled--
lovingly--atop a repulsor sled. Hypnotic in their beauty,  the  ingots  glowed
with a constantly shifting  inner  light  that  summoned  all  colors  of  the
rainbow.
     Even Dofine and his four bridge officers could scarcely tear  their  eyes
away.
     "Take my breath and call me wheezy," Boiny said. "Now I've seen it  all."
Cohl snapped out of his reverie and turned to Dofine, whose thin  wrists  were
secured in shiny stun cuffs.
     "You have our gratitude, Commander. Most Neimoidians wouldn't  have  been
so obliging." Dofine  glowered.  "You  go  too  far,  Captain."  Cohl's  broad
shoulders heaved in  dismissal.  "Tell  that  to  the  members  of  the  Trade
Federation Directorate." He nodded to Rella to get the sled  under  way,  then
took Boiny by the shoulders and steered him toward an inset control panel.
     "Patch into the central control computer and tell it to run a  diagnostic
on the fuel-drivers. When the  computer  locates  the  thermal  detonator,  it
should order an abandon ship." Boiny nodded in comprehension.
     "Be sure to convince it to jettison all the cargo pods and barges,"  Cohl
added.
     Dofine's eyes widened in revelation. "So, the lommite is important, after
all." Cohl turned to him. "You're confusing me with someone who cares one  way
or another what goes on between the Trade Federation and  the  Nebula  Front."
Dofine was confused. "Then why are you saving the cargo?"  "Saving  it?"  Cohl
put his hands on his hips and laughed  heartily.  "I'm  merely  providing  the
Acquisitor  with  a  target-rich  environment,  Commander."  With   the   same
extraordinary nimbleness that had guided him to the terrorists'  pod,  Obi-Wan
returned to the Jedi craft.
     "Everything is in place, Master," he said, just loudly enough to be heard
over the wailing sirens.
     Qui-Gon motioned him toward the hatch. But Obi-Wan hadn't even  raised  a
foot when all the pods in the hangar began to levitate and  wheel  toward  one
hangar portal or another.
     "What's happening?" Qui-Gon looked around in mild perplexity.
     "They're jettisoning the cargo." "Hardly the act of terrorists,  Master."
Qui-Gon's brow furrowed in thought. "The  central  control  computer  wouldn't
allow this unless the freighter was in  serious  jeopardy."  "Perhaps  it  is,
Master." Qui-Gon agreed. "Either way, Padawan, we're  better  off  inside  our
craft. Unless Cohl has failed in his mission, he should  be  arriving  at  any
moment." Barely keeping pace with the ingot-heaped repulsor sled, Cohl's  band
jogged down the broad avenue of the starboard  hangar  toward  the  rendezvous
point. The Revenue's bridge crew struggled to keep up, despite being  equipped
with rebreather masks and even when prodded in the back by the emitter nozzles
of the terrorists' blasters. To all sides  of  them  hovered  cargo  pods  and
tenders, moving toward inner and outer wall hangar portals.
     Even Cohl was out of breath by the time everyone reached zone  three  and
the waiting pod. Only one member of the first team--a blond-furred Bothan--had
made it back, but Cohl refused to concern himself just then with the  fate  of
the rest. Every member chosen for the  operation  had  been  apprised  of  the
risks.
     "Get the aurodium stowed," he shouted to Boiny through  the  rebreather's
communicator. "Rella, do a head count and get everyone aboard." Daultay Dofine
glanced worriedly at the countdown timer still affixed  to  the  back  of  his
hand. "What is to become of us?" he yelled.
     A human member of Cohl's band motioned broadly toward a large, nearby pod
that had yet to lift off. "I suggest you  unload  that  one  and  cram  yourvs
inside." Dofine blinked back panic. "We'll die in there."  The  human  laughed
scornfully. "That's the idea." Dofine looked  at  Cohl.  "Your  word..."  Cohl
twisted his head to one side to read the display on the countdown timer,  then
cut his eyes to Dofine.
     "If you hurry, you'll make it to the  escape  pods  in  time."  o  bi-Wan
waited for the terrorists' pod to rise from the hangar deck before  activating
the repulsorlift engines. In addition to the huge portals at the ends  of  the
hangar arms, magnetic containment portals along the inner curve  of  the  arms
had opened up in each zone. Scores of cargo  pods  and  barges  had  begun  to
converge on these smaller egresses,  but  bottlenecks  were  forming  quickly,
despite the supervisory efforts of the central control computer.
     Obi-Wan understood that if they were too late in reaching the portal,  he
and Qui-Gon would be forced to resort to some other means of abandoning  ship.
But the young Jedi was nothing if not  methodical.  He  spent  a  long  moment
studying the flow of traffic and anticipating where jams were likely to  occur
before deciding on a course.
     That course took them straight up into  the  hangar's  lofty  reaches  of
hoists and cranes, before descending acutely for the zone three portal.
     Grazing three pods on the way down, Obi Wan neatly  avoided  a  collision
with a barge that was fast becoming lodged in the opening.
     Cohl had exited the hangar arm minutes earlier, but the  tracker  Obi-Wan
had affixed assured that the Jedi would be able to single Cohl's pod out  from
the now stampeding herd.
     "We have them, Master," he  told  Qui-Gon,  who  was  studying  the  rear
display screens. "They're heading  straight  for  the  centersphere.  I'm  not
certain if they intend to climb over it or  dive  beneath  it,  but  they  are
accelerating." "Stay with them, Obi-Wan. But keep a fixed distance.  We  don't
want to reveal ourselves just yet." With the bone-white  centersphere  looming
and the broad sweep of the immense arms to either side, the inner district  of
the annular freighter was a sight to behold - comespecially with crafts of all
size and shape pouring from the holds. But the erratic motion  of  those  same
pods and barges left Obi-Wan little time to appreciate the  view.  He  divided
his attention between the flashing bezel that was Cohl's pod on  the  heads-up
display, and the console screens, which showed exterior views to either side.
     With most  of  the  pods  streaming  toward  the  lower  portion  of  the
centersphere, even slight encounters were causing chain reactions  within  the
bunch. Many pods were already spinning out of  control,  and  a  few  were  on
collision courses for the hangar arms.
     It all began to remind Obi-Wan of some of the exercises  he  had  endured
during his youth in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where the goal of a  student
was to remain unswervingly attentive to a single task, while as many  as  five
teachers did all they could to distract.
     "Watch our stern, Padawan," Qui-Gon warned.
     A pod had emerged from below them, catching them aft on  its  ascent.  In
danger of being tipped end  over  end,  Obi-Wan  applied  power  to  the  nose
attitude jets and managed just in time to stabilize their craft.
     But the brush had knocked them off course, and suddenly they were closing
on the thick structural stalk that wedded  the  immense  centersphere  to  the
hangar arms.
     Obi-Wan glanced at the heads-up display, but found no pulsing bezel.
     "Master, I've lost them." "Focus on where you want to go, Obi-Wan,"  Qui-
Gon said in a calm voice.
     "Forget the display screen, and let the Force guide you." Obi-Wan  closed
his eyes for a moment, then, following his instincts, adjusted their course.
     Glancing at the display,  he  saw  Cohl's  pod  ahead  of  them,  off  to
starboard.
     "I see them, Master. They're angling for the top  of  the  centersphere."
"Captain Cohl was never one to remain long in the  herd."  Obi-Wan  fired  the
pod's attitude jets to adjust course and soon saw the reassuring  blinking  of
the bezel.
     The centersphere filled the display screens  linked  to  the  pod's  nose
vidcams, revealing level after level  of  what  Obi-Wan  knew  had  once  been
conference rooms and living spaces for  the  ship's  crew,  before  the  Trade
Federation had turned to droid labor. They were almost to  the  crown  of  the
centersphere when a lone  starfighter  streaked  across  one  of  the  display
screens, dual laser cannons loosing bursts at some unseen target.
     "A Nebula Front CloakShape," Qui-Gon said in mild surprise.
     A sturdy, low-profile starfighter with downsloping wings, CloakShapes had
been designed for atmospheric combat. But the terrorist group had  retrofitted
this one with rear-mounted maneuvering fins and a strap-on hyperdrive.
     "But what are they firing at?" Obi-Wan asked.
     "Cohl's pilots must have destroyed the Revenue's starfighters by now." "I
suspect we'll know soon enough, Padawan.
     In the meantime, stay focused on the matter at  hand."  Obi-Wan  bristled
slightly at the mild reprimand, but it was deserved. He had a habit of looking
forward, as opposed  to  staying  in  the  moment,  as  Qui-Gon  preferred--of
attending to what the Jedi called the living Force.
     Well above the bald crown of the centersphere and the boxy scanners  that
topped the freighter's command tower, Cohl's pod was gathering speed and, with
bold maneuvers, was emerging from the  cloud  of  pods  within  which  it  had
hidden. In danger of falling too far behind, Obi-Wan called on the drives  for
added power.
     By the time they were coming around the top curve  of  the  centersphere,
Obi-Wan had greatly  reduced  the  distance  between  the  two  pods.  He  was
preparing to follow Cohl into space when another starfighter--a modified  Z-95
Headhunter--flashed into view on the display screens and exploded.
     "The battle continues," Qui-Gon said.
     Emerged from the embrace of the arms, the two Jedi saw the source of  the
return fire. Floating like a ring above  Dorvalla's  nightside  was  a  second
freighter, engulfed in blossoms of fire sown by the Nebula Front ships.
     "Trade Federation reinforcements," Obi-Wan said.
     "That freighter could complicate matters," Qui-Gon mused.
     "But surely we have Cohl this time." "Cohl is  a  sly  one,  Obi-Wan.  He
would have anticipated this. He doesn't make  a  move  without  a  contingency
plan." "But, Master, without his support ships--was "Expect nothing,"  Qui-Gon
interrupted.
     "Simply stay your course." Inside the equally  cramped  quarters  of  the
terrorists' pod, Cohl's band of eight carried out their preassigned tasks.
     "Outer and inner hatches sealed, Captain," Boiny reported from his  wedge
of space at the curved instrument console. "All systems nominal." "Prepare  to
convert from repulsorlift to fusial propulsion," Cohl said, snugging his  seat
harness.
     "Preparing to convert," Rella relayed.
     "Comm is ena4," another said. "Switching to priority  frequency."  "Clear
space, Captain. Passing the thousand-meter mark from the centersphere."  "Easy
does it," Cohl said, aware of a certain  tension  in  the  recirculating  air.
"We'll maintain a low profile until ten thousand meters. Then we go for broke.
" Rella cast him an approving glance. "Plan precisely;  perform  faultlessly--
was "And avoid detection--before, during, and after," Boiny completed.
     "Set  course  for  one-one-seven,  freighter's  bow,"  Cohl  told   them.
"Accelerate to point five.
     Fusial thrust on standby." He reclined his  chair  and  switched  on  the
starboard display. The Hawk-Bat and the support ships had managed to hold  the
Acquisitor at bay. But the TradeFed's starfighters were all  over  the  arena,
harried by Nebula Front pilots and confounded by the torrents of cargo gushing
from the Revenue's hangar bays.
     Still, it was just a  matter  of  rendezvousing  with  the  Hawk-Bat  and
putting a couple of parsecs between the gunship and the Acquisitor.
     Rella leaned toward him to whisper. "Cohl, if we survive this, I  forgive
you for saying yes to this operation to begin with." Cohl had his  mouth  open
to respond when Boiny said, "Captain, something peculiar. Could  be  a  fluke,
but we've got one cargo pod hanging dead on our six." "Show  me,"  Cohl  said,
cutting his violet eyes to the screen.
     "Smack in the center. The one with the pointed snout." Cohl  fell  silent
for a moment, then said, "Alter our course to one-one-nine." Rella set herself
to the task.
     Boiny squeaked a nervous laugh. "The pod's changing  course  to  one-one-
nine." "Some kind of gravity drag?" one of the others asked - coma human named
Jalan.
     "Gravity drag?" Rella said in obvious derision. "What  in  the  moons  of
Bodgen is gravity drag?" "It's what keeps Jalan from thinking straight," Boiny
muttered.
     "Fasten it, the bunch of you," Cohl said, stroking  his  bearded  jaw  in
thought. "Can we scan that pod?" "We can try." Cohl forced a breath and folded
his arms across his chest. "Let's play this safe. Steer us back into the thick
of things." "Master, they're scanning us," Obi-Wan said.
     "They're altering course, as well." "They're planning  to  hide  in  that
cluster of cargo pods," Qui-Gon said, mostly to himself. "It's  time  we  give
them something else to worry about, Obi-Wan.
     Activate the thermal detonator as soon as they're a bit farther from  the
freighter." Cohl gripped the armrests of his narrow seat  as  the  terrorists'
pod took a buffeting from its neighbors in the throng that  was  pouring  into
the space between the two Trade Federation freighters.
     "We can't take much more of this," Boiny warned, his  sucker  -  fingered
hands gripped on the instrument console.
     "Cohl," Rella said harshly. "Unless we get out now, we're going to end up
in the middle of a starfighter engagement." Cohl kept his eyes  glued  to  the
overhead display screen. "What's the pod doing?" "Matching our every maneuver.
" One of the humans cursed under his breath. "What's in that thing?" "Or who?"
another put in.
     "Something's not right," Cohl said, shaking his head.
     "I smell a womp rat." Boiny glanced at him. "Never  met  one  that  could
pilot a pod like that, Captain." Cohl slapped the armrests  in  a  gesture  of
finality. "No more wasting time. Engage  the  primary  fusials."  "Now  you're
talking," Rella remarked, carrying out the command.
     Without warning, Boiny all but shot from his seat, gesticulating madly at
one of the console sensors and tripping over his own words.
     "Boiny!" Cohl shouted, as if to  break  whatever  spell  the  Rodian  was
under. "Out with it!" Boiny swung about, his black orbs radiating incredulity.
"Captain, we've got a thermal detonator affixed to the pod's drive core!" Cohl
stared at him in similar disbelief. "How long to  detonation?"  "Five  minutes
and counting!" W ith  its  sterile  surfaces,  sunken  control  stations,  and
circular  plasma  screens  that  shone  like  aquariums,  the  bridge  of  the
Acquisitor was identical to that of her sister ship, save that it held a  full
complement of bridge officers, and all eight were Neimoidians.
     Commander Nap Lagard gazed out  the  forward  viewports  at  the  distant
Revenue.
     At this remove, the bulbous-nosed pods and barges flooding from her cargo
holds were mere specks glinting in  the  sunlight,  but  magnified  views  had
revealed hundreds of burst pods--the result of collisions and  of  starfighter
laser bolts- - their payloads of lommite surrendered to space. A  heartrending
sight to behold; but Lagard had already decided that he would retrieve as much
of the cargo as possible--assuming that the terrorists could be chased off.
     The stamp of the Nebula Front was all over the crippled Revenue,  in  the
form of blistered durasteel, erose penetrations in the hull, pieces of twisted
superstructure.
     Recently strengthened and overlapping deflector shields had prevented the
terrorists from inflicting similar damage on the Acquisitor.
     More, the Acquisitor carried twice  the  usual  number  of  droid-piloted
craft.
     No sooner had the freighter decanted  from  hyperspace  than  the  Nebula
Front ships had flown against  her.  In  concert  with  the  freighters'  quad
lasers, the starfighters had succeeded in warding off the attack  and  forcing
the terrorists back toward the Revenue, where the conflict was  still  raging.
Countless droid ships had disappeared in globular explosions, but  the  Nebula
Front had not been spared casualties, having lost two CloakShapes and one Z-95
Headhunter.
     Only the Hawk-Bat--the  light-freighter-size  gunship  of  the  mercenary
known as Captain Cohl--had been a continuing menace to the Acquisitor,  trying
the fortitude of the freighter's new shields with disabling runs.
     Just now, however, even the Hawk-Bat was in retreat, streaking off in the
direction of Dorvalla's polar ice cap, the  blue  vortices  of  the  gunship's
thrusters visible from the Acquisitor backslash bridge.
     "It seems we have driven them off," one of Lagard's  subalterns  remarked
in the Neimoidian tongue.
     Lagard grunted noncommittally.
     "Captain Cohl must have issued the  abandon-ship  order,"  the  subaltern
continued. "The Nebula Front would rather see our lommite lost to  space  than
allow it to reach our customers on Sluis Van." Lagard grunted again. "They may
think they have struck a blow against the  Trade  Federation.  But  they  will
think again when Dor valla is forced to make restitution to us." The subaltern
nodded. "The courts will stand with us." Lagard turned briefly from the  view.
"Yes. But these acts of terrorism cannot be allowed to continue." "Commander,"
the communications officer intruded. "We are receiving  a  coded  transmission
from Commander Dofine." "From the Revenue?" "From an escape  pod,  Commander."
"Put the message through the annunciators,  and  ready  the  tractor  beam  to
retrieve the  escape  pod."  The  bridge's  speakers  crackled  to  life.  his
Acquisitor, this is Commander Daultay Dofine." Lagard hastened to  the  center
of the walkway. "Dofine, this is Commander Lagard. We will have you safely  on
board as quickly as possible." "Lagard, listen closely," Dofine said.
     "Contact Viceroy  Gun  -  ray.  It  is  urgent  that  I  speak  with  him
immediately." "Viceroy Gunray? What is so urgent?" "That is  for  the  viceroy
alone to hear," Dofine hissed.
     Realizing that he had suffered a loss of face, Lagard  stung  back.  "And
what of Captain Cohl, Commander Dofine? Is he in  possession  of  your  ship?"
Dofine's brief silence assured Lagard that the barb had found its mark.
     "Captain Cohl fled the ship in a facsimile cargo pod." Lagard  turned  to
the viewports. "Can you identify it?" "Identify it?" Dofine asked sharply. "It
was a pod like all the others." "And the Revenue?
     his "The Revenue is about to blow to pieces!"  In  the  terrorists'  pod,
Boiny studied the instrument console in dismay. "Thirty seconds to detonation.
" "Cohl!" Rella yelled when he failed to respond. "Do something!" Cohl glanced
at her, tight-lipped. "All right, jettison the husk." To a one, the terrorists
settled back in relief, while Boiny tapped  a  flurry  of  commands  into  the
console keypad.
     "Charges activated," the Rodian reported.
     "Separation in ten seconds." Cohl sniffed. "Times like this, you wish you
could see the faces of your adversaries." Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan  watched  Cohl's
pod on their separate screens. Abruptly, a series of small  explosions  ringed
the humpbacked craft along its equator, and it split into two parts, revealing
an oblate shuttle concealed inside.
     The shuttle's fusial thrust engines ignited, and the craft rocketed  away
from the pieces of its discarded husk. Then the lower half exploded.
     "That would be our thermal detonator," Qui-Gon said.  "And  the  tracking
device?" "Affixed to the hull of the shuttle and still  functioning,  Master,"
Obi-Wan reported, gazing at the flashing bezel. "Again, you  have  anticipated
Captain Cohl." "Not without help, Padawan.  You  know  what  to  do."  Obi-Wan
smiled as he reached for the controls. "I only wish I could see Cohl's  face."
Cohl's mouth fell open as he watched the pursuing  pod  burst  apart  along  a
midline seam. Inside was a  wingless  Corellian  Lancet,  painted  a  telltale
crimson from pointed nose to sleek-finned tail.
     "It's flying Coruscant colors!" Boiny  said  in  astonishment.  "Judicial
Department." "Matching us maneuver for maneuver," Rella reported as  she  wove
the terrorist's shuttle through a swarm of cargo pods and clusters  of  loosed
lommite ore.
     "Gaining on us," Boiny updated.
     Rella refused to accept it. "Since when do judicials  pilot  like  that?"
"Who else could be  piloting?"  one  of  the  humans  asked.  "It  sure  isn't
Neimoidians." Cohl locked eyes with Rella.
     "Jedi?" they said in unison.
     Cohl considered it, then shook his head. "What would the  Jedi  be  doing
out here? This isn't Republic space. Besides, no one--and I mean no  one--knew
about this operation." Boiny and the rest were quick to agree. "The  captain's
right. No one knew about this operation." But the uncertainty in the  Rodian's
voice was glaring, and Cohl was suddenly aware that everyone was watching him.
     "No one, Cohl?" Rella said leadingly.
     He frowned at her. "Outside the Nebula Front, anyway." "Maybe  the  Force
told them," Boiny mumbled.
     Rella studied the displays. "We might still make the  Hawk  -  Bat"  Cohl
leaned toward the shuttle's wraparound viewport. "Where is she?"  "Holding  at
the rendezvous point above Dorvalla's pole." When, after a long  moment,  Cohl
still hadn't responded, she added, "I'll just keep flying in circles while you
make your mind up about what to do." Cohl looked at Boiny. "Run a surface scan
of the shuttle hull." "Surface scan?" the Rodian asked dubiously.
     "Now," Cohl said sharply.
     Boiny bent over the console, then straightened in his seat.
     "We're hosting a locator!" Cohl's eyes narrowed. "They're hoping to track
us." "Correction, Cohl," Rella said. "They are tracking us." Cohl ignored  the
remark and glanced at Boiny again. "How much time before the  Revenue  blows?"
"Seven minutes." "Can you calculate the shape of the  freighter's  explosion?"
Boiny and Rella swapped troubled glances. "To a certain  extent,"  the  Rodian
said in a tentative voice.
     "Do it. Then give me your best estimate  of  the  blast  radius  and  the
extent of the debris cloud." Boiny swallowed hard. "Even my best  estimate  is
going to be plus or minus a  couple  of  hundred  kilometers,  Captain."  Cohl
mulled it over in silence, then glanced  at  Rella.  "Come  about--hard."  She
stared at him. "It's confirmed: You've lost your mind." "You heard  me,"  Cohl
snapped. "It's back to the freighter for us." Just inside the magcon portal of
the Acquisitor's portside hangar arm, Daultay Dofine crawled indecorously from
the barrel-shaped  escape  pod  the  freighter's  powerful  tractor  beam  had
retrieved.
     The navigator and the rest followed him out.
     Commander Lagard was on hand to meet them.
     "It is an honor to rescue so celebrated a person," Lagard said.
     Dofine adjusted the fit of his robes and straightened his command  miter.
"Yes, I'm sure it is," he replied. "Did you do as I asked and contact  Viceroy
Gunray?" Lagard  indicated  the  Neimoidian  mechno-chair  that  had  probably
conveyed him from the bridge. "The viceroy is eager to hear what you  have  to
report. As am I, Commander." Dofine pushed past Lagard to get  to  the  chair,
which immediately began to move off in the direction of the centersphere- - no
doubt at Lagard's remote behest.
     A product of Affodies Crafthouse  of  Pure  Neimoidia,  the  curious  and
prohibitively costly device had two sickle-shaped rear legs that terminated in
single-claw feet, and a pair of double - clawed  articulated  guidance  limbs.
The laser-etched designs that covered its metallic surface were modeled  after
the  shell  ornamentation  of  Neimoidia's  sovereign  beetle.  Gyroscopically
balanced, the high-backed chair was more status symbol than practical mode  of
transport, but Dofine had grasped that the chair had not been provided for his
benefit.
     Where one would have sat  was  a  circular  hologram  plate,  from  which
projected the miniature holopresence of Viceroy Nute Gunray himself, leader of
the Neimoidian Inner Circle and a member of the seven-person Trade  Federation
Directorate. Impediments of interstellar origin dazed the feed  with  diagonal
lines of noise.
     "Viceroy," Dofine said, bowing in obeisance before he hurried to catch up
with the slowly scuttling chair.
     Gunray  had  a  jutting  lower  jaw,  and  his  thick   lower   lip   was
uncompanioned. A deep fissure separated his bulging forehead into two  lateral
lobes. His skin was kept a healthy gray-blue by means of frequent massages and
meals of the finest fungus. Red and orange robes of exquisite hand  fell  from
his narrow shoulders, along with a round-collared brown surplice that  reached
his knees.
     Around his neck hung a pectoral of elongated teardrops of electrum, and a
black tiara--triple-crested, with a pair of dangling tails--sat atop his regal
head.
     "What is so urgent, Commander Dofine?" Gunray asked.
     "Viceroy, it is my sad duty to report that the Revenue has been seized by
members of the Nebula Front.
     The cargo of lom - mite ore floats in space, and, even as  we  speak,  an
explosive device counts down the moments to the ship's destruction." Realizing
that he had forgotten to peel the timer from the  back  of  his  hand,  Dofine
retracted his hand into the loose sleeve of his robe.
     "So Captain Cohl strikes again," Gunray said.
     "Yes, Viceroy. But I bring news of  an  even  more  distressing  nature."
Dofine glanced around him, in the hope that Lagard was out of earshot, but, of
course, he wasn't. "The cache of au - rodium ingots," he said at  last.  "Cohl
somehow knew about it. I had  no  recourse  but  to  turn  it  over  to  him."
Expecting rebuke or worse, Dofine hung his head in shame  as  he  trailed  the
mechno-chair. But the viceroy surprised him.
     "The lives of you and your crew were at stake."  "Just  so,  Excellency."
"Then stand tall, Commander Dofine," Gunray said.
     "For what has happened  today  may  well  prove  a  boon  for  the  Trade
Federation, and a blessing for all Neimoidians."  "A  boon,  Viceroy?"  Gunray
nodded. "I order you to assume command of the Acquisitor.
     Recall the starfighters and withdraw the freighter from combat." "Cohl is
headed back to the freighter," Obi-Wan said from the controls of the  Judicial
Department starfighter. "Could he have tricked the freighter  into  abandoning
its cargo, even though it wasn't in jeopardy?" "I doubt it," Qui-Gon said.  He
pressed his face close to the Lancet's transparisteel canopy. "All  of  Gobi's
support ships-  -  even  the  corvette--are  distancing  themselves  from  the
Revenue.His""" "It's true, Master. Even the Aequisitor is  under  way."  "Then
we're safe in concluding that the freighter is  marked  for  destruction.  And
yet, Captain Cohl is speeding toward it." "As we are, Master," Obi-Wan thought
to point out.
     "What could Cohl have in mind?" Qui-Gon asked himself aloud. "He's not  a
man to undertake desperate acts,  Obi-Wan,  let  alone  suicidal  ones."  "The
shuttle isn't decelerating or changing course. Cohl is shooting  straight  for
the starboard hangar arm." "Just where we started." Obi-Wan's  brow  began  to
furrow in concern.
     "Master, we're getting awfully close. If the freighter  is  truly  marked
for destruction..." "I realize that, Padawan. Perhaps Captain Cohl  is  merely
testing us." Obi-Wan waited a long moment before he allowed concern to show in
his voice. "Master?" Qui-Gon watched the shuttle angle down toward the  center
of the circle that was the Revenue.
     Stretching out with his feelings, he did not like what he found.
     "Abort the pursuit, Obi-Wan," he said suddenly.  "Quickly!"  Obi-Wan  fed
full power to the Lancet's drives and pulled the yoke sharply toward  him.  At
full boost, the ship climbed in a long loop away from the freighter.
     Suddenly, the Revenue exploded. In the Lancet's cockpit,  it  was  as  if
someone had draped a bright white curtain over the  canopy.  The  small  craft
received a punch in the tail that sent it rocking forward, riding the crest of
the detonation wave. Great hunks of molten durasteel streaked like  comets  to
all sides. The Lancet shook to the breaking point, systems shorting  out  with
showers of  sparks,  and  displays  showing  nothing  but  noise  before  they
darkened.
     Glancing over his  shoulder,  Obi-Wan  watched  the  Revenue  burst  into
sections, the massive hangar arms making brief, fist  -  first  contact,  then
rolling off to opposite sides, as two loosed crescents.
     The  centersphere  and  bridge  tower  spun  away  from   the   destroyed
acceleration compensator stalk and what was left of the ship's trio of  gaping
exhaust ports.
     Some distance away the Acquisitor was moving for the safety of Dorvalla's
dark side.
     Cohl's corvette and two of the support starfighters  streaked  away  from
the planet and made the jump to hyperspace.
     "Dorvalla is either  about  to  gain  a  moonlet  or  fall  victim  to  a
devastating meteor," Obi-Wan said when he could.
     "I fear  the  latter,"  Qui-Gon  said.  "Contact  Coruscant.  Inform  the
Reconciliation Council that Dorvalla needs immediate emergency relief."  "I'll
try, Master." Obi-Wan began to flip switches on the console,  hoping  that  at
least some of the communications systems had  survived  the  electronic  storm
that had accompanied the explosion.
     "Is there any sign of Cohl's shuttle?" Obi-Wan  glanced  at  the  display
screen. "No signal from the tracking device." Qui-Gon didn't reply.
     "Master, I know Cohl hated the Trade Federation. But could he have  cared
so little about his own life?" Qui-Gon took a long moment to respond.
     "What are the sixth and seventh Rules of  Engagement,  Padawan?"  Obi-Wan
tried to recall them. "The sixth is, Understand the  dark  and  light  in  all
things." "That is the fifth rule." Obi-Wan thought again.  "Exercise  caution,
even in trivial matters." "That is the eighth."  "Learn  to  see  accurately."
"Yes," Qui-Gon said, "that is the sixth. And the seventh?" Obi-Wan  shook  his
head. "I'm sorry, Master. I cannot recall it." "Open your eyes to what is  not
evident." Obi-Wan considered it. "Then this isn't the  end  of  it."  "Hardly,
young Padawan. I sense instead a menacing beginning."  CORUSCANT  r  The  four
walls of Finis Valorum's office, at the summit of the governmental  district's
stateliest if not  most  statuesque  edifice,  were  made  of  transparisteel,
paneled by structural members into a continuous band of regular  and  inverted
triangles.
     The city-planet that was Coruscant--was Scintillant Orb," "Jewel  of  the
Core," choked heart of the Galactic Republic--spread to all sides in a  welter
of lustrous domes,  knife-edged  spires,  and  terraced  superstructures  that
climbed to the sky. The taller buildings resembled  outsize  rocketships  that
had never left their launch pads, or the wind-eroded lava  tors  of  long-dead
volcanoes. Some of the domes were flattened hemispheres perched on cylindrical
bases, while others had the look of shallow, hand-thrown  ceramic  bowls  with
finialed lids.
     Striations of magnetically guided sky traffic  moved  swiftly  above  the
cityscape--streams of transports, air buses, taxis, and  limousines,  coursing
between the tall spires and over the measureless chasms like schools of exotic
fish.
     Instead of feeding, however, they  were  the  feeders,  distributing  the
galaxy's wealth among the greedy trillion to whom Coruscant was home.
     As often as Valorum had beheld the view--which was to say,  nearly  every
day of his now seven years as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic--he  had  yet
to grow indifferent to the spectacle of Coruscant.  As  worlds  went,  it  was
neither large nor especially rugged, but history had  transformed  it  into  a
uniquely vertical place, a vertical  experience  more  common  to  ocean  than
atmospheric life.
     Valorum's principal office was located in the lower level of the Galactic
Senate dome, but he was generally so swamped by requests  and  business  there
that he reserved this lofty perch for meetings of a more private nature.
     Pale hands clasped at his back, he stood at the  bank  of  transparisteel
windows that faced the dawn, though daybreak was hours behind him. He  wore  a
magenta tunic that was high -  collared  and  double-breasted,  with  matching
trousers  and  a  wide  cummerbund.   Southern   light,   polarized   by   the
transparisteel panels, flooded the room. But Valorum's sole guest had taken  a
seat well out of the light's reach.
     "I fear, Supreme  Chancellor,  that  we  face  a  monumental  challenge,"
Senator Palpatine was saying  from  the  shadows.  "Frayed  at  its  far-flung
borders and hollowed at its very heart by corruption, the Republic is in grave
danger of unraveling.
     Order is needed, directives that will  restore  balance.  Even  the  most
desperate remedies should not  be  overlooked."  Although  such  opinions  had
become the common sentiment, Palpatine's words pierced Valorum like  a  sword.
The fact that he knew them to be true made them  all  the  more  difficult  to
hear. He turned his back to the view and returned to his desk,  where  he  sat
heavily into his padded chair.
     Aging with distinction, Valorum had a receding cap of shorn silver  hair,
pouches under piercing blue eyes, and dark, bushy brows.  His  stern  features
and deep voice belied a compassionate spirit and questing  intellect.  But  as
the latest in the line of a political dynasty that stretched back thousands of
years--a dynasty many thought weakened by its uncommon longevity--he had never
been fully successful at overcoming an innate patrician aloofness.
     "Where have we gone wrong?" he asked in a firm but sad voice. "How did we
manage  to  miss  the  portents  along  the  way?"  Palpatine  showed  him  an
understanding look. "The fault is not in ourselves,  Supreme  Chancellor.  The
fault lies in the outlying star systems, and the  civil  strife  iniquity  has
engendered there." His voice was carefully  modulated,  occasionally  world  -
weary, seemingly immune to anger or alarm.  "This  most  recent  situation  at
Dorvalla, for example." Valorum nodded soberly. "The Judicial  Department  has
requested that I meet with them later today, so  they  can  brief  me  on  the
latest  developments."  "Perhaps  I  could  save  you  the  trouble,   Supreme
Chancellor. As least in terms of what I've been hearing in the senate." "Rumor
or facts?" "A bit of both, I suspect. The senate is filled with delegates  who
interpret matters as they will, regardless of facts." Palpatine paused, as  if
to gather his thoughts.
     Prominent in a kind if somewhat doughy face  were  his  heavy  -  lidded,
watery blue eyes and rudder of a nose. Red hair that had  lost  its  youth  he
wore in the provincial style of the outlying systems:  combed  back  from  his
high forehead but left thick and long behind his low-set ears. In dress,  too,
he demonstrated singular allegiance to his home system,  favoring  embroidered
tunics with V-shaped double collars and outmoded cloaks of quilted fabric.
     A sectorial senator representing the outlying world of Na  -  boo,  along
with thirty-six other inhabited planets, Palpatine had earned a reputation for
integrity and frankness that had set him high in the hearts  of  many  of  his
senatorial peers. As he had made clear to Valorum in numerous  meetings,  both
public and private, he was more interested in doing whatever needed to be done
than in blind obedience to the rules and regulations that had made the  senate
such a tangle of procedures.
     "As the Judicial Department is certain to tell you," he  began  at  last,
"the mercenaries who assaulted  and  destroyed  the  Trade  Federation  vessel
Revenue were in the employ of the  Nebula  Front  terrorist  group.  It  seems
likely that they gained  access  to  the  freighter  with  the  complicity  of
dockworkers at Dorvalla. How the Nebula Front learned that the  freighter  was
carrying a fortune in aurodium ingots has yet to be established.  But  clearly
the Nebula Front planned to use the aurodium to  finance  additional  acts  of
terrorism directed against the Trade Federation, and perhaps against  Republic
colonies in the Outer Rim." "Planned?" Valorum said.
     "All indications are that Captain Cohl and his team of assassins perished
in the explosion that destroyed the Revenue.
     But the incident has had wide-ranging repercussions, nevertheless."  "I'm
well aware of some of those," Valorum said, with a  note  of  disgust.  "As  a
result of continuing raids and  harassment,  the  Trade  Federation  plans  to
demand Republic intervention, or, failing that,  senate  approval  to  further
augment their droid contingent." Palpatine made  his  lips  a  thin  line  and
nodded.
     "I must confess, Supreme Chancellor, that my first instinct was to refuse
their requests out of hand. The Trade Federation is already  too  powerful--in
wealth and in military might. However, I've  since  reassessed  my  position."
Valorum regarded him with interest. "I'd appreciate  hearing  your  thoughts."
"Well, to begin with, the Trade Federation is made up  of  entrepreneurs,  not
warriors. The Neimoidians, especially, are cowards in any theater  other  than
commerce. So granting  them  permission  to  enlarge  their  droid  defenses--
slightly, at any rate- - doesn't concern me unduly. More important, there  may
be some advantage to doing so." Valorum interlocked  his  fingers  and  leaned
forward.
     "What possible advantage?" Palpatine took  a  breath.  "In  exchange  for
honoring their requests for intervention and additional defenses,  the  senate
would be in a position to demand that all trade in the outlying systems  would
henceforth be subject to Republic taxation." Valorum sat back  in  his  chair,
clearly disappointed. "We've been through all this before, Senator. You and  I
both know that a majority of the senate has no interest in what happens in the
outer systems, much less in the free trade zones. But they do care about  what
happens to the Trade Federation." "Yes, because  the  shimmersilk  pockets  of
many a senatorial robe are being  lined  with  graft  from  the  Neimoidians."
Valorum snorted. "Self-indulgence is the order of the  day."  "Undeniably  so,
Supreme Chancellor," Palpatine said tolerantly. "But that, in  itself,  is  no
reason to allow the practice to continue." "Of course not," Valorum said. "For
both my terms of office I have sought to end the corruption that  plagues  the
senate, and to unravel the knot of policies and procedures that thwart us.  We
enact legislation, only to find that we cannot implement  it.  The  committees
proliferate like viruses, without leadership. No fewer than twenty  committees
are needed just to determine the decor of the senate corridors.
     "The Trade Federation has prospered  by  taking  advantage  of  the  very
bureaucracy we've created.
     Grievances brought against the Federation languish in the  courts,  while
commissions belabor each and every aspect. It's little  wonder  that  Dorvalla
and many of the worlds along the Rimma Trade Route  support  terrorist  groups
like the Nebula Front.
     "But taxation isn't likely to solve anything. In fact, such a move  could
prompt the Trade Federation to abandon the outlying systems entirely, in favor
of more lucrative markets closer to the Core." "Thus depriving  Coruscant  and
its neighbors of important outer system resources and luxury goods," Palpatine
interjected, seemingly by rote.
     "Certainly the Neimoidians will see taxation as a  betrayal,  if  for  no
other reason than the Trade Federation blazed many of  the  hyperspace  routes
that link the Core to the outlying systems.  Regardless,  this  could  be  the
opportunity many of us have waited for--the chance to exercise senate  control
over those very trade routes." Valorum mulled it over briefly.  "It  could  be
political  suicide."  "Oh,  I'm  well  aware  of  that,  Supreme   Chancellor.
Proponents of taxation would suffer merciless attacks from the Commerce Guild,
the  Techno  Union,  and  the  rest  of  the  shipping  conglomerates  awarded
franchises to operate in the free trade  zones.  But  it  is  the  appropriate
measure." Valorum shook his head slowly, then got to his feet and moved to the
windows. "Nothing would cheer me more than getting the upper hand on the Trade
Federation." "Then now is the time to act," Palpatine said.
     Valorum kept his gaze fixed on the distant towers. "I could count on your
support?" Palpatine rose and joined him at the view.
     "Let me be frank about that. My position as representative of an outlying
sector places me in an awkward situation. Make no mistake  about  it,  Supreme
Chancellor, I stand with you in advocating central control and  taxation.  But
Naboo and other outlying systems will undoubtedly  be  forced  to  assume  the
burden of taxation by paying more for Trade Federation  services."  He  paused
briefly. "I would be compelled to act  with  utmost  circumspection."  Valorum
merely nodded.
     "That much said," Palpatine was quick to add, "rest assured that I  would
do all in my power to rally  senate  support  for  taxation."  Valorum  turned
slightly in Palpatine's direction and smiled lightly. "As always, I'm grateful
for your counsel, Senator. Particularly now, what with  troubles  erupting  in
your home system." Palpatine sighed with purpose. "Sadly,  King  Veruna  finds
himself enmeshed in a scandal.
     While he and I have never seen  eye  to  eye  with  regard  to  expanding
Naboo's influence in the Republic, I am concerned for him, for his predicament
has not only cast a pall over Naboo, but also over many  neighboring  worlds."
Valorum clasped his hands behind his back and  paced  to  the  center  of  the
spacious room. When he swung to face Palpatine, his expression made clear that
his thoughts had returned to issues of wider concern.
     "Is it conceivable that the Trade Federation  would  accept  taxation  in
exchange for a loosening of the defense restraints we have placed them under?"
Palpatine  steepled  his  long  fingers  and  brought  them   to   his   chin.
"Merchandise--of  whatever  nature--is  precious  to  the   Neimoidians.   The
continuing assaults on their vessels by pirates and terrorists have made  them
desperate. They will rail against taxation, but in the end they will  tolerate
it. Our only other option would be to take direct action  against  the  groups
that are harassing them, and I  know  that  you're  opposed  to  doing  that."
Valorum confirmed it with  a  determined  nod.  "The  Republic  hasn't  had  a
standing military in generations, and I  certainly  won't  be  the  person  to
reinstate one. Coruscant must remain a place where groups can come together to
find peaceful solutions to conflicts." He took  a  breath.  "A  better  course
would be to allow the Trade Federation adequate protection  to  defend  itself
against acts of terrorism. After all, the Judicial Department can't very  well
suggest the Jedi dedicate themselves to solving  the  Neimoidians'  problems."
"No," Palpatine said. "The judicials and the Jedi Knights have more  important
matters to attend to than keeping the space  lanes  safe  for  commerce."  "At
least some constants remain," Valorum mused. "Just think  where  we  might  be
without the Jedi." "I can only imagine." Valorum advanced a few steps and laid
his hands on Palpatine's shoulders. "You're a good friend, Senator." Palpatine
returned the gesture. "My interests are the interests of the Republic, Supreme
Chancellor." caret Diu Sheathed from pole to pole in duracrete, plasteel,  and
a thousand other impervious materials, Coruscant seemed  invulnerable  to  the
vagaries of time or assaults by any would-be agents of entropy.
     It was said that a person could live out his  entire  life  on  Coruscant
without once leaving the building he called home. And  that  even  if  someone
devoted his life to exploring as much  of  Coruscant  as  possible,  he  would
scarcely be able to take in a few square kilometers; that he would  be  better
off trying to visit all the far-flung worlds of the Republic.
     The planet's original surface was so long forgotten and so seldom visited
that it had become an underworld of mythic dimension, whose denizens  actually
boasted of the fact that their subterranean  realm  hadn't  seen  the  sun  in
twenty-five thousand standard years.
     Closer to the sky, however, where the air was  continually  scrubbed  and
giant mirrors lit the floor of shallower canyons, wealth and privilege ruled.
     Here, kilometers above the murky  depths,  resided  those  who  fashioned
their own rarified atmospheres;  who  moved  about  by  private  skylimo,  and
watched the diffuse sun set blazing red around the curve of  the  planet;  and
who ventured below the two-kilometer level only to conduct transactions  of  a
sinister sort, or to visit the statuary-studded  squares  that  fronted  those
landmark structures whose sublime architecture hadn't been razed,  buried,  or
walled in by mediocrity.
     One such landmark was the Jedi Temple.
     A kilometer-high truncated pyramid crowned by  five  elegant  towers,  it
soared above its  surroundings,  purposefully  isolated  from  the  babble  of
Coruscant's overlapping electromagnetic fields, and holding forth against  the
blight of modernization. Below it stretched a plain of  rooftops,  skybridges,
and aerial thoroughfares that had conspired to create a  mosaic  of  sumptuous
geometries--colossal  spirals  and  concentricities,  crosses  and  triangles,
quilts and diamonds--great  mandalas  aimed  at  the  stars,  or  perhaps  the
temporal complements of the constellations to be found there.
     At once, though, there was something comforting and forbidding about  the
Temple. For while it was a constant reminder of  an  older,  less  complicated
world, the Temple was also somewhat austere and unapproachable, off-limits  to
tourists or any whose desire to visit was inspired by mere curiosity.
     The design of the Temple was said to be symbolic of the Padawan's path to
enlightenment--to unity with the Force, through fealty to the Jedi Codes.  But
the design artfully concealed a secondary and more practical purpose, in  that
the quincunx of towers - comfour oriented to the cardinal directions,  with  a
taller  one  rising  from  the  center--were  whiskered  with   antennae   and
transmitters that kept the Jedi abreast of circumstances and crises throughout
the galaxy they served.
     Thus had contemplation and social responsibility been given equal voice.
     Nowhere in the Temple was that wedding of purposes more evident  than  in
the elevated chamber of the Reconciliation  Council.  Like  the  High  Council
Chamber, at the summit of an adjacent tower, the room was  circular,  with  an
arched ceiling and tall windows all around. But, less formal,  it  lacked  the
ring of seats occupied only by the twelve members of  the  High  Council,  who
presided over matters of momentous concern.
     Qui-Gon Jinn had been back on Coruscant for three  standard  days  before
the Reconciliation Council had asked him to  appear  before  it.  During  that
time, he had done little more than meditate, peruse ancient  texts,  pace  the
Temple's dimly lighted hallways, or engage  in  lightsaber  training  sessions
with other Jedi Knights and Padawans.
     Through acquaintances employed  in  the  Galactic  Senate,  he  had  been
apprised of the Trade  Federation's  requests  for  Republic  intervention  in
repressing acts of terrorism,  and  for  permission  to  augment  their  droid
defenses, in the face of continuing harassment. Although those  requests  were
nothing new, Qui - Gon had been surprised to learn of the  Trade  Federation's
claim that Captain Cohl, in addition to destroying the Revenue, had  made  off
with a secret cache of aurodium  ingots,  rumored  to  be  worth  billions  of
credits.
     The revelation was much on his mind as he went before the members of  the
Reconciliation Council, unaware that they, too, were interested in  discussing
the incident at Dorvalla.
     Many held the opinion that Qui-Gon would have been seated on the council,
if not for his penchant for bending the rules and following his own instincts-
-even when those instincts conflicted with the combined wisdom of the  council
members. This had not endeared him to his loftier peers. In fact, rather  than
treat him like a peer, they viewed his unwillingness to  amend  his  ways  and
accept a seat on the council as a further sign of his incorrigibility.
     The Reconciliation Council was made up of five members- -  though  rarely
the same five--and today there were only four on hand: Jedi Masters Plo  Koon,
Oppo Rancisis, Adi Gallia, and Yoda.
     Qui-Gon fielded their questions from the center of  the  room,  where  he
would have been permitted to sit but had elected to stand.
     "How knew you, Qui-Gon, of Captain Cohl's designs on  the  Revenue,  eh?"
Yoda asked as he paced the polished-stone floor, supported by his gimer  stick
cane.
     "I have a contact in the Nebula Front," Qui-Gon replied.
     Yoda stopped moving to regard him. "A contact, you say?" "A  Bith,"  Qui-
Gon said. "He made contact with me on Mala - stare, and later apprised  me  of
Cohl's plan to attack the Revenue at Dorvalla. On  Dorvalla,  I  was  able  to
learn that Cohl had altered a cargo pod to suit his ends. Obi-Wan  and  I  did
the same." Yoda shook his head back and forth in seeming astonishment.  "News,
this is. One of Qui-Gon's many surprises." An ancient and diminutive  alien--a
patriarch, of sorts--Yoda had an almost human face, with large knowing eyes, a
small nose, and a thin-lipped  mouth.  But  most  similarities  to  the  human
species ended there, for he was green from hairless  crown  to  triple-digited
feet, and his ears were large and pointed, extending from  the  sides  of  his
wizened head like small wings.
     A senior member of the High Council, he was something of a trickster, who
preferred to teach by means of thought-puzzles and conundrums, rather than  by
lecture and recitation.
     Yoda and Qui-Gon had a long-standing relationship, but Yoda  was  one  of
those who sometimes took issue with Qui - Gon's focus on the living Force over
the unifying Force. As Qui-Gon explained it, he was  simply  built  that  way.
Even in lightsaber training, he rarely entered into a match with a strategy in
mind. Instead he allowed himself to improvise,  and  to  alter  his  technique
according to the demands of the moment--even when the longer view  might  have
helped him.
     "Qui-Gon," Adi Gallia said, "we were given to understand that the  Nebula
Front had hired Captain Cohl. What was your contact's purpose in sabotaging an
operation the Nebula Front  itself  had  sanctioned?"  She  was  a  young  and
handsome human woman from Corellia, with exotic eyes, a long slender neck, and
full lips. Tall and dark-complexioned, she wore a tight-fitting skullcap, from
which dangled eight tails, resembling seed pods.
     Qui-Gon turned to her. "The operation was not sanctioned. That's  why  my
Padawan and I were there." Yoda lifted his gimer stick to  point  at  Qui-Gon.
"Explain this, you must." Qui-Gon folded his thick arms across his chest.
     "The Nebula Front speaks for many worlds in the Mid and Outer Rims, which
contest  the  prohibitive  practices  and  strong-arm  tactics  of  the  Trade
Federation. Some of those worlds were originally colonized by species who fled
the civilized repression of the Core. Fiercely independent, they want no  part
of the Republic. And yet, in order to trade, they are forced  to  do  business
with consortiums like the Federation.
     Worlds that have attempted to ship  with  other  enterprises  have  found
themselves cut off from trade entirely." "The Nebula Front may  have  laudable
goals, but their methods are ruthless," Oppo Rancisis  commented,  breaking  a
brief silence.
     A scion of royalty from Thisspias, he had  red-rimmed  eyes  and  a  tiny
mouth in a large head that was otherwise covered entirely by dense white hair-
-piled high at the crown, and extending from his hidden chin in a long beard.
     "Go on, Qui-Gon," Plo Koon told him from beneath the mask he  was  forced
to wear in oxygen-rich environments. Like Rancisis, Koon had a keen  mind  for
military strategy.
     Qui-Gon tipped his head in a bow of acknowledgment.  "Without  trying  to
justify the actions of the Nebula Front, I will say that they tried to  reason
with the Trade federation before turning to  acts  of  terrorism.  Where  they
might have financed their operations by smuggling spice for  the  Hutts,  they
refused to deal with any species that condoned slavery. Even when they finally
did turn to violence, they restricted their actions to interfering with  Trade
Federation shipments or delaying their vessels whenever possible." "Destroying
a freighter is certainly one way to delay it," Rancisis said.
     Qui-Gon glanced at him. "Gobi's actions were something new."  "Then  what
drove the Nebula Front to escalate the violence?" Gallia asked.
     Qui-Gon sensed that she was asking as much for the sake of the council as
for Supreme Chancellor Valorum, with whom she  had  close  ties.  "My  contact
claims that the Nebula Front has  grown  a  radical  wing,  and  it  is  those
militants who contracted with Captain Cohl. The  Bith  and  many  others  were
opposed to employing mercenaries, but the militants have  assumed  command  of
the organization." Yoda rubbed  his  chin  in  thought.  "After  the  aurodium
ingots, were they not?" Qui-Gon shook his head. "Frankly, Master, I'm not sure
if I accept the Federation's claim." "You  have  reason  to  doubt  it?"  Koon
asked.
     "It's a question of method. The Trade Federation concedes a preoccupation
with safeguarding their cargos.
     Why, then, would they entrust a shipment of aurodium to a poorly defended
freighter like the Revenue, when the more heavily armed Acquisitor was only  a
star system away?" "A point, he has," Yoda said.
     "I  consider  the  reason  obvious,"  Rancisis  disagreed.   "The   Trade
Federation falsely assumed that no one would suspect the Revenue of  harboring
such wealth." "The question is of little consequence," Gallia said.  "The  use
of mercenaries like Cohl signals the beginning of a  coordinated  campaign  to
counter the Trade Federation's droid defenses  by  force,  and  ultimately  to
overthrow Trade Federation influence in the outlying  systems."  "Fortunately,
Captain Cohl is no longer a concern," Plo Koon remarked.
     Yoda adopted a wide-eyed look. "Concern Qui-Gon, Cohl does." Qui-Gon felt
the council's close scrutiny.
     "I don't believe that he perished with the freighter," he said at last.
     "You were there, were you not?" Rancisis asked.
     "Saw it with his own eyes, he did," Yoda said, with a twinkle in his eye.
     Qui-Gon compressed his lips. "Cohl  planned  for  every  eventuality.  He
wouldn't have piloted his craft into an  explosion  just  to  evade  pursuit."
"Then why didn't you capture him as you hoped to do?" Rancisis asked.
     Qui-Gon planted his hands on his hips, thumbs  pointed  behind  him.  "As
Master Gallia has said, Cohl is only the beginning. My Padawan and I  attached
a tracking device to Cohl's ship, in the hope of tracking  it  to  the  Nebula
Front's current base, which could be on one of the Rimma worlds  that  support
the terrorists. After the explosion, the tracker failed to return  a  signal."
Gallia stared at him for a moment. "You searched for Cohl, Qui-Gon?"  "Obi-Wan
and I found no signs of his shuttle.
     For all we know, he rode the leading edge of  the  explosion  right  down
Dorvalla's gravity well." "You have informed the Judicial Department  of  your
suspicions?" Rancisis asked.
     "Some of Cohl's  better-known  haunts  are  under  surveillance,"  Gallia
answered for Qui-Gon.
     Koon left his chair to stand alongside Qui-Gon. "Captain Cohl may be  the
best of his ilk, but there are many more like him, just as heartless, just  as
rapacious. The Nebula Front militants  will  have  no  trouble  finding  eager
replacements." Rancisis nodded gravely. "This is something we  need  to  watch
closely." Yoda crossed the room, shaking his head back  and  forth.  "Avoid  a
conflict with the Nebula Front, we must. Speak for many, they  do.  Compromise
us, they will." "I agree," Rancisis said. "We can't  afford  to  take  sides."
"But we have to take sides," Qui-Gon blurted.
     "I'm not an ally of the Trade Federation. But acts of  terrorism  by  the
Nebula  Front  won't  be  limited  to  freighters.  Innocent  beings  will  be
endangered." Everyone fell silent, except for Yoda.
     "A true Knight, Qui-Gon is," he said,  with  a  note  of  gentle  rebuke.
"Forever on his own quest." small, humid world  disdained  by  an  aging  sun,
ationei - moidia was a place to be avoided--even by  Neimoidians.  Instead  of
profiting  from  its  relative  proximity   to   self-reliant   Corellia   and
industrialized Kuat, Neimoidia had actually suffered for its placement, having
been passed over, time and again, by  the  fraternity  of  Core  worlds.  That
heritage of being shunned had informed Neimoidian society.
     Scorn had imparted to the species a conviction that progress came to only
those who proved themselves not merely capable but predatory. Reaching the top
of the food chain required that the bodies of the weak be  used  as  stepping-
stones. Once the  summit  was  attained,  it  was  held  by  seizing  whatever
resources were available and preventing others from grabbing them.
     Those tenets were frequently offered as explanation as to how and why the
Neimoidians had risen so rapidly to the fore of the  Trade  Federation,  whose
signature was callousness.
     Neimoidia's most able typically left home at an  early  age,  opting  for
lives of itinerant trading aboard the vessels of the Trade  Federation  fleet.
As a result, Neimoidia was scarcely populated by the weakest of  the  species,
who tended to the  planet's  vast  insect  hives,  fungus  farms,  and  beetle
hatcheries.
     Viceroy Nute  Gunray  shared  with  his  fellow  self-exiles  a  peculiar
distaste for his homeworld.
     But circumstance had demanded that he meet with the members of his  Inner
Circle in a location that  guaranteed  protection  from  the  prying  eyes  of
Coruscant. And in that sense, Neimoidia provided the best possible sanctuary.
     The problem inherent in returning  home  was  that  one  couldn't  escape
recalling--on some level of cellular  memory-  -  the  seven  formative  years
Neimoidians spent as puny, pale, wriggling grubs, in  competition  with  every
other grub for survival and the chance  to  mature  into  red-eyed,  noseless,
fish-lipped, and decidedly distrustful adults.
     Adults, like Gunray, at any rate, who swathed their bodies in the  finest
raiment credits could buy, and who rarely, if ever, looked back.
     The viceroy gave himself over to momentary  reflection  on  such  matters
while the mechno-chair carried him to the  meeting  place,  through  cavernous
halls of finely cut stone that mimicked the early hives, and  past  row  after
row of protocol droids standing at attention on both sides.
     His ultimate destination was a dark, dank grotto, the antithesis  of  the
gleaming bridges of Trade  Federation  freighters.  On  display  were  several
examples of exotic flora  left  to  fend  for  themselves  in  capturing  what
moisture they could from the stuffy air. The arching walls  were  graced  with
the twin emblems of piety and power: the Spherical Flame and  the  garhai--the
armored  fish  that  symbolized  obedience  and  dedication   to   enlightened
leadership.
     Gunray's key advisers were waiting: Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar and legal
counsel Rune Haako. Each affected a black headpiece appropriate to his status.
     Monchar's was a triple - crested crown, similar to but smaller  than  the
one Gunray wore; Haako's was an elaborate cowl, with two horns in front, and a
tall, rounded back.
     The two advisers made deferential gestures to Gunray as the  mechno-chair
eased him onto his feet.
     "Welcome, Viceroy," Haako said, approaching him stooped and limping,  his
left arm crooked by his side. "We hope you have not  come  in  vain."  Hollow-
cheeked and somewhat spidery, he had a deeply lined face, bags under his eyes,
and puckered flesh on his chin and thin neck.
     Gunray made a harsh gesture of dismissal.
     "He said he would come. That  is  enough  for  me."  "For  you,"  Monchar
muttered.
     Gunray glared at his deputy. "Events transpired just as he promised  they
would. Cohl's mercenaries attacked, and the Revenue was destroyed." "And  this
is a reason to rejoice?" Haako asked, his prominent voice box  bobbing.  "This
plan of yours has cost the Trade Federation a class-I freighter  and  billions
in aurodium." Gunray's nictitating  membranes  betrayed  his  seeming  self  -
possession. He blinked repeatedly, then quickly regained his composure.
     "One ship and a treasure box. If our benefactor really is who  he  claims
to be, such losses are meaningless." Haako raised a palsied hand. "And  if  he
is, he is a thing to fear, not to delight. And how can we be certain,  in  any
case? What proof does he offer, Viceroy? He contacts you  out  of  the  ether,
only by hologram. He can claim to be anyone." Gunray worked his  jutting  jaw.
"Who would be brain-dead enough to make such a claim  without  being  able  to
support it?" He brought forth a portable holoprojector and set it  down  on  a
table.
     When the Dark Lord of the Sith had first contacted him,  months  earlier,
he seemed to know everything about Nute Gun - ray and  his  rise  to  personal
power. How Gunray had testified to the Trade  Federation  Directorate  against
Pulsar  Supertanker--at  the  time  a   participatory   company   within   the
conglomerate--accusing  Pulsar  of  "malicious  disregard  for   profit"   and
"charitable donations lacking discernible reward." Indeed, it appeared to have
been that testimony  and  similar  declarations  of  avidity  that  had  first
attracted the notice of Darth Sidious.
     Even so, Gunray had remained as skeptical then as his advisers were  now,
despite demonstrations by Darth Sidious  of  his  wide-ranging  influence  and
sway. Secretly, Sidious had arranged for several key resource worlds  to  join
the Trade Federation as signatory members, abdicating their representation  in
the Galactic Senate in exchange for lucrative trade opportunities, and,  where
possible, protection from smuggling concerns and pirates.  And  at  each  turn
Sidious had made the procurements appear the doing of Gunray, thus helping  to
consolidate Gunray's increasing authority and assuring his appointment to  the
directorate.
     As to whether Sidious's influence truly owed to Sith powers, Gunray could
not say, nor did he care to know, based on what little he knew of the Sith--an
ancient, perhaps legendary order of black mages, absent from  the  galaxy  for
the past thousand years.
     Some referred to the Sith as the dark side of the  Jedi;  others  claimed
that it was the Jedi who had ended the reign of the Sith, in a  war  that  had
pitted dark and light against each other. Still others said the  Sith,  greedy
for power, killed one another. But Gunray knew nothing of the truth  of  these
things, and he hoped to keep it that way.
     He stared pointedly at the holoprojector; the appointed moment was  close
at hand.
     Gunray hadn't finished the thought when  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a
cloaked apparition rose from the device, the cowl of his dark  garment  pulled
down over his eyes, revealing a deeply furrowed chin and a jowly,  aged  face.
An elaborate broach closed the cloak at the neck.
     When the figure spoke, his voice was a prolonged rasp.
     "I see, Viceroy, that you have assembled your underlings,  as  I  asked,"
Darth Sidious began.
     Gunray knew that the word underlines wasn't going  to  find  favor  among
Monchar and Haako. Though there was little he could do about that, he  thought
it best at least to attempt to rectify matters.
     "My advisors, Lord Sidious." Sidious's face betrayed nothing. "Of course-
-your advisors." He paused for  a  moment,  as  if  probing  the  incalculable
distance that separated them. "I perceive an atmosphere of misgiving, Viceroy.
     Has the aftermath of our plan failed to please you?"  "No,  not  at  all,
Lord Sidious," Gunray stammered. "It's only that the loss of the freighter and
the aurodium ingots is a matter of concern to some." He glanced  with  purpose
at his two counselors.
     "The others lack your grasp of the larger purpose, Viceroy," Sidious said
with a note of disdain.
     "Perhaps we need to reacquaint them with our intent to stir sympathy  for
the Trade Federation in the senate.
     That is why we informed the Nebula Front militants  of  the  shipment  of
aurodium. The loss of the ingots will further our cause. Soon  you  will  have
the politicians and bureaucrats eating out of your hands, and then  the  Trade
Federation will at last have the droid army  it  needs.  Baktoid,  Haor  Chall
Engineering, and the Colicoids are waiting to fill your orders." Gunray  began
to fidget. "Army, Lord Sidious?" "The riches of the Outer Rim await those with
the courage to grab them." Gunray gulped. "But, Lord Sidious, perhaps the time
isn't right to take such actions--was "Not right? It is your destiny.
     With a droid army to support you, who  would  dare  question  Neimoidia's
authority to rule the space lanes?" "We would welcome the  ability  to  defend
ourselves against pirates and agitators," Rune Haako risked  saying.  "But  we
don't wish to break the terms of our trade treaty with the Republic. Not  when
the price of a droid army is taxation of the free  trade  zones."  "So  you've
heard about Chancellor Valorum's intentions," Sidious said.
     "Only that he is likely to give his full weight to the proposal,"  Gunray
said.
     Sidious nodded. "Rest assured, Viceroy, Supreme Chancellor Valorum is our
strongest ally in the senate." "Lord Sidious has some influence in the senate?
" Haako asked carefully.
     But Sidious was too clever to take the bait.
     "You will come to learn that there are many that do my bidding," he said.
"They understand, as you will understand, that they serve themselves  best  by
serving me." Haako and Monchar traded quick looks.
     "The ruling members of the Trade Federation Directorate are not likely to
sanction spending hard-earned profits on droids," Monchar  said.  "As  it  is,
they consider us Neimoidians to be unnecessarily suspicious." "I am well aware
of the opinions of your partners," Sidious rasped. "Be  advised  that  foolish
friends are no better than enemies."  "Nevertheless,  they  will  oppose  this
arrangement." "Then we will just have to find some way to convince them."  "He
doesn't mean to sound unappreciative, Lord Sidious," Gunray apologized.  "It's
simply that... It's simply that we don't really know who you are, and what you
are capable of providing. You could be a powerful Jedi, hoping to entrap  us."
"A. Jedi" Sidious said. "Now you do mock me. But you will  see  that  I  am  a
forgiving master. As to your concerns about my identity--my heritage,  let  us
say--my actions will speak for me." The Neimoidians exchanged perplexed looks.
     "What about the Jedi?" Haako asked. "They won't simply  stand  by."  "The
Jedi will do only what the senate bids them to do,"  Sidious  said.  "You  are
woefully mistaken if you believe they would jeopardize their lofty real estate
on Coruscant to challenge  the  Trade  Federation  without  Senate  approval."
Gunray glanced  meaningfully  at  his  advisors  before  replying.  "We  place
ourselves in your hands, Lord Sidious." Sidious almost smiled. "I thought  you
might see things my way, Viceroy. I know that you will  not  fail  me  in  the
future." The apparition vanished as abruptly as it arrived, leaving the  three
Neimoidians to ponder the nature of the shadowy alliance they had just entered
into.
     Sunlight was a stranger to Coruscant. The sun set as ever, but so ambient
was the light from the cityscape's forest of sky - scraping towers  that  true
darkness was a thing that prowled only the deepest canyons,  or  was  summoned
with purpose by those residents who could afford blackout transparisteel. From
space, the planet's dark side sparkled like a finely wrought  ornament  strung
with bioluminescent life-forms, such as might  be  displayed  in  an  heirloom
cabinet or a museum devoted to folk art.
     The stars never appeared in the sky, except to those who resided  in  the
tallest buildings. But  stars  of  a  different  sort  turned  up  nightly  at
Coruscant's  celebrated  entertainment  complexes-  -   singers,   performers,
artists, and politicians. As a rule more faddish than  the  rest,  the  latter
group had taken lately to attending the opera, following the lead  of  Supreme
Chancellor Valorum, whose renowned family had been patrons of the arts for  as
long as anyone could remember.
     In a galaxy boasting millions of species and a  thousand  times  as  many
worlds, cultural arts were never in  short  supply.  At  any  given  moment  a
performance was debating somewhere on Coruscant. But few companies or  troupes
of any sort had the privilege of performing at the Coruscant Opera.
     The building was a marvel  of  pre-Republic  baroque,  all  frosting  and
embellishment, with  an  old-fashioned  orchestra  pit,  tiered  seating,  and
private balconies in the time-honored design.
     As a nod to Coruscant's citizens, there was even a warren of  lower-level
galleries where common folks could view the performance via real-time hologram
and pretend to be hobnobbing with celebrities seated overhead.
     The opera of the  moment  was  The  Brief  Reign  of  Future  Wraiths,  a
production that had originated on Corellia,  but  was  being  performed  by  a
company of Bith, who had been touring the opera world to world  for  the  past
twenty standard years.
     A bipedal species  with  large  rounded  craniums,  lidless  black  eyes,
receding noses, and baggy epidermal folds beneath their jaws, Bith were native
to the outlying world of Clak'dor VII, and were known to  perceive  sounds  as
humans perceived colors.
     Considering that it was Finis  Valorum's  parents  who  had  underwritten
Brief Reign to begin with, it was only fitting that the supreme chancellor  be
on hand for the opera's long-awaited return to Coruscant. The mere  fact  that
he would be attending had driven up the price of  tickets  and  made  them  as
difficult to procure as Adegan crystals. As a result, the  building  was  more
packed with luminaries than it had been in a long while.
     As was customary, Valorum delayed his arrival, so as to  ensure  that  he
would be last to be seated.
     Restless for a glance at him, the audience came to its feet in  prolonged
applause as he stepped onto the elaborate balcony that had been  reserved  for
Valorum family members for well over five hundred years.
     Eschewing his usual surround of blue-caped and  helmeted  Senate  Guards,
Valorum was  accompanied  only  by  his  administrative  aide,  Sei  Taria--in
matching burgundy septsilk--a petite young woman half his  age,  with  oblique
eyes and skin the color of burrmillet grain.
     In true Coruscant manner, rumors began circulating  even  before  Valorum
took his seat. But the Supreme Chancellor was inured to innuendo,  not  merely
as an effect of his aristocratic upbringing, but also because of the fact that
nearly every sectorial senator--marital status  notwithstanding--had  made  it
their practice to appear in public with attractive young consorts.
     Valorum waved graciously and inclined  his  head  in  a  show  of  benign
sufferance. Then, before sitting down, he directed a second bow to  a  private
balcony directly across the amphitheater.
     The dozen or so prosperous-looking patrons in the balcony Valorum singled
out returned the bow, and remained standing until Sei Taria was also  seated--
no small feat for the owner of the box, Senator Orn Free Taa, who had grown so
corpulent during his tenure on Coruscant that his bulk  filled  the  space  of
what had once been three separate seats.
     Cerulean, with pouty red lips and eyelids, Taa had a huge oval face and a
double chin the size of a bantha's feed  bag.  He  was  a  Twi'lek  of  Rutian
descent; his lekku head-tails, engorged with fat, hung like  sated  snakes  to
his massive chest. His gaudy robe was the  size  of  a  tent.  Prominently  on
display was his Lethan Twi'lek consort, nubile and  high-cheekboned,  her  red
body draped in bolts of pure shimmersilk.
     A member of the Appropriations Committee, Taa was  a  vocal  opponent  of
Valorum, since his spice-producing homeworld of Ryloth had,  time  and  again,
been denied favored-world status.
     Taa's guests in the box included Senators Toonbuck Toora, Passcl Argente,
Edcel Bar Gane, and Palpatine, along with two of Palpatine's  personal  aides,
Kinman Doriana and Sate Pestage.
     "Do you know why Valorum loves to attend the opera?" Taa asked in  Basic,
out of the corner of his huge mouth. "Because it's the only place on Coruscant
where an entire audience will applaud him." "And he does little more here than
he does in the senate," Toora said. "He  merely  observes  the  protocols  and
feigns interest." Fabulously wealthy, she was a hairy biped with a wide mouth,
a triple-bearded chin, and beady eyes and a pug nose squeezed  onto  the  bony
ridge that capped her squat head.
     "Valorum is toothless," Passel Argente chimed in. A sallow - complexioned
humanoid affiliated with the Corporate Alliance, he wore a  black  turban  and
bib that revealed only his face and the swirling horn that  emerged  from  the
crown of his head. "At a time when we need vigor,  direction,  unity,  Valorum
insists on taking the tried-and-true route. The route guaranteed not to  upset
the status quo." "Much to our enjoyment," Toora murmured.
     "But a confidential bow," Taa said, as he was maneuvering into the  chair
that had been specially made to conform  to  his  girth.  "To  what  could  we
possibly owe the honor?" Toora gestured in dismissal. "This nonsense about the
Trade Federation's requests. Valorum needs all the support he  can  muster  if
he's to succeed in convincing us to enact taxation of the free  trade  zones."
"Then it is even more curious that he should acknowledge us," Taa remarked. He
motioned broadly to other balconies. "There, all but  in  Valorum's  lap,  sit
Senators Antilles, Horox Ryyder, Tendau  Bendon...  Any  of  them,  more  than
worthy of a bow." Taa raised his fat hand in a wave when the group in the  box
realized that they were being observed.
     "Then the gesture must have been solely  for  Senator  Palpatine,"  Toora
remarked meaningfully. "From what I hear, our  delegate  from  Naboo  has  the
Supreme Chancellor's ear." Taa turned to Palpatine.  "Is  that  so,  Senator?"
Palpatine smiled lightly. "Not in the manner you imagine, I  can  assure  you.
The Supreme Chancellor met with me to solicit my opinion as  to  how  taxation
might be received by the outlying systems.
     We spoke of little else. In any event, Valorum scarcely needs my  support
to see the proposal through. He is not as ineffectual as many seem to  think."
"Nonsense," Taa said. "It will come down to partisanship- - a contest  between
the factions of Bail Antilles, and those who allow Ainlee Teem  to  speak  for
them. As ever, the Core worlds will stand with  Valorum;  the  near  colonies,
against." "He's going to polarize the senate further," Edcel Bar  Gane  opined
in a sibilant voice.
     Representing the world of Roona, Bar Gane had a  bulbous  head  and  eyes
that narrowed and slanted upward at their outer corners.
     Toora absorbed the remark without comment. Once more, she eyed Palpatine.
"I'm curious, Senator.
     Just what did you tell Valorum, with regard to the impact of taxation  on
the outer systems?" "Activate the balcony's noise cancellation feature, and  I
might be inclined to tell you," Palpatine said.
     "Oh, do it, Taa," Toora enthused. "I so love  intrigue."  Taa  flipped  a
switch on the balcony railing, activating a containment field that effectively
sealed the box from audio surveillance. But Palpatine didn't speak until  Sate
Pestage--a trim human with  pointed  features  and  thinning  black  hair--had
double-checked that the field was indeed functioning.
     Pestage's actions impressed Argente. "Is everyone on Naboo as careful  as
you are, Senator?" Palpatine shrugged. "Consider it a personal flaw."  Argente
nodded soberly. "I'll remember that."  "So  tell  us,"  Toora  said,  "is  the
Supreme Chancellor embarking on a dangerous course  by  taking  on  the  Trade
Federation?" "The danger is that he sees only  half  the  picture,"  Palpatine
began. "Though he would be the first to deny  it,  Valorum  is  essentially  a
bureaucrat at heart, just as his ancestors were.
     He favors rules and procedure over direct action. He lacks judgment.  The
Valorum dynasty was largely responsible for granting the Trade Federation free
rein decades ago. How do you think they accumulated their vast holdings?
     Certainly not by favoring the outer systems. But by making gainful  deals
with the InterGalactic Bank Clan and  corporations  like  TaggeCo.  That  this
latest crisis should revolve around the Nebula  Front  is  especially  ironic,
since Valorum's father had an opportunity  to  eradicate  the  group,  and  he
failed, chastising them  rather  than  disbanding  them."  "You  surprise  me,
Senator," Toora said.
     "In a good way, I think. Do go on." Palpatine crossed his  legs  and  sat
tall in his chair. "The Supreme Chancellor fails to grasp that the  future  of
the Republic very much depends on what occurs in the Mid and  Outer  Rims.  As
corrupt as Coruscant  has  become,  the  real  corrosion--the  sort  that  can
eventually eat away at the center--always begins on the edges.  It  progresses
from the outside in.
     "Unless Valorum does something to stay the tide,  Coruscant  itself  will
someday be a slave to those systems, unable to enact any  legislation  without
their consent. Unless we placate them now, we'll be forced to bring them under
central authority at some later date. They are the key to the survival of  the
Republic." Taa huffed. "Unless I misread you, you're  saying  that  the  Trade
Federation is our link with those systems - comCoruscant's ambassador, if  you
will--and that therefore we can't afford to alienate the Neimoidians  and  the
rest." "You are misreading me," Palpatine said firmly.
     "The Trade Federation needs to  be  brought  under  control.  Valorum  is
correct to push for taxation, because the Trade  Federation  already  has  too
much influence in the outlying sectors. Desperate to conduct  trade  with  the
Core, hundreds of outer  systems  have  joined  the  Federation  as  signatory
members, yielding their rights to individual representation in the senate.
     At the moment, the Neimoidians and their partners lack  enough  votes  to
block taxation. But in a year, in two years, they could have adequate  backing
to overrule the senate at every opportunity." "Then you'll stand with Valorum,
" Toora said.
     "You'll support taxation." "Not yet," Palpatine said carefully. "He views
taxation as a means of punishing the Trade Federation and, at the  same  time,
of enriching Coruscant--an approach that will  alienate  not  only  the  Trade
Federation members, but also the  outlying  systems.  Before  I  cast  Naboo's
support with one side or the other, I want to see how the votes stack up. Just
now, those who hold the middle ground stand to reap the most.  Those  who  see
all sides clearly will be in the best position to guide the  Republic  through
this critical transition.  If  Valorum  has  sufficient  support  without  the
backing of my sector, so much the better. But I won't flinch in my  obligation
to do what is ultimately best for the general good."  "Spoken  like  a  future
party whip," Taa said, with a guffaw.
     "Indeed," Argente said, in all seriousness.
     Toora appraised Palpatine openly. "A few more questions, if you  wouldn't
mind." Palpatine gestured toward the stage. "While  I'd  be  glad  to  discuss
these matters at greater length, the performance is about to begin." Outfitted
in lackluster tunics and soft boots, the Jedi students stood in  two  opposing
lines, two dozen lightsabers ignited in brilliant cast,  raised  in  twice  as
many hands.
     At a word from the lightsaber Master, the twelve students comprising  one
line took three backward steps in  unison  and  set  themselves  in  defensive
postures--feet planted wide and  lightsabers  held  straight  out  from  their
midsections.
     Custom-built  by  each  student,  to  suit  hands  of  varying  size  and
dexterousness, no two of the lightsabers were alike,  though  they  did  share
some features in common: charging ports, blade projection  plates,  actuators,
diatium power cells, and the rare and remarkable  Adegan  crystals  that  gave
birth to the blade itself. There were few known materials in the galaxy that a
lightsaber could not cut. Fully powered, and in the right hands, a  lightsaber
could cleave duracrete or burn its way slowly though  a  starship's  durasteel
blast doors.
     At the next word from the Master,  the  second  line  set  themselves  in
attack stances, giving their shoulders a quarter turn, lowering  their  center
of gravity by bending slightly at the knees, and raising their lightsabers  in
two-fisted grips, as if to swat a pitched ball.
     At the instructor's final word, the second line advanced in earnest.  The
students in  the  first  line  set  their  lightsabers  to  defend  and,  with
choreographed  precision,  retreated  purposefully  as  they   allowed   their
opponents to hammer repeatedly at their elevated blades.
     When  the  defenders  had  been  driven  halfway  across  the  room,  the
lightsaber Master called the exercise to a halt and  had  the  groups  reverse
positions.
     Now it was those who had defended  who  attacked,  the  blades  of  light
thrumming and grating riotously against one another,  auras  merging,  filling
the air of the training room with blinding flashes of illumination.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan watched from  an  observation  gallery  set  slightly
above the room's padded floor, deep within  the  pyramid  that  was  the  Jedi
Temple's towering base. The exercise had been going on all morning, but only a
few of the students showed signs of fatigue.
     "I can remember this like yesterday," Obi-Wan said.
     Qui-Gon quirked a smile. "It's a good deal of yesterdays for me, Padawan.
" Though separated by more than a score of years, they had both  passed  their
youths in the Temple, as  was  the  case  with  all  Jedi,  whether  students,
Padawans, Jedi Knights, or Masters. The Force revealed itself in infancy,  and
most potential Jedi were residents of the Temple by the  age  of  six  months,
either discovered on Coruscant or distant  worlds  by  full-fledged  Jedi,  or
delivered to the Temple by family  members.  Tests  were  frequently  used  to
establish the relative vitality of the Force residing in candidates, but those
tests didn't necessarily forecast where a candidate might end up;  whether  he
or she, human or alien, might take up the lightsaber in defense of  peace  and
justice, or pass a lifetime of service in the Agricultural Corps,  helping  to
feed the galaxy's poor or deprived.
     "As often as I trained, I always worried that I lacked the temperament to
become a Padawan, let alone a Jedi Knight," Obi-Wan added.  "I  fought  harder
than anyone to mask my self-doubt." Qui-Gon glanced at him askance,  his  arms
folded. "If you had fought a  bit  harder,  Padawan,  you  surely  would  have
remained in the Agricultural Corps. It was when you  stopped  trying  so  hard
that you found your path." "I couldn't keep my mind in the moment."  "And  you
still  can't."  Twelve  years  earlier,  Obi-Wan  had  been  assigned  to  the
Agricultural Corps on the planet Bandomeer, and  it  was  there  that  he  had
formed a connection with Qui-Gon, whose previous Padawan  had  fallen  to  the
dark side of the Force and left the Jedi Order. But despite the  bond  he  and
Qui-Gon had formed, there were times when he wondered if he had the makings of
a Jedi Knight.
     "How do I know that the  Agricultural  Corps  wasn't  my  intended  path,
Master? Perhaps our meeting on Bandomeer was a fork in the  path  I  shouldn't
have taken." Qui-Gon finally turned to him. "There are  many  paths  to  take,
Obi-Wan. Not all of us are fortunate enough to find the one  with  heart,  the
path the Force has set before us. What  do  you  find  when  you  search  your
feelings about the choices you have made?" "I feel that I've found  the  right
path, Master." "I agree." Qui-Gon  clapped  Obi-Wan  on  the  shoulders,  then
smiled as he turned to regard the students. "Even so, I think you  would  have
made a good field hand." The students were kneeling in two rows,  legs  tucked
underneath, with feet crossed behind them. The room was still,  save  for  the
sound of the lightsaber Master's bare feet adhering to the  floor  mat  as  he
sauntered between the two rows, appraising each of his students.
     A Twi'lek, with slender head-tails and a heavily muscled upper body,  his
name was Anoon Bondara, a duelist of unparalleled skill. Qui-Gon  engaged  him
in matches at every opportunity. For a  match  with  Bondara,  no  matter  how
brief, was more instructive than twenty contests against lesser opponents.
     The lightsaber Master stopped in front of a female  human  student  named
Darsha Assant, who happened also to be his Padawan. Bondara squatted  down  on
his haunches to regard her at eye level.
     "What were you thinking when you attacked?" "What was I thinking, Master?
" "What was in your thoughts? What was your intent?" "Merely to be as forceful
as possible, Master." "You wanted to win." "Not to win, Master.  I  wanted  to
strike impeccably." Bondara made a face. "Rid yourself of thinking.
     Don't expect to win; don't expect to lose.
     Expect nothing." Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon. "Now where have I heard that
before?" Qui-Gon shushed him, without taking his eyes from Bondara, who was in
motion once more.
     "The lightsaber is not a weapon with which to vanquish foes  or  rivals,"
Bondara said. "With it, you destroy your own  greed,  anger,  and  folly.  The
forger and wielder of a lightsaber must live in such a manner as to  represent
the annihilation of anything that impedes the path of justice and  peace."  He
stopped and glanced at everyone. "Do  you  understand?"  "Yes,  Master,"  They
replied in one voice.
     Bondara clapped his hands together loudly. "No, you don't.
     You must learn to hold the lightsaber by loosening your grip on  it.  You
must learn to advance rhythmically so that you will learn to produce  formless
rhythms. Do you understand?" "Yes, Master," they replied.
     "No, you don't." He scowled and sat down at the end of the rows. "I  will
tell you a story.
     "A  human,  wrongly  accused  of  a  crime,  was  being  transported   by
repulsorlift vehicle across the desert wastes of a remote world, to a  prison,
located even deeper in the wastes. Without warning, the vehicle experienced  a
malfunction directly over a pit that was, in fact, the huge and ravenous mouth
of a creature that inhabited the wastes.
     "The sudden malfunction catapulted the  human's  escorts  down  into  the
mucus-coated maw of the creature. The human was also thrown  from  his  perch.
But at the last instant he was able to grab on to the vehicle's landing strut.
Not with hands, however- - for they were shackled in stun cuffs  behind  him--
but with his teeth.
     "Shortly a caravan of travelers happened by.
     Lost and hungry, the travelers inquired to know the  whereabouts  of  the
closest settlement, so they might replenish their meager stores.
     "The human found himself  in  a  quandary.  By  failing  to  respond,  he
understood that he might be sentencing the lost travelers to certain death  in
the sand wastes. But merely by opening his mouth and uttering a word, he would
be sentencing himself to certain death in the  digestive  tract  of  the  sand
creature." Bondara paused. "Under such circumstances, what must the human do?"
The students knew in advance that they were not likely to hear the answer from
Anoon Bondara.
     Getting to his feet, the lightsaber  Master  added,  "I  will  hear  your
responses tomorrow." The students bowed at the waist and kept their  foreheads
to the mat until Bondara had left the room. Then they rose, eager  to  compare
opinions of the training session, though not a one spoke of possible solutions
to the instructor's thought-puzzle.
     Qui-Gon tapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder.
     "Come, Padawan, there's someone I wish to speak  with."  Obi-Wan  trailed
him down the steps and onto the soft floor. There, several Jedi  Masters  were
conferring with their Padawans. Obi-Wan knew some of the Masters slightly, but
the person Qui-Gon steered them toward was not someone he had ever met.
     She was perhaps one of the most exotic women Obi-Wan had ever  seen.  Her
eyes were oblique and widely spaced, with large blue  irises  that  seemed  to
favor her upper lids. Her nose was broad and flat, and her skin was the  color
of fruitwood.
     "Obi-Wan, I want you to meet Master Luminara Unduli." "Master Jinn,"  the
woman said, taken by surprise, and inclining her head in a bow of respect.
     Qui-Gon returned the gesture.  "Luminara,  this  is  Obi-Wan  Kenobi,  my
Padawan." She bowed her head to Obi-Wan, as well. Her face was  triangular  in
shape, and the lower portion was tattooed in small diamond shapes that  formed
a vertical stripe from her lush, blue - black lower lip  to  the  tip  of  her
round chin. The backs of her hands also bore tattoos, atop each knuckle joint.
     Qui-Gon's expression became serious.
     "Luminara, Obi-Wan and I have had a recent  encounter  with  someone  who
bears markings similar to yours." "Arwen Cohl," Luminara said  before  Qui-Gon
could go on. She smiled faintly. "Had I grown up on my homeworld  and  not  in
the Temple, I'm certain I would have heard tales of Arwen Cohl  throughout  my
youth." She met Qui-Gon?ness curious gaze. "He was a freedom fighter,  a  hero
to our people during a war fought with a neighboring world.  He  was  a  great
warrior, and he made many sacrifices. But soon  after  our  people  won  their
freedom, he was accused of being a conspirator by the  very  people  on  whose
side he had fought.
     That was their way of assuring that Cohl would not  be  elevated  to  the
position of authority our people wished him to assume. He spent many years  in
prison, subjected to cruel punishments and harsh conditions, and those further
hardened a man who already had been hardened by war.
     "When he left those conditions--whichenough he escaped that awful  place,
with the help of some of his former confederates--he avenged himself on  those
who did him wrong, and he swore that he would have nothing more to do with the
world that he had fought so hard to liberate.
     "He became a mercenary, boasting openly that  he  would  never  make  the
mistakes he had once made. That he now understood the nature  of  the  cosmos,
and would always be one step ahead of those who would seek to bring him  down,
capture him, or in any way thwart him." Qui-Gon inhaled through his nose. "Did
he bear any special grudge against the Trade Federation?" Luminara  shook  her
head. "No more than anyone else  in  my  home  system.  The  Trade  Federation
brought us into the Republic, though they did so at the expense of my  world's
resources.
     "In the beginning, Arwen Cohl would hire himself out only to those  whose
cause he felt was justified. But over time--noto doubt because of the blood he
shed--he became nothing more than a pirate and a contract killer. He was  said
never to have betrayed a friend or an ally." She paused  for  a  moment,  then
added, "It is regrettable that history will remember the criminal Cohl  rather
than the exemplary Cohl. I was sad to hear that he had perished at  Dorvalla."
When Qui-Gon didn't respond, Luminara asked, "Did he  not?"  Qui-Gon  appeared
preoccupied. "For now, I'll grant that  he  vanished  at  Dorvalla."  Luminara
nodded uncertainly. "Whether Cohl is dead or alive, the matter is in the hands
of the Judicial Department, is it  not?"  Again,  Qui-Gon  took  a  moment  to
respond.
     "All that is certain is that Cohl's destiny is in hands other than mine."
c arbon scored and blistered by the explosion that had sundered the freighter,
an arc of the Revenue's starboard hangar arm hung over  Dorvalla's  wan  polar
cap. Just outside the reach  of  the  planet's  shadow,  the  great  curve  of
durasteel appeared to have been there forever. Perpetual  sunlight  poured  in
through the main hangar portal--where  the  arm's  hand  might  have  been-  -
illuminating a shambles of cargo pods and barges.
     Affixed like a barnacle to the inner hull, however, sat a  lone  battered
shuttle. Inside the shuttle, and even the worse for  wear,  sat  her  crew  of
eight.
     "I'm still waiting for that pardon you promised," Cohl said to Rella.
     She shot him a look. "If and when you get us  out  of  this,  and  not  a
moment before." They were each in their chairs, as were the  others,  some  of
them asleep, heads pillowed on folded arms or hung backwards with mouths ajar.
Lighting was faint, the air was frigid, and the scrubbed and rescrubbed oxygen
had a distinctly metallic taste.
     The much-abused refresher was rank.
     They had been inside the arm for almost four standard days, subsisting on
food pellets and relieving the boredom by putting on EVA suits  and  venturing
out into the hangar. Where the shuttle had artificial gravity, moving about in
the arm was like exploring a deep - sea wreck. Many  of  the  cargo  pods  had
massed along the outer wall of the arm, but clouds of lommite and  tangles  of
droids drifted about like flotsam and jetsam. Boiny had  even  discovered  the
body of one of the Twi'leks who hadn't made it back to the  rendezvous  point,
burned almost beyond recognition by blaster fire.
     They hadn't planned on remaining in the hangar arm after  the  explosion.
But once it had been determined that the arm  was  just  outside  the  tug  of
Dorvalla's gravity, Cohl had decided that the hangar would be the  best  place
to bide their time. The Hawk - Bat and the  Nebula  Front  support  ships  had
fled, and even the Acquisitor had disappeared--a fact that Cohl found curious,
since it was unlike the Neimoidians  to  leave  cargo  behind,  jettisoned  or
otherwise.
     Another option would have been to race for Dorvalla's  surface,  to  what
had been their base before the boarding operation. But Cohl suspected that the
base had been discovered and would probably be under surveillance.
     When Rella and some of the others had suggested striking out instead  for
nearby Dorvalla IV, it was Cohl who reminded  them  that  salvage  and  relief
ships would be on their way to Dorvalla, and a lone shuttle, crawling  through
space, would certainly attract unwanted attention.
     In fact, salvage crews had arrived within local hours of  the  explosion.
Since then, Dorvalla Mining had been employing their ferries to gather up what
cargo pods they could, though  much  of  the  lommite  had  plunged  into  the
atmosphere, as if bent on returning home. The detached  centersphere  and  the
other hangar arm had been hauled off, in advance of Dorvalla's  bringing  them
down. Soon the salvagers would turn their efforts to the starboard arm.
     For Cohl, the long days were no more than tedious; nothing like the years
of confinement he had endured  after  being  imprisoned  on  false  conspiracy
charges by people he had fought beside and had counted as friends. Because the
rest of the shuttle's crew trusted him implicitly,  they,  too,  suffered  the
monotony without complaint. Most of them were stoic by nature and no strangers
to privation, in any case. Anyone who wasn't wouldn't have been  selected  for
the operation.
     Only Rella was inclined to speak her  mind.  But  she  and  Cohl  had  an
understanding.
     "Anything on the comm?" Cohl asked Boiny.
     "Not a peep, Captain." Rella snorted. "Who  are  you  expecting  to  hear
from, Cohl? The Hawk-Batis long gone." Cohl looked past  her  to  the  Rodian.
"What's the status of the systems?" "Nominal." Rella growled impatiently. "You
know, I can last in here as long as any of you, but this litany is driving  me
space happy." She mimicked  Cohl's  voice,  "Systems  status,"  then  Boiny's,
"Nominal." She gave her head a shake. "Can't you at least come up  with  other
ways of saying it?" "Here's something that will cheer you  up,  Rella,"  Jalan
said irritably. "The arm's orbit is deteriorating." She forced her  eyes  wide
open. "If you mean we're actually in danger of falling from  the  sky,  you're
right: I'm thrilled!" Jalan looked at Cohl. "No imminent danger, Captain.  But
we should probably begin to think about leaving." Cohl nodded. "You're  right.
It's time we bid good-bye to this place. Served us well, though." Rella raised
her eyes to the low ceiling. "Thank the stars." "Where are we off to, Captain?
" Boiny asked.
     "Downside." "Captain, I hope you're not thinking  of  riding  this  thing
down to Dorvalla," Jalan said. "The salvage crews  will--was  Cohl  shook  his
head negatively. "We're returning to base  under  our  own  power."  The  crew
members traded uneasy looks.
     "Begging your pardon, Captain," Jalan said, "but didn't you say the  base
was probably being watched?" "I'm sure it is being watched." Rella  stared  at
him for a moment. "Are you scrambled, Cohl?  We've  been  monitoring  Judicial
Department ships for the past four days, not to mention Dorvalla  Space  Corps
corvettes.
     If you wanted to be caught, why did you  make  us  sit  through--was  She
gestured broadly. his-comth?" The others muttered in agreement.
     "Even if we make it to the base in  one  piece,"  Rella  went  on,  "what
happens then?
     Without a spaceworthy ship, we'll  be  stranded."  "Maybe  Dorvalla  IV'S
worth a shot, after all, Captain," Jalan interjected. "If we  manage  to  make
it... I mean, with the Nebula Front likely thinking that we're dead,  and  all
that au - rodium right here with us..." Rella cast Cohl a sly glance. "Are you
listening?" Cohl firmed his lips. "And when the Nebula Front  learns  that  we
survived? You don't think they'll move planets to hunt us  down?"  "Might  not
matter, Captain," Boiny said guardedly. "That much aurodium could buy  all  of
us new lives in the Corporate Sector  or  somewhere."  Cohl's  gaze  darkened.
"That's not going to happen.
     We took this job on, and we'll see it through. Then we collect our  pay."
He swung angrily to Rella. "Begin your preflight. The rest of you, prepare for
launch." The small ship burned its  way  through  sunlit  Dorvalla's  nebulous
envelope, red nose aglow and losing pieces of itself to the thin air. The crew
cinched their harnesses tighter and focused silently on their separate  tasks,
even as items broke loose from the consoles and  began  to  carom  around  the
cramped cabin-space like deadly missiles.
     Rella aimed the trembling shuttle for a broad valley  in  the  equatorial
region, defined by two steep escarpments. There, where ancient seas  had  once
ruled and plate tectonics had wreaked havoc with the  terrain,  the  land  was
blanketed by thick forest, with trees and ferns primeval in scale.
     Massive, sheer-faced tors, crowned with  rampant  vegetation,  rose  like
islands from the forest floor.
     Blinding  white  in  the  sunlight,  the  tors  were  the  birthplace  of
waterfalls that plunged thousands of meters to turbulent turquoise pools.
     But for all the wildness, it wasn't a wilderness.
     Dorvalla Mining had carved wide roads to the bases of most of the  larger
cliffs, and two circular  landing  fields,  expansive  enough  to  accommodate
ferries, had been hollowed out  of  the  forest.  The  tors  were  gouged  and
honeycombed with mines, and a thick layer of lom - mite dust blanketed much of
the vegetation.
     Likewise the product  of  outsize  machines,  deep  craters  filled  with
polluted runoff water reflected the sun and sky like fogged mirrors.
     It was from here, with an assist from several  disenfranchised  employees
of Dorvalla Mining, that  Cohl  had  finalized  his  plans  for  boarding  the
Revenue.
     But not all of Dorvalla expressed a loathing for  the  Trade  Federation,
much less a tolerance for mercenaries; certainly not those who saw  the  Trade
Federation as Dorvalla's salvation, as the planet's  only  link  to  the  Core
Worlds.
     The shuttle was leveling out of its bone-rattling ride down the well when
a blunt-nosed ship tore past to port, intent on making its presence known.
     "Who was that?" Rella asked, reflexively ducking as the sonic boom of the
ship's passing overtook the shuttle.
     "Dorvalla Space Corps," Boiny reported,  his  black  orbs  fixed  on  the
authenticators. "Coming about for another pass." Cohl swiveled  his  chair  to
the viewport to watch the ship's lightning-fast approach. It was a  fixed-wing
picket ship, single - piloted but packing dual laser cannons.
     "Incoming transmission, Captain," Boiny said.
     "They're ordering  us  to  set  down."  "Did  they  ask  us  to  identify
ourselves?" "Negative. They just want us on the ground." Cohl  frowned.  "Then
they already know who we are." "That Judicial Department Lancet," Rella  said,
turning to Cohl. "Whoever  was  piloting  it  probably  registered  our  drive
signature." The picket ship screamed overhead, closer this time.
     "Another pass like that and they're going to  knock  us  to  the  ground,
Captain," Jalan warned.
     "Stay on course for the base," Cohl ordered.
     The picket barrel-rolled through a tight loop and came back at them  once
more, this time firing a burst from its forward  laser  cannons.  Red  hyphens
streaked across the shuttle's rounded nose.
     "They mean business, Captain!" Boiny said.
     Cohl swung to Rella. "Keep an eye out for a place to crash." She gaped at
him. "You mean land, don't you?" "As I said," Cohl  emphasized.  "Until  then,
all speed. Get us as close to the base as you can."  She  gritted  her  teeth.
"There had better be an aurodium ring at the end of this thrill  ride,  Cohl."
"The picket's firing." "Evasive," Cohl said.
     "No good, Captain. We can't outmaneuver it!" The picket's lasers stitched
a ragged line across the  shuttle's  tail,  flipping  it  through  a  complete
rotation. What had been a steady roar from the  engines  became  a  distressed
whine. Flames licked their way through the aft bulkhead, and the  cabin  began
to fill with thick, coiling smoke.
     "We're dirtbound!" Rella shouted.
     Cohl clamped his right hand on  her  shoulder.  "Hold  her  steady!  Fire
repulsors and brace for impact." Trailing black smoke as it swept past one  of
the tors, the shuttle clipped the top  of  the  forest  canopy,  pruning  huge
branches from the tallest trees. Rella managed to keep them horizontal  for  a
moment more, then they began to nosedive. The ship slammed into a massive tree
and slued to starboard, spinning like a disk  as  it  buzz-sawed  through  the
upper reaches of the canopy.
     Birds flew screeching from the crowns, as wood splintered to  all  sides.
Seat restraints snapped, and two of the crew were flung like  dolls  into  the
starboard bulkhead. Rolled over on its back, the shuttle rocketed  toward  the
forest floor.
     The viewports cracked, spiderwebbed, then blew into the cabin.
     Contact  with  the  ground  was  even  harsher  than  any  of  them   had
anticipated. The starboard stabilizer plowed into the leaf - littered soil  at
an acute angle, causing the ship to flip like a tossed coin. Seats tore  loose
from the deck, and instrumentation ripped away from the  bulkheads.  The  roll
seemed to go on forever, punctuated by the deafening clamor of collisions. The
hull caved in, and conduits burst, loosing noxious fluids and gases.
     All at once it was over.
     New sounds rilled the air: the pinging of  cooling  metal,  the  hiss  of
punctured pipes, the boisterous calls  of  frightened  birds,  the  tattoo  of
falling limbs, fruits, and whatever else, striking the hull. Coughs, whimpers,
moans...
     Gravity told Cohl that they were still upside down.
     He unclipped his harness and allowed himself to drop to  the  ceiling  of
the shuttle. Rella and Boiny were already there,  bruised  and  bleeding,  but
regaining consciousness even as Cohl went to them. He put an arm under Rella's
shoulders and took a quick look around.
     The rest of the crew were surely dead, or dying.
     Satisfied that Rella would be all right, Cohl sprang the portside hatch.
     Moisture-saturated heat rushed in on everyone,  but  blessed  oxygen,  as
well. Cohl bellied outside and immediately  consulted  his  comlink's  compass
display.
     Unaccustomed to standard gravity, he felt twice his weight. Every  motion
was laborious.
     "Did Jalan make it?" Rella asked weakly.
     The human answered for himself.  "Barely."  Cohl  squirmed  back  inside.
Jalan was hopelessly wedged beneath the console. He placed a hand  on  Jalan's
shoulder. "We can't take you with us," he said quietly.
     Jalan nodded. "Then let me take a few of them with  me,  Captain."  Rella
crawled over to Jalan. "You don't have to do this," she started to say.
     "I'm most-wanted in three systems," he cut her  off.  "If  they  find  me
alive, they're only going to make me wish I was dead anyway." Boiny looked  at
Cohl, who nodded.
     "Give him the destruct code. Rella, separate the ingots into  four  equal
allotments.
     Put two allotments in my pack, one in yours,  and  one  in  Boiny's."  He
glanced back at Boiny. "Weapons and aurodium only. No need for food or  water,
because if we don't make it to the base, Dorvalla Penal will be providing  all
of that for us. If that isn't inspiration enough for you, I don't know what to
tell you." Moments later the three of them exited the ship.
     Cohl shouldered his weighty pack, took a final compass reading,  and  set
off toward a nearby tor at a resolute clip. Rella and Boiny kept  up  as  best
they could, climbing steadily under thick canopy for the  first  quarter  hour
while the picket ship made pass after pass in search of some sign of them.
     From the high ground, at the base of the lommite cliff,  they  could  see
the picket ship hovering over the treetops.
     Rella grimaced. "He found the shuttle." "Unlucky for him," Cohl said.
     No sooner had the words left Cohl's mouth than an explosion  ripped  from
the forest floor, catching the picket ship  unawares.  The  pilot  managed  to
evade the roiling fireball, but the damage  had  already  been  done.  Engines
slagged, the fighter listed to port and dropped like a stone.
     A second picket ship roared overhead, just as the first was exploding.  A
third followed, angling directly for the base of the tor where  Cohl  and  the
others were concealed.
     The picket poured fire at the tor, blowing boulder-size chunks of lommite
from the cliff face. Cohl watched the ship complete its turn and set itself on
course for a second run. As it approached,  a  deeper,  more  dangerous  sound
rolled through the humid air. Without warning, crimson energy lanced from  the
underbelly of the clouds, clipping the picket's wings in midnight.
     Unable to maneuver, the fighter flew nose first into the cliff  face  and
came apart.
     "That's another one we won't have to worry about," Cohl said, loud enough
to be heard over the roar in the sky.
     Rella raised her head in time to see a large ship tear overhead.
     "The Hawk-Bat!" She glanced at Cohl in surprise. "You knew.
     You knew she would be down here." He shook  his  head.  "The  contingency
plan called for her to be here. But  I  didn't  know  for  sure."  She  almost
smiled. "You may get that pardon yet." "Save it for when we're safely aboard."
The three of them scampered to their feet and began a  hurried  descent  of  a
scree field skirting the cliff face. Not far away, her  weapons  blazing,  the
Hawk-Bat was setting down at the center of a Muddy and befouled catch basin.
     T Thousands of sentient species had a home on Coruscant, though it  might
be only a kilometer-high block of nondescript building.
     And nearly all those species had a voice there, though it might  be  only
that of a representative long corrupted by  the  diverse  pleasures  Coruscant
offered.
     Those manifold voices  had  their  say  in  the  Galactic  Senate,  which
sprouted like a squat mushroom from the heart of Corus -  cant's  governmental
district. Surrounded by lesser domes and buttressed  buildings  whose  summits
disappeared into the  busy  sky,  the  senate  was  fronted  by  an  expansive
pedestrian plaza. The plaza itself lorded over a sprawl of spired  skyscrapers
and was studded with impressionistic statues thirty meters high, dedicated  to
the Core World founders. Angular and humaniform in design, the long-limbed and
genderless  sculptures  stood  on  tall  duracrete  bases  and  held   slender
ceremonial staffs.
     The iconic motif was continued inside  the  senate,  where  many  of  the
public corridors that  encircled  the  rotunda  featured  statues  of  similar
spindly design.
     Proceeding briskly along one of those corridors,  Senator  Pal  -  patine
marveled at the fact that  the  senate  had  yet  to  commission  and  display
sculptures of nonhumanoid configuration. Where some delegates were willing  to
dismiss the lack of nonhuman representation  as  a  simple  oversight,  others
viewed it as an outright slight. To still others, the decor was  a  matter  of
small concern, either way. But with nonhumanoid species dominant  in  the  Mid
and Outer Rims, and their delegations fast  overwhelming  the  senate--to  the
secret dismay of many a Core World human delegate--changes were  certainly  in
order.
     With its multilevel walkways,  corridors,  and  vertical  and  horizontal
turbolifts, the hemispherical  building  was  as  labyrinthine  as  the  inner
workings of the  senate  itself.  Courtesy  of  Supreme  Chancellor  Valorum's
announcement of a special session, the corridors were even  more  jammed  than
usual, but Palpatine was heartened to find that the delegates could  still  be
motivated to set aside their personal affairs for matters of broader import.
     Flanked by his two aides, Doriana and Pestage, he smiled pleasantly as he
threaded his way toward the rotunda, easing past the blue-robed  Senate  Guard
stationed at the doorway and stepping down into ationaboo's  balcony  platform
in the vast amphitheater.
     One of 1,024 identical balconies that lined the inner wall of  the  dome,
the platform was circular and spacious enough to accommodate half a  dozen  or
more humans. Each balcony was actually the apex of a wedge-shaped slice of the
building- - stretching from  the  rotunda  clear  to  the  outer  rim  of  the
hemisphere--in which the separate delegations were quartered, and  where  most
of the senate's mundane affairs and illicit business were transacted.
     Adjusting the fall of his  elaborate  cloak,  Palpatine  stepped  to  the
podiumlike console at the front lip of the platform.  Given  Naboo's  elevated
position in the rotunda, the view to the floor was vertiginous.
     The amphitheater was purposely sealed off from natural light, as well  as
from Coruscant's dubious atmosphere, to minimize the effects of  nightfall  on
the delegates; that is, to encourage everyone to remain focused on the matters
at hand, despite the possibility that the sessions might  continue  late  into
the evening. But more and  more  citizens  had  come  to  view  the  rotunda's
unnatural circumstances  as  symbolic  of  the  senate's  insularity  -  comxs
separation from reality. The senate  was  thought  to  exist  apart,  debating
issues of minor or occult concern, save for those that touched directly on the
illegal enrichment of its membership.
     Nevertheless, Palpatine sensed renewed intensity  in  the  recycled  air.
Gossip had alerted everyone to the topics Valorum planned to discuss, but many
were eager to hear for themselves and hungry to respond.
     In an effort to take a measure of senatorial opinion  regarding  taxation
of the outlying trade routes, Palpatine had spent the past  few  days  meeting
with as many senators as possible. Gently, he had attempted  to  persuade  the
undecided into backing Valorum, so that the Supreme Chancellor might carry the
day without the support of Naboo and its neighboring worlds. At the same time,
Palpatine had devised alternative plans, sufficient for dealing with a host of
eventualities.
     His own sense of urgency took him by surprise; the buzz  in  the  rotunda
was that infectious. But just as he had done at the opera, Valorum delayed his
arrival. By the time  the  Supreme  Chancellor  finally  showed  himself,  the
atmosphere was agitated.
     Valorum's perch was a thirty-meter-tall dais that rose from the center of
the floor like the stalk of a flower. Conveyed to the bud  of  the  flower  by
turbolift,  Valorum  stood  alone,   with   the   senate's   sergeant-at-arms,
parlimentarian, journal clerk, and official reporter seated  below  him  in  a
round dish that cradled the bud. Echoing the predominant color scheme  of  the
amphitheater, he wore a lavender brocade cloak, with  voluminous  sleeves  and
matching cummerbund.
     It occurred to Palpatine as he applauded that  the  Supreme  Chancellor's
lofty  position  made  him  as  much  a  center  of  attention  as  target  of
opportunity.
     When the clapping and the occasional verbal accolades had  gone  on  long
enough, Valorum held up his hands in a gesture that begged silence.
     His first words brought a faint smile to Pal-patine's lips.
     "Delegates  of  the  Galactic  Senate,  we  find  ourselves  beset  by  a
confluence of sobering challenges.
     Frayed at its far-flung borders by internecine skirmishes and hollowed at
its very heart by corruption, the Republic is in grave danger  of  unraveling.
Recent events in the Mid and Outer Rim demand that we stem the rising tide  of
strife by restoring order and balance.  So  dire  is  our  plight,  that  even
extreme measures should not be dismissed out of hand." Valorum paused  briefly
to allow his words to sink in.
     "The free trade zones were originally created to foster exchange  between
the Core Worlds and the outlying systems of the Mid and  Outer  Rims.  At  the
time, it was thought that free and open trade would prove  a  benefit  to  all
concerned. But those zones have since become a haven not  only  for  smugglers
and pirates, but also for shipping  and  trading  cartels  that  have  availed
themselves of the liberties we ensured, by setting themselves up  as  entities
of political and  military  leverage."  Murmurs  of  concurrence  and  discord
stirred the already impassioned air.
     "The Trade Federation comes before us with a request that we do something
to safeguard commerce in the outlying sectors. They are within their rights to
request this, and we are obliged by our covenant to respond.  But  in  a  very
real sense it is the questionable practices of the Trade Federation that  have
made it a target for thieves and terrorists." Valorum raised his voice  to  be
heard over hundreds of separate conversations, in as many tongues.
     "In the same way, we must accept some of the blame for this, since it was
this body that granted the Trade Federation such latitude, and it is this body
that has chosen to turn a deaf ear time and again to what  transpires  in  the
outlying systems. This practice cannot  be  allowed  to  continue.  The  Trade
Federation has become  a  bloated  creature,  ingesting  lesser  concerns  and
refusing to do business with worlds that seek to ship with its  few  remaining
competitors. It would not be overstatement to say that these trade  zones  are
no longer free.
     "And yet the Trade Federation comes before us  to  solicit  our  help  in
putting an end to the disorder it has fashioned.
     "The Federation asks for protection--as if this body can blithely  deploy
a  military  force  against  the  pirates  and  terrorists  who  prey  on  the
Federation's freighters. As  if  this  body  could  provide  starfighters  and
Dreadnaughts and, in so doing, turn the free trade zones inffcctested space--a
battleground.
     "There is, however, a solution to all this. If the Trade Federation wants
us to ensure that the outlying systems be made safe for commerce--a task  that
will require action from this body, as well as from the many systems that  lie
within the free trade zones- - then those planetary systems  must  be  brought
into the Republic as member worlds. Those worlds  that  the  Trade  Federation
currently represents in the senate must  abjure  their  affiliation  with  the
Federation and bring their individual voices to this  hall,  to  be  heard  as
autonomous systems once more." Valorum allowed the  grumbling  to  go  on  for
several moments before he gestured again for silence.
     "We urge that the worlds  of  the  free  trade  zones  move  quickly  and
decisively. Terrorist groups like the Nebula Front are merely  the  tip  of  a
more  deep-seated  discontent.  By  working  in  accordance,   the   volunteer
militaries  and  space  corps  of  the  affected  systems  can   quell   local
insurrections before they swell to widespread revolution.
     "The direct consequence of this will be the abolition of the  free  trade
zones. The trade routes to those outlying systems that join the Republic would
henceforth be subject to the same taxation that applies to routes in the Core,
the Colonies, and the Inner Rim. I urge you to consider that  such  action  is
long overdue.
     For free trade is no longer that when all  trade  is  controlled  by  one
cartel." Clamorous cheers and boos punctuated the air, but reaction was not as
mixed as Palpatine had feared it might be. Still, he was disappointed. Valorum
had made a case for taxation without addressing any of the consequences or the
possible compromises that might be made.
     Before such a motion could be enacted as  legislation,  special  interest
groups--on the payroll of the  Trade  Federation  or  similar  concerns--would
register their protests. Then the motion would move  to  committee,  where  it
would be further weakened. After that, it would  be  burdened  with  ancillary
legislation, aimed at appeasing the special interest groups and lobbyists.
     Finally, it  would  be  endlessly  debated,  in  the  hope  of  continued
deferral.
     But there were ways to cut through the bureaucratic tangle.  Exasperated,
Palpatine glanced around the amphitheater, wondering who would make the  first
move - comfiguratively and literally.
     It was the Neimoidians who acted, loosing their balcony  from  the  inner
wall and directing it to the center of the rotunda.  Detached,  the  platforms
resembled  sleeker  versions  of  the  repulsorlift  air  taxis  that   filled
Coruscant's skies. Word had it that some of the platforms moved  more  rapidly
than others--even on autopilot--which was crucial, since delegates  frequently
raced to be recognized by the Supreme Chancellor.
     "We recognize Delegate Lott Dod," Valorum said, "representing  the  Trade
Federation." Lott Dod wore rich robes and a tall,  black  miter.  A  saucer  -
shaped hovercam with a single antenna rushed in to  broadcast  his  flat-faced
likeness to the screens built into the display consoles of the balconies.
     "We submit that the senate does not have the right or  the  authority  to
enact taxation of the outlying trade zones.
     This is nothing more than a ploy to break up our consortium.
     "It was the Trade Federation who opened the hyperlanes  to  the  outlying
systems, who risked the lives of its space-faring captains to  bring  formerly
primitive worlds into the Republic, and new resources into the Core.
     "Now we learn that we  are  expected  to  defend  ourselves  against  the
mercenaries and pirates who masquerade as freedom fighters, merely  to  enrich
themselves at our expense. We come before you  asking  for  aid,  and  instead
become the victim of an indirect attack." From  delegations  representing  the
Commerce Guild and the Techno Union came loud shouts of encouragement.
     "If the senate does not wish to  intercede  with  the  Nebula  Front--or,
indeed, if it is incapable of doing so," Dod continued, "then it must at least
grant us what we need to defend ourselves. As it is, we are defenseless in the
face of far superior fighters." Where some cheered  and  some  booed,  Valorum
merely nodded. "Commissions  can  be  appointed  to  determine  if  additional
defense capabilities are warranted at this time," he said sternly.
     Another balcony dropped from the curved wall.
     "We recognize Ainlee Teem, delegate of Malastare," Valorum said.
     A Gran, Teem had a trio of eyestalks that were thick and closely set.
     "Since the Trade Federation is willing  to  defend  itself,  at  its  own
expense, there is no justification for taxing the trade routes." Teem's  voice
was  deep  and  abrasive.  "We  have  precedent  in  the  Corporate  Alliance.
Otherwise, it appears that the Republic is interested  in  nothing  more  than
skimming profits from those who endangered themselves to blaze the  hyperspace
routes now used by one and all." Half the amphitheater applauded. But even  in
the midst of it, a third platform was floating to the center.
     "We recognize Bail Antilles of Alderaan." "Supreme Chancellor," the human
said with great emotion, "under no circumstances should the senate  allow  the
Trade Federation to augment its droid defenses.
     If the Nebula Front has succeeded in making  certain  sectors  dangerous,
then the Federation should avoid those trouble spots until such  time  as  the
involved sectors find a way to counter terrorism. By sanctioning increases  to
the Trade Federation's defenses, we imperil the balance  of  power  throughout
the Outer Rim." "And what becomes of the worlds in those contested sec  tors?"
Senator Orn Free Taa of Ryloth asked, his  blue  head-tails  draped  over  the
bodice of an exorbitant cloak. "How do we trade with the Core? With whom do we
ship?" Rejoinders flew fast and furious from all sides of the chamber- -  from
the Wookiee delegation, the Sullustans, the Bimms, and Bothans.
     Valorum attempted to quote the rules, but many of the  senators  had  had
enough of the rules, and shouted him down.
     "The Trade Federation will seek to offset the taxes by charging more  for
their services," the Bothan delegate argued. "The outlying  systems  will,  in
turn, be forced to assume the burden of  taxation."  Palpatine  saw  what  was
coming  and  quickly  dispatched  black-cloaked  Sate  Pestage  to  deliver  a
handwritten note to the sergeant-at-arms, who relayed the note to the  Supreme
Chancellor.
     Valorum received the message a  moment  after  the  Bothan  delegate  had
demanded to know how the credits garnered from taxation would be allocated.
     Lifting his eyes from the note, Valorum glanced at the Na -  boo  balcony
before responding. "I propose that  a  percentage  of  the  revenues  garnered
through taxation be allocated for  relief  and  development  of  the  outlying
systems." Cheers roared from most of the upper-tier balconies, and many of the
senators in the platforms there came to their feet to applaud. Closer  to  the
floor, encouragement came from Wookiee Senator Yarua, Tendau Bendon of  Ithor,
and Horox Ryyder, who represented thousands of worlds in the Raioballo sector.
     Palpatine made a mental note of the naysayers, including Toonbuck  Toora,
Po Nudo, Wat Tambor, and other delegates. Then he detached  the  platform  and
dropped for the center of the rotunda, chased by two hovercams.
     "We recognize the senator from the sovereign system of Na - boo," Valorum
said.
     "Supreme Chancellor," Palpatine said, "may I  suggest  that,  while  many
important points have been made, these  issues  are  far  from  resolved,  and
should perhaps be explored in  greater  depth  in  a  different  forum,  after
everyone has had an opportunity to reflect on what  has  been  said."  Valorum
appeared confused for a moment.  "What  sort  of  forum,  Senator  Palpatine?"
"Before the motion goes to committee, I propose that a summit be  held,  where
delegates from the Trade Federation and its signatory members can meet  openly
to offer their solutions to these... "sobering challenges," as you  say."  The
same senators who had cheered Valorum, now applauded Palpatine.
     Uncertainty and perhaps vague misgiving drained some of  the  color  from
Valorum's face. "Do you have some specific  location  in  mind,  Senator?"  he
asked.
     Palpatine considered it. "May I suggest...
     Eriadu?" A platform joined Palpatine's at the center of the rotunda.  The
delegation's dark-complexioned human members wore loose - fitting garments and
cloth turbans.
     "Supreme Chancellor," their spokesman said, "Eriadu would be  honored  to
host such a summit." Senator Toora seconded the motion and moved  to  enact  a
moratorium on the taxation proposal.
     Valorum had no choice but to comply.
     "I will confer with all relevant parties and set a date for the  summit,"
he said when the furor had abated. "With regard to taxation  of  the  outlying
trade routes, there will be a moratorium  on  the  voting  process  until  the
summit concludes and all view points have been expressed.  Furthermore,  as  a
sign of the senate's commitment to foster peace and stability, I shall  attend
the summit personally." Many in the rotunda rose and applauded.
     Valorum's gaze  found  Palpatine  and  lingered  on  him  for  a  moment.
Palpatine smiled and nodded conspiratorially.
     s porting jagged wounds it hadn't had when it  had  first  appeared  over
Dorvalla, or later, when it had settled down to retrieve  Cohl  and  what  was
left of his team, the Hawk-Bat floated in space, gravitationally anchored to a
buff-colored world of arid mountain ranges and ice-blue seas. Five  CloakShape
starfighters surrounded  her,  with  a  sixth  nuzzled  up  to  the  gunship's
starboard airlock. Far beyond the ships spread a band of space mines, made  to
resemble asteroids.
     On the Hawk-Bat's side of the airlock, Cohl  waited  vigilantly  for  his
visitors to board. His bare arms were lacerated from the razor  ferns  he  had
been forced to forge through on Dorvalla, and his dark face, with its eye mask
of diamond-shaped tattoos, was bruised  black  and  blue  beneath  his  beard.
Adding severity to features many thought ferocious to begin with,  his  coiled
hair framed his countenance like the hood of a serpent.
     The airlock's indicator light flashed.
     "Do you want me to disappear?" Rella asked from behind him.
     She was in even worse shape than Cohl. Her left eye was con cealed  by  a
bacta patch and her left forearm wore a plascast. Boiny remained  in  a  bacta
tank.
     Cohl shook his head without taking his  gaze  from  the  airlock.  "Stick
around. Keep your blaster handy." Rella drew the weapon from  the  holster  on
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 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
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
equator, 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
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  classic
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 participate." "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
impassioned holo - documentaries 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 principals. 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,  Passel
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  Municipal  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 assigning 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.
     To Qui-Gon's thinking, the council members were too  willing  to  dismiss
Cohl as nothing more than a symptom of trying times, when  he  was  much  more
than that.
     But, then, the Council had a  tendency  to  dwell  on  repercussions,  on
future events, rather than the present. Yoda, especially, was fond  of  saying
that the future was always in motion, and yet  he  and  Mace  Windu  sometimes
acted as if that wasn't the case at all.
     Did they know of  some  great  event  looming  on  the  horizon?  Qui-Gon
wondered. And would he fail to recognize that event, even were he to trip over
it?
     He supposed he should at least remain open to the  possibility  that  the
High Council Masters knew something he didn't.
     The one thing he accepted as beyond dispute was that the Force  was  even
more mysterious than any of the Jedi perceived it to be.
     He hadn't gone half a kilometer when Adi Gallia  fell  into  step  beside
him, catching him by surprise.
     "In search of something purposeful, Qui-Gon, or just hoping  you'll  bump
into something worthy of your attention?" He smiled at her. "I have--you." She
laughed, then scolded him with a look.
     Adi's fingernails were polished, and the same blue cosmetic  that  rimmed
her dark blue eyes traced the ligaments on the backs of  her  hands.  She  had
been a permanent member of the High Council for over  a  decade,  and  a  Jedi
Master for much longer than that. Her parents were Corellian  diplomats,  but,
like Qui - Gon, she had been  raised  in  the  Temple.  Adi  had  always  been
enthralled by Coruscant, and knew the planet about as well as anyone. Over the
years, she had forged a close  friendship  with  Supreme  Chancellor  Valorum,
along with several Core World delegates.
     "Where is your young apprentice?" she asked as they sauntered.
     "Sharpening his wits." "So you actually give him  an  occasional  respite
from your resolute tutelage," she teased.
     "It's a mutual thing," Qui-Gon said.
     She laughed again, then grew  serious.  "I  have  news  that's  bound  to
interest you. It seems that you might have been right about  Cohl's  surviving
the explosion of that Trade Federation freighter." Qui-Gon came to a dead stop
in the center of the sky bridge they were  crossing.  Droids  and  pedestrians
ambled past him to both sides.
     "Has Cohl been seen?" Adi leaned on the bridge  railing  and  gazed  back
toward the Temple. "Dorvalla Space Corps pursued a shuttle  that  matched  the
description and drive signature you and Obi-Wan furnished.
     The shuttle crashed and exploded onworld, apparently not far  from  where
Cohl had established a temporary base." Qui-Gon nodded.  "I  know  the  area."
"There wasn't much left to investigate at the crash site, but the  remains  of
three humans found in the wreckage were identified as associates of Cohl.  But
here's the interesting part: The shuttle was clearly attempting to  rendezvous
with Cohl's personal ship." "The Hawk-Bat." "It set down close  to  the  crash
site, then proceeded to blast its way off Dorvalla, taking  out  a  number  of
Dorvalla's picket ships on the way." "Cohl made it to the ship," Qui-Gon said.
     "You're that certain?" "I am." Adi nodded. "One of the picket ship pilots
reported that two or three of Cohl's band might have  made  it  alive  to  the
Hawk-bat." "Has there been  any  sign  of  the  ship  since?"  "It  jumped  to
hyperspace as soon as it left  Dorvalla  behind.  But  surveillance  has  been
doubled at all of Cohl's known retreats. Assuming he  did  survive,  he'll  be
spotted and, with luck, captured." "Adi, is there a chance that Obi-Wan and  I
could--was "Cohl is  no  longer  our  concern,"  she  cut  him  off.  "Supreme
Chancellor Valorum is attempting to encourage  the  systems  along  the  Rimma
Trade Route to assume responsibility for curtailing acts of terrorism in their
separate sectors. Intervention on our part would likely be viewed as  indirect
support of the Trade Federation." Qui-Gon frowned. "That's shortsighted.
     Most of the worlds along the Rimma support the Nebula Front to one degree
or another.
     Recruits, funding, intelligence... The  Rimma  worlds  supply  these  and
more." Adi regarded him for a long moment. "Qui-Gon, suppose I  could  arrange
for you to meet with Chancellor Valorum, so you could  apprise  him  of  these
matters personally?" Qui-Gon nodded. "All right." "Then it's settled.  I'm  on
my way to meet with him now,  and  there's  no  time  like  the  present."  "I
couldn't have put it better." In his  chambers  beneath  the  senate  rotunda,
Valorum reclined in his chair, exhaling wearily as he stretched his arms  over
his head. Finished with the morning's business,  he  now  had  to  face  those
delegates who hadn't been able to secure  appointments  and  were  undoubtedly
lingering outside his office, anxious for a moment of his time.
     "What's on the agenda for this afternoon?" he asked Sei Taria as she came
through the office's tall, ornate door.
     The young human woman glanced at her  wrist  comm  screen.  "You  have  a
meeting with Adi Gallia, then a follow-up meeting with Bail Antilles and Horox
Ryyder. After that, you are meeting with the representatives of the  Corporate
Alliance and the  trade  delegation  from  Ord  Mantell.  Then--was  "Enough,"
Valorum said, holding up his hands and shutting his eyes. He gestured  to  the
door and the corridors beyond. "How bad are things out there?" "As crowded  as
I've ever seen it, sir," she said.
     "But I'm afraid that that's not the half of it."  Valorum  stood  up  and
reached for his cloak.
     "Tell me the rest." "The plaza is swarming with demonstrators.  Some  are
calling for the breakup of the Trade Federation, others  are  denouncing  your
stand on taxation. Security recommends that we leave by  way  of  the  rooftop
platforms." "No," Valorum said firmly. "This was to be expected,  and  now  is
hardly the time for me to avoid my critics." Sei smiled approvingly.  "I  told
security you would say that. They said that if you insisted on exiting through
the plaza, they would be tripling the guard." "Very well." Valorum squared his
shoulders. "Are you ready?" Sei went to the door. "After you, sir." No  sooner
did Valorum enter the anteroom than two tall Senate Guards stepped in to flank
him. They wore long dark - blue robes and gloves,  and  double-crested  helmet
cowls that left visible only the eyes and mouth. Over their  right  shoulders,
the guards carried long, cumbersome rifles  that  were  more  ceremonial  than
practical.
     By the time Valorum had passed into the front offices,  more  guards  had
fallen in before and behind him.
     Short of the public corridors another pair joined the group, and yet  two
more the moment Valorum emerged in the corridor.
     Wide as it was, the walkway was crammed with beings, who had been  forced
to stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  along  both  walls  behind  hastily  erected
barricades.
     The guards in front  of  Valorum  closed  ranks  in  a  wedge  formation,
thrusting through a forest of outstretched arms. Still, some hands managed  to
get through, bearing messages meant for the deep pockets of  Valorum's  cloaks
but more often than not ending up trampled underfoot  on  the  polished  stone
floor.
     The corridor was loud with voices,  as  well,  most  of  them  entreating
Valorum to attend to one urgent matter or another.
     "Supreme  Chancellor,  about  the  terms  of  the  peace  negotiation..."
"Supreme Chancellor, regarding the recent devaluation of the Bothan credit..."
"Supreme Chancellor, your promise to  respond  to  accusations  of  corruption
leveled against Senator Maxim..." Valorum recognized some of  the  voices  and
many of the faces. Crushed against the left wall he noticed the delegate  from
New Bornalex. Behind him, Senator Gre9ps and his trio of  large-eyed,  puddle-
footed delegates from Brodo Asogi.
     Off to the right, straining to reach to the front of the  crowd  in  time
for Valorum's passing, stood Malastare delegate Aks Moe.
     As they neared the exit to the plaza, the voices  in  the  corridor  were
overwhelmed by the chants and bellows of crowds of demonstrators massed  along
the Avenue of the Core Founders, with its towering statues and sunken  sitting
areas.
     The Senate Guards pressed closer still, all but lifting Valorum  off  his
feet and spiriting him outside the building on their shoulders.
     The chief of the guard detail swung to Valorum.
     "Sir, we'll be proceeding directly to  the  north  hover  platform.  Your
personal shuttle is already waiting. There will be no stopping along  the  way
to respond to reporters or protestors. In the event of any untoward  activity,
you will submit to our custody and do as we  say.  Any  questions,  sir?"  "No
questions," Valorum said by rote.  "But  let's  at  least  attempt  to  appear
cordial, Captain." "You didn't mention you were inviting  me  to  a  political
rally," Qui-Gon said, as he and Adi Gallia arrived at the expansive plaza that
fronted the senate.
     "I didn't know," Adi said, plainly astonished by the sight.
     Mixed-species crowds extended from the pedestaled building itself,  clear
to the terminus of the Avenue  of  the  Core  Founders.  The  balconies  there
overlooked a sprawl of spired buildings, their close-set summits rising  below
the plaza.
     "Where are you supposed to meet him?" Qui-Gon said loudly  enough  to  be
heard over the periodic chants and general clamor.
     "Outside the north entrance," she answered, close to his ear.
     Tall enough to see over the heads of many in the crowd, Qui -  Gon  gazed
toward the senate dome. "There'll be no getting to  him--not  if  I  know  the
Senate Guard." "Let's try, anyway," Adi said.
     "Otherwise, we'll go to his private office in  the  Presidential  Tower."
Qui-Gon took Adi's hand and began to edge into the crowd. This  far  from  the
building,  there  was  no  telling  the  pro-Valorum  from  the   anti-Valorum
protestors.
     Qui-Gon stretched out with his feelings.
     Beneath the current of anger and dissent, something else was in the  air.
Coruscant's usual howl was charged with  menace.  He  sensed  danger--not  the
vague sort that might emanate from any gathering of this nature, but  specific
and targeted. He closed his eyes momentarily and allowed the  Force  to  guide
him.
     His opened eyes found a  Bith,  standing  at  the  leading  edge  of  one
gathering. The Force bade Qui-Gon look to his left, to  two  Rodians,  lurking
near the tall base of one of the statues. Closer to the  senate's  north  exit
stood two Twi'leks and a Bothan.
     Qui-Gon raised his gaze to the ceaseless traffic flow above  the  plaza's
north end. A green air taxi caught his eye. Disk  -  shaped  and  open-topped,
with a semicircle of stabilizers below, it was no different from most  of  the
other taxis that filled Corus - cant's sky. But the fact that  it  was  riding
outside the denned corridor of the autonavigation lane told Qui-Gon  that  the
pilot- - another Rodian--knew the skylanes well enough to have been granted  a
free-travel permit.
     Not far below the taxi, just at the rim of the plaza, hovered  an  eight-
lobed repulsorlift platform, atop  which  sat  Chancellor  Valorum's  personal
shuttle.
     Qui-Gon swung to Adi. "I sense a disturbance in the Force."  She  nodded.
"I feel it, Qui-Gon." He glanced up at the air taxi, then cut his eyes to  the
Rodians positioned near the statue base. "The Supreme Chancellor is in danger.
     We need to hurry." Unclipping their lightsabers from  their  belts,  they
began to thread their way through the  crowd,  their  brown  cloaks  billowing
behind them. They reached the north exit in time to see a  phalanx  of  guards
surge into the plaza. Behind them came Valorum and  his  young  aide,  at  the
center of six other guards, who were steering the couple  toward  the  docking
platform.
     Qui-Gon looked up. The air taxi reversed direction  and  began  to  hover
above the plaza. At the same instant, the two Twi'leks began to hasten  toward
Valorum, their hands buried in the sleeves of their loose robes.
     The chanting rose to a crescendo.
     Suddenly, blaster bolts streaked from the crowd, catching two of the most
forward guards and dropping them to the paving stones. Screams erupted and the
crowd panicked, rushing every which way to avoid danger.
     Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber and moved  toward  the  Twi'leks.  Weapons
drawn, they fired, only to see the bolts  deflected  by  the  brilliant  green
blade of Qui-Gon's lightsaber.  Additional  bolts  darted  from  the  Rodians"
blasters, but Qui-Gon moved quickly and managed to deflect those. He  twirled,
raising his weapon to parry fire, careful to divert the bolts above the  heads
of the scattering demonstrators.
     The Force told him that Adi, her azure  blade  ignited,  had  angled  for
Valorum, who was effectively pinned to the plaza by his guards.
     A muffled explosion sounded nearby, launching clouds of astringent  white
smoke and further terrifying the fleeing demonstrators.
     Qui-Gon understood at once that the detonation was  only  a  distraction.
The real danger came from the opposite side  of  the  plaza,  where  two  more
assassins were racing forward, armed with  small  hand  blasters.  As  another
guard fell, one of the assassins fired into the gap that had  been  opened  in
Valorum's protective cordon. Adi turned two of the energy darts, but  a  third
got through.
     Valorum grimaced in pain and toppled sideways.
     A Senate Guard advanced, his long rifle blazing, felling both assassins.
     Qui-Gon heard the air taxi  begin  a  rapid  descent,  its  rounded  form
trailing a trio of hauling cables. A Twi'lek and the two Rodians fought  their
way to a clear area in the plaza and grabbed hold of the cables.
     Qui-Gon prized a liquid-cable launcher from a pouch on his belt and fired
it as he ran. The hook bit deep into  the  underside  of  the  taxi,  and  the
monofilament cable began to unspool. Qui - Gon hooked onto the cable,  thumbed
the winding mechanism, and rode it skyward, his  lightsaber  extended  in  his
right hand.
     Coming alongside the two Rodians, he severed their cables with his blade,
sending them plummeting back to the plaza. The  Twi'lek,  however,  was  still
above him, and Qui-Gon realized that he would never reach him in time. The air
taxi was already banking for the northern lip of the plaza, clearly hoping  to
shake Qui-Gon loose into one of the chasms below.
     Level with the tallest of the Core Founder statues, Qui-Gon  let  go  and
dropped, landing on the shoulders of the statue, then leaping to the  pedestal
base, and finally to the plaza.
     Backing away and firing steadily, one of the Rodians ran into the arms of
two Senate Guards, who threw him harshly to the paving stones.
     A broken leg kept the other Rodian  rooted  to  the  spot  where  he  had
fallen.
     Qui-Gon spun on his boot heels and hurried for Valorum. Formed up into an
unbreachable perimeter, the remaining guards stood with their feet planted and
their rifles pointed straight out. Adi saw Qui-Gon approaching  and  told  the
guards to make room for him.
     The right side of Valorum's cloak showed a large blood stain.
     "We have to get him to the medcenter," Adi said in a rush.
     Qui-Gon put his right hand under Valorum's left arm and eased him to  his
feet. Adi supported him from the other  side.  With  their  lightsabers  still
ignited, they began to move  the  Supreme  Chancellor  back  into  the  senate
building, while the guards covered their retreat.
     It was theorized--by ^th who devoted themselves to such things - comt one
could fall from the roof of the senate dome and land directly in the medcenter
at which the delegates enjoyed exclusive privilege, assuming, of course,  that
the winds that blew through Coruscant's chasms were just right, and  that  one
managed to miss being struck by passing vehicles during the plunge through the
traffic lanes.
     A safer and more certain method  for  arriving  intact  at  the  Galactic
Senate Medcenter was to ride a turbolift from the  rotunda,  or  be  delivered
there by skycar, as Senator Palpatine had chosen to do.
     The medcenter occupied the top five stories of an ordinary building  that
rose precipitously to Coruscant's midlevel. Its numerous entrances were coded,
by color and other  means,  to  individual  species,  many  of  whom  required
specific atmospheres and gravities, as was also the  case  with  many  of  the
senate rotunda balconies.
     Sate Pestage piloted the skycar  to  an  unoccupied  lobe  of  a  docking
platform anchored to the entrance coded for humans and near-humans, by far the
most adorned of all the rectangular admitting areas.
     "Waste no time," Palpatine said from the  backseat,  "but  be  discreet."
Pestage nodded. "Consider it done." Palpatine stepped from  the  rear  of  the
circular skycar, gave a smart tug to the front of his embroidered  cloak,  and
disappeared through the entrance.
     In the lobby he encountered Senator Orn Free Taa.
     "I heard that you were here," Palpatine said.
     The corpulent Twi'lek gave his massive head a presumably mournful  shake.
"A tragic event. Truly terrible." Palpatine raised an eyebrow.
     "All right," Taa huffed. "The truth is that Valorum has been blocking  my
requests for reduced tariffs for the exportation of ryll from Ryloth. If I can
ease that by visiting him in the medcenter, so be it." "We do what  we  must,"
Palpatine said mildly.
     Taa studied him for a moment. "And I take it that your visit is  prompted
by genuine concern?" "The supreme chancellor is the voice of the Republic,  is
he not?" "For the moment," Taa said nastily.
     With  Senate  Guard  sentries  posted  throughout  the  admitting   area,
Palpatine was made to show his identification no fewer than six  times  before
being ushered into a waiting room reserved for Valorum's visitors.  There,  he
exchanged greetings with Alder - aan's delegate to the senate, Bail Antilles--
a tall, handsome man  with  dark  hair--and  with  the  equally  distinguished
senator from Corellia, Com Fordox.
     "You've heard  who's  to  blame  for  what  happened?"  Fordox  asked  as
Palpatine sat down on the couch opposite him.
     "Only that the Nebula Front appears to  have  been  involved."  "We  have
confirmed evidence of their involvement," Antilles said.
     Fordox's features reflected anger and confusion.
     "This is beyond comprehension."  "An  act  that  cannot  go  unpunished,"
Antilles agreed.
     Commiserating with them, Palpatine firmed his lips and shook his head. "A
terrible sign of the times," he said.
     Most of the infirmities that  landed  delegates  in  the  medcenter  were
usually the result of overindulgence in food or drink, or  injuries  sustained
on the scoopball courts, in air taxi accidents,  or  as  the  outcome  of  the
occasional honor duel. Rarely were delegates admitted  because  of  illnesses,
and even more rarely as a consequence of an assassination attempt.
     Palpatine held himself accountable.
     He should have seen what was coming during the meeting with  Havac.  More
than once the young militant had stressed that Valorum  needed  to  appreciate
just how dangerous the Nebula Front was. But Palpatine  hadn't  thought  Havac
desperate enough to resort to assassination.
     The fact that Havac was also a fool made him especially dangerous. Did he
actually believe that things would go better for the Nebula Front with someone
other than Valorum leading the senate?
     Didn't he realize that Valorum was the Front's best hope for  restraining
the Trade Federation, through taxation and other means? By attempting to  kill
Valorum, Havac had not only reinforced the  Federation's  assertion  that  the
Nebula Front was a public menace, he  had  also  given  added  weight  to  the
Neimoidians' demand for additional defensive weapons.
     Havac would need to be reminded just who his enemies were.
     Unless, of course, there was more to Havac than met  the  eye,  Palpatine
told himself. Was Havac's  pleasant  but  nondescript  countenance  masking  a
cunning intellect?
     Palpatine deliberated while Fordox and  Antilles  had  their  visit  with
Valorum. He was still mulling it over when Sei Taria entered the waiting  room
some time later.
     Palpatine rose and nodded. "How good to see you, Sei. Are you all right?"
She mustered a warm smile. "I'm fine  now,  Senator.  But  it  was  terrible."
Palpatine adopted a grave look. "We will do all we can to protect the  Supreme
Chancellor." "I know you will." "How is he?" She glanced at the  door.  "Eager
to see you." Armed guards flanked the door  to  Valorum's  room--a  windowless
corral of monitoring devices, overseen by a  bipedal  medical  droid  equipped
with servogrip pincers and a rebreatherlike vocabulator.
     Valorum looked pale and grim, but he was sitting up  in  bed,  his  right
arm, from wrist to shoulder, encased in a  soft  tube  filled  with  bacta.  A
transparent, gelatinous fluid produced by an insectoid  alien  species,  bacta
had the ability to  promote  rapid  cell  rejuvenation  and  healing,  usually
without scarring. Palpatine often felt that the wondrous substance was as  key
to the survival of the Republic as were the Jedi.
     "Supreme Chancellor," he said, approaching the bed, "I came as soon as  I
heard." Valorum made a gesture of dismissal with his left hand. "You shouldn't
have bothered. They're releasing me later today." He motioned Palpatine  to  a
chair. "Do you know what the guards did when they brought me in here?
     They cleared every patient from the emergency  room,  then  emptied  this
entire floor, with scarcely a concern for the condition of the patients." "The
security was warranted," Palpatine said.
     "Knowing you would be brought here if they failed,  the  assassins  could
have stationed a second  team  in  the  admitting  area."  "Perhaps,"  Valorum
granted. "But I doubt the actions of my protectors earned me any new  allies."
He frowned. "Worse, I have to suffer the transparent concern of delegates like
Orn Free Taa." "Even Senator Taa understands that  the  Republic  needs  you,"
Palpatine said.
     "Nonsense. There are many who are qualified to  fill  my  position.  Bail
Antilles, Ainlee Teem... even you,  Senator."  Palpatine  feigned  a  startled
expression.
     "Hardly, Supreme Chancellor." Valorum grinned. "I couldn't help but  note
how the delegates responded to you during the special session." "The Outer Rim
is desperate for voices. I'm merely one of  many."  Valorum  shook  his  head.
"It's more than that." He paused briefly. "In any event, I want to  thank  you
for the message your aide delivered to the podium. But why didn't  you  inform
me in advance of your plan to propose a summit meeting?" Palpatine spread  his
graceful hands. "It was a spur-of-the - moment decision. Something had  to  be
done before the taxation proposal went to committee, where it  may  have  been
crushed out of hand." "A brilliant stroke." Valorum fell  silent  for  a  long
moment.
     "The Judicial Department has advised me that my attackers are members  of
the Nebula Front." "I've also heard." Valorum forced an  exhale.  "Now  I  see
what the Trade Federation is up against." Palpatine said nothing.
     "But what was the Nebula Front's motive in attacking me? I'm doing what I
can to find a peaceful solution to all this." "Your efforts are obviously  not
enough for them," Palpatine said.
     "Are they so convinced that Antilles  or  Teem  would  act  differently?"
Palpatine formed his response carefully.
     "Senator Antilles thinks only of the  Core  Worlds.  Doubtless  he  would
advocate a policy of nonintervention. As for Senator Teem, he  would  probably
bestow whatever the Trade Federation requests in the way of advanced  weaponry
or additional franchises." Valorum thought about it. "Perhaps I was  wrong  in
ruling that the Nebula Front shouldn't be allowed to participate in the Eriadu
summit. I feared giving the impression that the Republic would be  recognizing
them as a political entity.
     Furthermore, I couldn't envision them sitting down at the same table with
the Neimoidians." Confusion clouded his eyes. "But what  could  they  hope  to
gain by having me killed?" Palpatine recalled Havac ranting  about  not  being
invited to the summit.
     We need a stronger Supreme Chancellor, Havac had said.
     "I've been asking myself the same question," Palpatine replied. "But  you
were right  not  to  solicit  their  participation.  They  are  dangerous--and
deluded." Valorum nodded. "We can't risk having them interfere at Eriadu.  Too
much is at stake. The  outlying  systems  must  be  encouraged  to  speak  for
themselves, without fear of reprimand by the Trade Federation or reprisals  by
the Nebula Front." Palpatine steepled his  fingers  in  reflection,  summoning
memories of the recent meeting with Havac, hearing again his every word...
     "Perhaps it is time to ask the Jedi for help," he said at last.
     Valorum regarded him for a long moment. "Yes, perhaps the Jedi  would  be
willing to intervene." He brightened somewhat. "Two of them helped  thwart  my
would-be  assassins."  "Indeed?"  "The  senate  will  have  to  sanction  Jedi
involvement. Would you consider introducing the motion?" Palpatine smiled with
his eyes. "I would consider it a great honor, Supreme Chancellor." Leaving the
hospital docking platform behind, Sate Pestage  accelerated  into  a  midlevel
traffic lane, then, at each vertical exchange,  began  to  ascend  toward  the
upper-tier thoroughfares, until he had entered a rarefied zone  of  limousines
and private skycars. Here, one seldom encountered a taxi, much less a delivery
craft, because those who resided in the heights owned their own vehicles,  and
goods were delivered to the lower stories of the buildings and  moved  skyward
by turbolift.
     Pestage kept climbing until he was in the uppermost lane. In that part of
Coruscant, the lane was restricted to  skycars  the  mobile  traffic  scanners
could verify as  enjoying  diplomatic  privilege,  which  Senator  Palpatine's
vehicle did.
     He piloted the car to the attached platform of  a  luxurious,  kilometer-
high skyscraper and docked. From the car's luggage compartment,  he  retrieved
two expensive-looking bags. The larger was a square handheld piece; the  other
was a sphere about the size of a sweetmelon, which fit snugly into a specially
designed shoulder bag.
     Pestage carried both into the building's upper-tier lobby, where  he  was
scanned head to toe before being allowed to enter the turbolift that  accessed
the penthouse. Once again, his employer's credentials opened many a door  that
would otherwise have been locked to him. Few residents were  about,  and  none
gave him a second look, trusting implicitly that anyone who had managed to get
into the building had every right to be there.
     He rode the turbolift to  the  penthouse,  which  was  owned  by  one  of
Palpatine's peers in the senate, but was presently unoccupied, as the  senator
had, only the previous day, embarked on a visit to her homeworld.
     In the penthouse alcove, Pestage carried the bags to the entry and tapped
a code into a touchpad mounted on the wall. When the scanner asked for retinal
corroboration, he entered a  second  code,  which  essentially  commanded  the
scanner to cut short its usual security routine and simply open the suite.
     The bypass code did the job, and the door pocketed itself into the wall.
     Soft lighting came up as Pestage  moved  into  the  elegant  front  room.
Furniture and artwork attesting to the senator's refined taste were everywhere
in evidence. Pestage went directly to the terrace doors and stepped outside.
     Traffic hummed below the tiled enclosure, and the lights of  still-higher
buildings shone down on him. The air was ten degrees cooler than at  midlevel,
and nowhere near as grimy. From  the  chest-high  wall  at  the  edge  of  the
terrace, Pestage could see clear to the Jedi Temple in one direction  and  the
Galactic Senate in the other.
     But those weren't the views that interested him; only the  view  directly
across the cityscape canyon, into a mostly darkened penthouse of similar size.
     Pestage set the two pieces of luggage on the floor and opened  them.  The
square one contained a computer, with  a  built-in  display  and  keypad.  The
second was  a  surveillance  droid,  black  and  round,  with  three  antennae
projecting from its metallic pate and sides. Standing  the  computer  on  end,
Pestage positioned the droid alongside it.
     The two devices conversed for a long moment, in a dialogue of  beeps  and
warbles. Then the surveillance droid levitated of its own accord and began  to
float out into the canyon.
     Pestage repositioned the computer so that he could monitor the flight  of
the surveillance droid while he entered commands on the keyboard.
     By then the black sphere had crossed the  abyss  and  was  hovering  just
outside one of the penthouse's lighted rooms, and relaying color  images  back
to the computer's  display  screen.  The  small  screen  showed  five  Twi'lek
females, lounging together on comfortable furniture. One of  the  females  was
Senator Orn Free Taa's red-skinned Lethan consort. The others  may  have  been
lesser consorts, or simply friends of  the  Lethan,  indulging  in  drink  and
gossip while the fat-faced senator was off visiting Valorum at the medcenter.
     Pestage was pleased. The females were so absorbed in debauched  merriment
that they were unlikely to interfere with his business.
     He instructed the surveillance droid to  move  to  an  unlighted  window,
three rooms away, and go to infrared mode. A moment later the screen displayed
a close-up of  Taa's  computer  terminal,  which,  while  it  was  capable  of
interfacing with distant systems, could not be accessed remotely.
     Pestage did rapid input at the keyboard.
     Pressing close to the window, the droid activated a laser  and  burned  a
small hole in the sound-silencing and blasterproof pane--just large enough  to
accommodate the computer interface arm  that  telescoped  from  its  spherical
body. At the end of the arm's extensible rod was a magnetic  lock,  which  the
droid inserted into the access port of Taa's system.
     The computer booted up and asked for a passcode, which Pestage  provided.
A novice operative might have thought to ask  Senator  Palpatine  how  he  had
secured the passcode. But part of what made Pestage a  true  professional  was
knowing when not to ask questions.
     Taa's computer welcomed him inside.
     Now it was simply a  matter  of  slicing  into  the  relevant  files  and
planting the bits of coded information Pestage had been given.  Even  so,  the
infiltration was hardly routine. First of all, the data had to be untraceable,
and it had to be implanted in such a way that the computer would be  convinced
that it had, in fact, discovered  the  data.  Then  the  computer  had  to  be
instructed to reveal the  data--to  flag  it--only  in  response  to  specific
requests from Taa.
     Most important, Taa himself would  have  to  be  persuaded  that  he  had
uncovered data of such resounding import that he was  compelled  to  shout  it
from the rooftops.
     At the center of the Jedi Temple's High Council  spire  was  an  enormous
holographic representation of the galaxy, which highlighted trouble spots  and
locations of Jedi activity. The spherical  projection  changed  in  accordance
with signals received by a multifeed assembly located in  the  tower's  summit
chamber, while a collimating disk located beneath the projection  focused  the
signal beams and sustained them through power fluctuations.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stood on the circular  walkway  that  surrounded  the
holomap, waiting to be called before the members of the High Council.
     Several other Jedi were about, studying the map or headed for one of  the
three exterior contemplation balconies  that  overlooked  the  vast  plain  of
cityscape below the Temple. It was from the dawn-facing balcony  that  Qui-Gon
had had his first real look at Coruscant.
     "This is the first time I've ever seen Coruscant  singled  out,"  Obi-Wan
remarked as he gazed up at the sphere,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  walkway
railing.
     Qui-Gon glanced at  the  flashing  spheroid  that  was  Corus-cant,  then
allowed his eyes to roam midway to the holomap's  perimeter,  where  a  second
spheroid was aglow.
     Dorvalla.
     "Coruscant should remain illuminated at all times," he  started  to  say,
when yet another spheroid, at even greater  remove  than  Dorvalla,  began  to
flash.
     "Eriadu," Obi-Wan said, reading the graphic attached  to  it.  He  looked
questioningly at Qui-Gon.
     "The site of the upcoming trade summit." "Whose idea was  that,  Master?"
Obi-Wan asked.
     "Senator Palpatine," a baritone human voice said from behind them.
     They turned to find Jorus C'baoth watching them.
     An elder human Jedi Master, C'baoth had a chiseled face,  white  hair  as
long as Qui-Gon's, and a beard three times as long.
     "Palpatine represents Naboo," C'baoth added.
     "Just the world for Qui-Gon," another human Jedi said from farther  along
the walkway.
     C'baoth nodded. "More indigenous species in one square kilometer than you
normally encounter on a hundred worlds." He smiled faintly.  "I  could  easily
see Master Qui-Gon losing himself there." Before  either  Qui-Gon  or  Obi-Wan
could respond, Adi Gal - lia entered the holomap room. "We're ready  for  you,
Qui-Gon," she announced.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan folded their arms, so that each hand disappeared into
the opposite sleeve of their cloaks, and followed Gallia to the turbolift that
accessed the summit chamber.
     "Don't say anything, Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly when they reached the
circular chamber.
     "Simply listen and learn." Obi-Wan  nodded.  "Yes,  Master."  Arch-topped
panes of transparisteel afforded unobstructed views  in  all  directions.  The
ceiling was also arched, and the lustrous floor was designed as  a  series  of
concentric circles, inlaid with floral motifs.
     Leaving Obi-Wan to wait by the turbolift, Qui-Gon advanced to the  center
of the room and stood with his hands crossed in front of him.
     To the right of the turbolift sat Depa Billaba, a slender  near  -  human
female from Chalacta, who wore a mark of  illumination  between  and  slightly
above her eyes. Beside her was Eeth Koth, his face a jigsaw puzzle  of  lines,
and his hairless head studded with vestigial yellow horns of varying length.
     Next came the long  -  necked  Quermian,  Yarael  Poof;  then  Adi,  Oppo
Rancisis, and Even Piell, a Lannik warrior whose face bore a puckered scar. To
Piell's left sat Yaddle, a female of Yoda's species; Saesee Tiin, an Iktotchi,
with downward-facing horns; Ki-Adi-Mundi,  a  strikingly  tall  humanoid  from
Cerea; Yoda, in the red chair that cupped him; and Yoda's peer, Mace Windu,  a
powerfully built, dark - complexioned human with a shaved  skull.  To  Windu's
left, close to the opposite side of the turbolift entrance, sat Plo Koon.
     Fingers interlocked, Mace Windu leaned forward in  his  seat  to  address
Qui-Gon. "We've just met with members of the  Judicial  Department,  regarding
the attempted assassination of Supreme Chancellor Valorum. We're trusting that
you can shed additional light on what transpired at the Galactic Senate." Qui-
Gon nodded. "I trust that I can." Yoda glanced at Windu, then leveled his gaze
at Qui-Gon. "How came you to be at the senate, Qui-Gon? Alerted by your source
in the Nebula Front, were you?" "I'll answer that," Adi Gallia said. "I  asked
Qui-Gon to ac company me to the  Senate,  to  speak  personally  with  Supreme
Chancellor Valorum." Windu regarded her with a frown. "For what purpose?"  Adi
looked briefly to Qui-Gon.
     "Qui-Gon has reason to  believe  that  the  Supreme  Chancellor  errs  by
relying on worlds along the Rimma  Trade  Route  to  end  terrorism  in  those
sectors." "Is this so, Qui-Gon?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
     Qui-Gon nodded. "The Nebula Front receives much of its funding from those
very worlds." "Knows much about the situation, Qui-Gon does," Yoda  said  with
false flattery. "Correct he was about Captain Cohl surviving the explosion  at
Dorvalla." He paused. "Behind the attempted assassination attempt,  is  Cohl?"
"No, Master," Qui-Gon  said.  "Cohl  is  on  the  run.  Furthermore,  I'm  not
persuaded  that  the  Nebula  Front  actually  wished  to  harm  the   Supreme
Chancellor." Yoda's expression  hardened.  "Shot  him,  they  did.  Traced  by
documentation to their secret base in  the  Senex  sector,  they  were."  "Too
easily, Master," Qui-Gon said, holding his ground. "The  signs  were  far  too
obvious." "Terrorists they are. Not soldiers." Windu looked at Yoda,  then  at
Qui-Gon. "You've obviously given thought to this.
     Continue."  "The  assassins  aimed  their  bolts  at  Supreme  Chancellor
Valorum's guards. I believe that the bolt that grazed him was inadvertent. The
escape was also unconvincing. And since they must have known in  advance  that
there was little chance of all of them getting  away,  why  would  they  carry
documentation?" "Unlike Captain Cohl, eh, Qui-Gon?" Qui-Gon nodded. "He  would
not have been so careless." Yoda brought his right forefinger  to  his  mouth.
"Plan this he did--from afar. Seek out your Bith contact in the Nebula  Front,
you must." Qui-Gon turned to him. "I'll do that, Master.
     Still, why would the Front target the Supreme  Chancellor,  when  he  has
finally taken  a  stand  against  the  Trade  Federation?"  "Answer  your  own
question," Windu said.
     Qui-Gon took a breath and gave his head a quick shake. "I'm not  certain,
Masters. But I fear that the Nebula Front has something even more  treacherous
in mind." Hyphens of angry light streaking past her to all sides, the Hawk-Bat
fled the surface of a green  planet,  graced  by  two  small,  close-set,  and
heavily cratered moons.
     Her ardent pursuers were a trio of slender-bodied vessels, Coruscant  red
from stem to stern, with blunt bows, a trio  of  large,  drum-shaped  sublight
thrusters, and multiple pairs of turbolaser batteries.
     In  the  gunship's  cramped   bridge,   Boiny   studied   the   console's
authenticator displays.
     "Corellian space cruisers, Captain!
     Gaining fast! Estimated time before they overtake  us  is--was  "I  don't
want to know," Cohl said from the captain's chair, as an explosion pitched the
ship roughly to port. "Blasted Judicial Department!
     Don't they have better things to do?" "Apparently  not,  Captain,"  Boiny
rejoined.
     Cohl swiveled away from the forward viewports to regard  Rella,  who  had
the controls. "How soon before we can make the jump to lightspeed?"  She  shot
him an angry look. "The navicomputer is holding out on us."  Cohl  glanced  at
Boiny. "Persuade it." The Rodian staggered across the cockpit and slammed  his
hand against the navicomputer.
     "That'll do it," Rella said, relieved.
     Another bolt rocked the ship.
     "Route power to the rear deflectors," Cohl ordered.
     "I'm on it, Captain," Boiny said, as he strapped back into his chair.
     Rella turned slightly to Cohl. "You know, not everyone thrives  on  close
calls." He laughed theatrically. "This from someone who claims that an  escape
isn't worthwhile unless it's narrow?" "That was the old me.  The  new  me  has
different ideas about what's fun and what isn't." "Then you'd better stow  the
new you until we hit clear space." Stung in the tail, the  Hawk-Bat  shuddered
as she rolled to one side.
     "Where are those jump coordinates?" Cohl snapped.
     "Coming up now," Rella assured him. "It's time we put this sector  behind
us, Cohl. Every one of our hideouts is under surveillance."  "And  just  where
are we supposed to go?" "I don't care if we go live with  the  Hutts.  I  just
know it's gotten too hot for us here." Cohl grimaced.  "Don't  tell  me  you'd
work for those bloated worms." "Who said anything about working?" "What  about
our retiring in high style?" "Right about now, I'll settle for retiring, plain
and simple." Cohl shook his head. "That's not the way I planned it. Besides, I
don't like the idea of getting chased out of my  own  hunting  ground."  "Even
when it's clear you've become the prey?" Cohl watched Rella for a long moment.
"You're serious, aren't you? You're thinking of quitting this tour."  She  bit
her lip and nodded. "Unless you decide to come to your senses, Cohl. We're too
old for this. I want to make good on some of the promises we  made  ourselves,
before it's too late." He thought about it, then laughed. "You won't walk.
     You know you'd miss me and come looking for me." Rella showed him  a  sad
look. "You're still thinking of the old me, Cohl." He glanced at Boiny. "Am  I
right or wrong about her looking for me?" The Rodian ducked his crested  head.
"Don't get me in the middle of this. I'm only good at following orders."  Cohl
shook his head at Rella. "Our first  fight."  "Wrong,  Cohl.  Our  last."  She
reached for the throttle. "Making the jump to hyperspace."  With  laser  bolts
still nipping at her, the Hawk-Bat surged forward. The  stars  elongated,  and
the gunship blinked from view.
     In the greeting room of  his  office  in  the  Galactic  Senate,  Valorum
slipped into his veda cloth robe and regarded  his  image  in  an  elaborately
framed mirror. His right arm was almost healed, and instead of the  cumbersome
tube, a soft case was in place, concealed  within  the  ample  sleeve  of  his
overcloak.
     A pair of Senate Guards flanked the  door,  facing  into  the  room,  but
Valorum ignored them as he prepared for the imminent arrival of  Jedi  Masters
Mace Windu and Yoda.
     The Valorum dynasty had long hoped that one of  its  offspring  might  be
strong in the Force, but, by all accounts, it appeared  that  the  Force  just
wasn't in Valorum blood. That regrettable  absence,  however,  hadn't  stopped
Finis Valorum from revering the Jedi. As an entitled youth on Coruscant and on
other Core worlds, he had passed countless hours with the  family  chronicles,
devouring accounts of his ancestors' dealings with the  order-  -  often  with
Jedi Knights and Masters of legendary status. The  tales  had  only  firmed  a
belief developed early on that, even if he couldn't be a  Jedi,  he  could  at
least model his life after them, behaving as if the Force were his  ally,  and
devoting himself to upholding peace and justice at all times.
     But the Republic Valorum had inherited had afforded him few opportunities
to foster peace or justice. Weakened by greed and corruption, the  senate  had
become a tool for widening the rift between rich and poor, and bolstering  the
ambitions of the privileged  and  influential.  Try  as  he  might  to  remain
faithful to his ideals, Valorum had found himself foiled by delegates fattened
on bribes or enslaved to self-interest. Why serve the common good when it  was
more profitable to serve the Commerce Guild, the Techno Union,  the  Corporate
Alliance, or the Trade Federation?
     Whether for personal reasons or in exchange for trade  favors  for  their
home systems, more than half the senate's delegates answered to  the  powerful
corporations, which, in return, asked only that certain motions be quashed, or
others be supported.
     Time and again Valorum was made to appear weak by  being  overruled,  and
that perceived weakness had made those who should have known  better  consider
him to be ineffectual.
     Ineptitude, of  course,  was  the  unexpressed  goal  of  the  corruptors
themselves. Where a weak leader would have been replaced,  and  a  strong  one
counterproductive, one who had simply given up the fight was seen as the  best
of all possible solutions.
     The rueful middle ground had been Valorum's domain for  too  many  years,
until recently, when senators like Bail Antilles, Horox Ryyder, Palpatine, and
a few others had begun to rally round, pledging  their  support  to  help  end
corruption--or, at the very least, to keep it in check. Many thought that  the
current crisis involving the Trade Federation would be a  testing  ground  for
what lay ahead. Valorum hoped only that he could spend the fi-nal years of his
term in office doing right by everyone, in true service to peace and justice.
     That was why the Nebula Front had to be contained.
     Normally the Jedi were not asked to intervene in trade disputes, but  the
attempt on Valorum's life had had less to do with trade than  with  preserving
law and order. Because the Jedi answered to the  Supreme  Chancellor  and  the
Judicial Department, their assistance could now  be  solicited,  and  in  that
sense, the assassination attempt had been a blessing in disguise.
     Valorum could not recall an instance where they had refused to serve,  in
any case. On occasion, though, dealing with them had made Valorum feel  as  if
he were contracting with a power even greater than that enjoyed by the various
trade consortiums or the Republic.
     Ten thousand strong, their collective strength was such that  they  could
rule the Republic if they so wished--if their dedication to peace was any less
demonstrably earnest. Although the Republic government funded  the  order,  at
times there seemed to exist an added price for  their  support--a  sense  that
they might one day come to  Valorum  and  demand  that  the  favors  they  had
rendered be returned tenfold. Although  Valorum  couldn't  imagine  what  they
might ask for that either he or the Republic could  provide.  While  the  Jedi
operated in the world, they were at once outside it, living within the  Force,
as if it were a separate reality.
     It sometimes seemed to Valorum that the Jedi  behaved  as  if  the  Force
ruled the ordinary world, and that the role of the Jedi was to behave in  such
a way that a balance between good  and  evil,  light  and  dark,  was  forever
preserved--lest the scales tip one way or the other, opening a portal for  the
dark to come streaming in, or for allowing the light to blind everyone to some
greater truth.
     Two thousand years earlier, the Jedi  had  faced  a  menacing  threat  to
continuing peace, in the form of the Sith Lords and their armies of  dark-side
apprentices.
     Founded by a fallen Jedi, the Sith  believed  that  power  disavowed  was
power squandered. In place of  justice  for  all,  they  sought  single-minded
authority.  Agitation  and  conflict  were  thought  to  be  more  crucial  to
transformation than was gradual understanding.
     Fortunately, dark power was not easily harnessed, and over the course  of
a thousand years, the Sith had ultimately destroyed themselves.
     Valorum heard the guards snap to attention as the  greeting  room  opened
and Sei Taria entered, followed by the two Jedi Masters.
     Dignified in his hooded robe,  linen-white  tunic,  and  knee-high  brown
boots, Mace Windu seemed to fill the room. But it was the slight and enigmatic
Yoda, in well-seasoned and less-tailored robes, who took up the most space.
     "Masters Windu and Yoda," Valorum said warmly. "Thank  you  for  coming."
Yoda regarded him for a moment, then  smiled  lightly.  "Restored,  you  are."
Valorum touched his right forearm beneath the cloak.
     "Nearly. If the assassin had been a better shot..." Windu and Yoda traded
meaningful looks.
     "How may the Jedi be of service, Supreme Chancellor?" Windu asked.
     Valorum motioned to chairs in the sitting area.
     "Won't you be seated?" Windu sat tall and straight, with his feet flat on
the floor. Yoda considered sitting, then paced to  the  center  of  the  room,
tapping the floor with his cane.
     "Think better in motion, I do." Valorum dismissed Sei Taria and  the  two
guards and sat down opposite Windu, where he could watch Yoda, as well.
     "I trust you've heard that the assassins have been identified as  members
of the Nebula Front." Valorum waited for Windu's nod before continuing.
     "The few that managed to escape were traced to Asmeru,  a  world  on  the
edge of the Senex sector." Leaning toward the table that  separated  him  from
Windu, Valorum activated a holoprojector. In a cone of translucent blue light,
a star map took shape. Valorum indicated a cluster of star systems.
     "The Senex is an autonomous sector, ruled by a  line  of  fiercely  self-
reliant royal houses. The Republic respects  the  independence  of  the  Senex
worlds, and has no interest in meddling in the affairs of those  worlds--given
especially my recent request that worlds along the nearby  Rimma  Trade  Route
unite to curtail terrorism in their sector of  space.  However,  when  affairs
there reach across the stars to affect Coruscant, we cannot  stand  idly  by."
Valorum switched off the holoprojector.
     "I have communicated with the rulers of Houses Vandron  and  Elegin,  who
hold sway over Asmeru and other systems in that part of the Senex sector.
     They deny granting the Nebula Front safe haven. Rather, they contend that
the terrorists seized Asmeru from a scant indigenous population, and have been
using the planet as a base of operations for raids against  ships  plying  the
Rimma Trade Route and Corellian Trade Spine. Wishing to avoid becoming targets
of the Nebula Front,  Houses  Vandron  and  Elegin  have  essentially  ignored
activities on Asmeru." "Until now," Windu interjected.
     Valorum nodded. "They have agreed to help us in our effort to contain the
Nebula Front on Asmeru until the Eriadu trade summit concludes." Yoda frowned.
"Breeders of slaves, they are.
     No better than those who make up the Nebula Front." Valorum  acknowledged
it with a fatigued sigh.
     "It's true. Slavery is what has prevented the Senex sector  from  trading
openly with the Republic.
     The possibility of trade is what prompts their willingness to  help  us."
Windu's  eyebrows  beetled.  "What  help  are  the  Senex  Houses   offering?"
"Logistical support. Owing to a nearby gravitic sink,  as  well  as  to  space
mines sown by the Nebula Front, Asmeru is not easily approached. House Vandron
has offered to guide us in." Windu considered it. "You wish  us  to  accompany
the Judicial Department cruisers." "Yes," Valorum  said  flatly.  "Should  you
consent, I will petition  the  senate  for  authorization.  But  allow  me  to
explain. This operation is not designed to be a show of force, nor an  attempt
at retaliation for what happened here. I propose  to  dispatch  two  cruisers,
carrying thirty judicials, along with as many Jedi as you see fit to include.
     "For all we know, those responsible for the attempt on my life  could  be
members of a radical faction.
     The rest may know nothing of the assassination plot.
     Nevertheless, I don't want them disrupting the Eriadu summit. I also wish
to learn what they hoped to accomplish by assassinating me. If  their  actions
sprang from not being included in the trade summit, then I want them  to  know
that I am willing to meet with them, as  soon  as  they  agree  to  desist  in
attacking Trade Federation vessels. If they are unwilling to  enact  a  truce,
the Trade Federation will likely be given consent to  increase  their  already
substantial arsenal of weapons." Windu glanced at Yoda before  replying.  "And
if our attempt to communicate these things to those in  charge  is  rebuffed?"
Valorum frowned. "Then I would ask that  the  Jedi  see  to  it  that  no  one
involved with the Nebula Front leaves Asmeru. They are to be  contained  there
until further notice." Windu stroked his smooth chin. "You  could  be  sending
your judicials into a trap."  "We  have  to  take  that  risk,"  Valorum  said
sternly, then softened his voice to  add,  "We  should  at  least  attempt  to
negotiate before deciding on desperate measures."  He  looked  from  Windu  to
Yoda, and back again.
     Yoda stopped moving to gaze unsympathetically at Valorum.  "Want  to  see
this conflict resolved, we do."  Windu  interlocked  his  fingers  and  leaned
forward in his chair. "The Trade Federation should not be  granted  additional
weaponry. Defensive or otherwise, weapons are not the way to settle this. Such
actions will lead only to further escalation." "I agree," Valorum said  sadly.
"And I wish it was that simple. But the Trade Federation is deeply  entrenched
in Republic politics." "At war with yourself, you are," Yoda remarked.
     "Caught up in your own conflict." Chagrined by the remark, Valorum  shook
his head from side to side. "These matters require great delicacy,  and  deals
of a sort I am loathe to make." Windu firmed his lips. "We will consider  what
help we could lend at Asmeru." Valorum was disappointed.  "Thank  you,  Master
Windu. I would also request that you consider providing security at the Eriadu
summit. No one, I fear, is safe." Windu nodded, stood up, and  walked  to  the
door.
     Yoda turned to Valorum before leaving.
     "Confer we will, and inform you of our decision." Docking rings linked by
a rigid cofferdam, the Hawk-But and a modified CloakShape orbited drab  Asmeru
in deeply shadowed concert.
     "To be honest, I didn't expect you  to  come  back,"  Havac  was  telling
Captain Cohl in the forward compartment of the gunship.
     Cohl sniffed. "To be honest, I  didn't  expect  to  come  back."  Havac's
partner, Cindar, made a show of glancing around the compartment. "Where's your
first mate, Captain?" "She walked," Cohl said.
     Havac regarded him for a moment. "And you didn't walk with her? Why not?"
"My business," Cohl snapped.
     Cindar couldn't suppress a smug grin. "You came back because you couldn't
resist the credits, and she could." Cohl gave his head a  smart  shake.  "It's
not the credits that brought me back. It's the  life."  He  laughed  bitterly.
"How does someone like me retire? What do I know about  farming?"  He  slapped
the blaster on his hip. "This is what I know. This is how I am." Havac swapped
satisfied looks with Cindar.
     "Then we're even more pleased to have you  back  aboard,  Captain."  Cohl
planted his elbows on the table. "Then make it worth the trip." Havac  nodded.
"Maybe you haven't heard, but Supreme Chancellor Valorum intends to press  for
taxation of the free trade zones. If the proposal meets with Senate  approval,
the Trade Federation stands to see a lot of its profits end up  on  Coruscant.
All well and good, if the Neimoidians would agree to take it on the chin,  but
they won't. They'll try to offset the taxes by raising the costs for  shipping
with them. Without anyone else to ship with, the outlying systems will have no
choice but to pay whatever the Federation demands. Worlds that refuse to  play
by the new rules  will  be  overlooked,  and  their  markets  will  collapse."
"Competition will get cutthroat," Cindar added.
     "Especially hard for worlds desperate to do trade with the Core. There'll
be credits galore for anyone willing to take advantage of the situation." Cohl
gazed at the two of them and smirked.
     "What's all that got to do with me? I couldn't care less what happens  to
either side." Havac's gaze narrowed. "Disinterest is  exactly  what  this  job
calls for, since our goal is to change the rules." Cohl waited.
     "We want you to assemble  a  team  of  spotters,  trackers,  and  weapons
experts," Havac said.
     "They have to be highly skilled, and they should share your penchant  for
impartiality. But I don't want to use professionals. I don't want to take  the
chance of their being under surveillance  already,  or  first-choice  suspects
after the fact." "You're looking for assassins," Cohl said.
     "We're not asking you to be involved in the act," Cindar said. "Only  the
delivery. In case you need to soothe your conscience any, think of the team as
a shipment of weapons." Cohl's upper lip curled. "I'll let you  know  when  my
conscience needs soothing. Who's the target?"  "Supreme  Chancellor  Valorem,"
Havac said carefully.
     "We want to strike during the trade summit on Eriadu," Cindar elaborated.
     Cohl stared at them in amusement. "This is the major job  you  promised?"
Cindar spread his huge hands. "Your assured retirement, Captain."  Cohl  shook
his head and laughed. "Who put this bright idea in your  head,  Havac?"  Havac
stiffened. "We're receiving help from a powerful outside  agency,  sympathetic
to our cause." "The same one who told you about  the  shipment  of  aurodium."
"The less you know, the better," Cindar warned.
     Cohl laughed again. "Secret information, huh?" Havac's forehead  wrinkled
in concern. "You don't think the job can be done?" Cohl shrugged. "Anyone  can
be killed." "Then why are you hesitant?" Cohl blew out his  breath  in  scorn.
"You two must take me for a furbog trader. Just because I've  been  chased  up
and down the Rimma and all over this sector doesn't mean I don't keep  an  ear
to the background noise. You tried to  kill  Valorum  on  Coruscant,  and  you
rumbled the job.
     Now you're turning to me, which you should have done in the first place."
Cindar returned the sneer. "You weren't interested, remember? You were bent on
a life of moisture farming on Tatooine." "Besides, we didn't fumble anything,"
Havac said.
     "We thought we could scare Valorum into  inviting  the  Nebula  Front  to
attend the summit. He didn't bite, so now we mean to finish the job on Eriadu.
" Cindar grinned malevolently. "We're going to ruin his summit in a way no one
will soon forget." Cohl scratched at his beard. "For what?  So  Valorum  won't
tax the free trade zones?
     How does that help the Nebula Front or the outlying systems?" "I  thought
you weren't interested in politics," Havac said.
     "Pure curiosity." "All  right,"  Havac  allowed.  "Without  taxation,  no
worlds have to worry about increased costs. As for the Trade Federation, we'll
continue to deal with them in our own  way."  Cohl  was  unconvinced.  "You're
going to cultivate a crop of new enemies, Havac--including the Jedi, if I know
anything about anything. But I guess you're not paying me to think." "Exactly,
" Cindar made clear. "Suppose you let us worry about the backlash." "Fine with
me," Cohl said. "But let's talk about Eriadu. Because of what  you  pulled  on
Coruscant, security is going to be extra tight. No matter what you were trying
to do, you've already undermined yourvs." "All the more  reason  to  gather  a
highly skilled team," Havac agreed.
     Cohl put his hands on the table. "I'll need a new ship. The  Hawk-Bat  is
too well known." "Done," Cindar promised.  "What  else?"  Cohl  considered  it
briefly. "I don't suppose you could do anything about keeping the  Jedi  clear
of my trajectory?" Havac  smiled.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  Captain,  I  can
practically guarantee that the Jedi are  going  to  be  busy  elsewhere."  the
outlying systems Edging into jaded sunlight around the curve of a  tiny  moon,
two diplomatic cruisers closed on pale-brown Asmeru. In front  and  to  either
side of the crimson Corellian ships flew a dark  escort  of  Tikiar  fighters,
resembling beaked and taloned predatory birds. Lagging behind,  still  in  the
shadow of the moon, came a pair of colossal dreadnaughts with fanged bows  and
elegantly finned sterns, prickly with weapons and bearing the royal  crest  of
House Vandron.
     Light-years distant, etched into  the  star-strewn  backdrop,  loomed  an
immense spiral of light, attenuating toward a center of utter blackness.
     Qui-Gon regarded the crazed sky from the cockpit of the trailing cruiser.
Obi-Wan stood beside him, peering between the forward seats for a better view.
The female pilot and male copilot wore the tight-fitting blue uniforms of  the
Judicial Department.
     "Coming up on the minefield," the pilot said while her  hands  were  busy
making adjustments to the instruments.
     A scattering of glinting cylinders caught Qui-Gon's eye.
     "I might have mistaken them for asteroids," the copilot said.
     Obi-Wan leaned toward him. "Things are not always what they appear to be.
" Qui-Gon shot him a disapproving glance.
     "Remember that when we are on the surface, Padawan," he said quietly.
     Obi-Wan bit back a retort and nodded.
     "Yes, Master." The copilot called up a  magnified  view  of  one  of  the
mines. "Command detonated," he said over his shoulder to  Qui-Gon.  "They  can
probably be triggered by the terrorists' sentry ships or from down below."  As
Qui-Gon  was  considering  it,  a  female  voice  issued  from   the   cockpit
annunciators.
     "Prominence, this is Ecliptic.
     Our escort advises that we raise deflector shields and hold fast  to  our
course. Long-range scans show three fighter craft  on  the  far  side  of  the
minefield. We have high confidence that they are aware of us." Qui-Gon touched
Obi-Wan on the shoulder.
     "It's time we rejoined the others  in  the  salon  pod."  They  left  the
cramped cockpit and walked aft down a narrow  corridor  that  passed  directly
through the navigator's station, the  communications  station,  and  the  crew
lounge. The corridor terminated at a turbolift, which they rode to  the  lower
deck. Then they walked forward through the salon pod's vestibule and into  the
roomy pod itself.
     Nuzzled beneath the cruiser's abrupt bow and forward  sensor  array,  the
cone-shaped pods were interchangeable  and  capable  of  providing  customized
atmospheres.
     In emergency situations, they could be jettisoned and employed as  escape
vehicles. This one featured port and starboard viewports and a large  circular
table, with a holoprojector at its center.
     "We're negotiating the minefield," Qui-Gon said.
     "Indeed we  are,"  Jedi  Knight  Ki-Adi-Mundi  said  from  the  starboard
viewport.
     He had a smooth, elongated skull and a piercing gaze. His chin sported  a
long tuft of gray hair; his upper lip, dangling gray mustachios  that  matched
his thick eyebrows.
     "Worried your young Padawan appears, Qui-Gon," Yaddle remarked  from  her
seat at the table. "The minefield is it, or other  concerns?"  Qui-Gon  almost
smiled. "That's his normal look of foreboding. When he's actually worried, you
can see steam escaping his ears." "Yes," Yaddle said. "Watch him train I  did.
Saw the steam." "I'm not worried, Masters," Obi-Wan said good-naturedly.  "I'm
only thinking forward." He waited for Qui-Gon to offer some  piece  of  wisdom
regarding the living Force, but for once his Master kept silent.
     "Right you are to think forward, Padawan," Yaddle told him. "Deal lightly
with matters of consequence, and decisively with those of little consequence.
     Difficult it is to face a crisis and solve it  gently,  if  not  resolved
beforehand you are, for uncertainty will impede your efforts. When  comes  the
time, thinking forward allows you to deal lightly." Her big  eyes  shifted  to
favor Qui-Gon.
     "Agree do you, Qui-Gon?"  He  bowed  his  head.  "As  you  say,  Master."
Diagonally across the table from Yaddle, Saesee Tiin glanced up and smiled, as
if reading Qui-Gon's thoughts. Next to him, and as small in stature as Yaddle,
sat Vergere, a female Fosh, and the former apprentice of Thracia Cho Leem, who
had left the Jedi Order  several  years  earlier.  Vergere's  trim  torso  was
covered with short feathers of varied color. Her  slightly  concave  face  was
slant-eyed, wide-mouthed, delicately whiskered, and bracketed by willowy  ears
and twin antennae.  A  pair  of  reverse-articulated  legs  and  splayed  feet
propelled her.
     Alongside Vergere stood Depa Billaba, the hood of her brown cloak  raised
over her head.
     The voice of the Prominence's pilot crackled  from  the  pod's  speakers.
"Master Tiin, incoming transmission from our escort." Qui-Gon  stepped  closer
to the table.
     Shortly, the image of an  aristocratic  human  male  appeared  above  the
holoprojector.
     "Esteemed members of the Jedi Order," the man began. "On behalf  of  Lord
Crueya and Lady Theala of House Vandron, it is our honor to welcome you to the
Senex sector. We apologize for the circuitous route we have  been  obliged  to
follow, and likewise for the precautions  circumstances  have  obliged  us  to
exercise. Tidal forces and orbital weapons make for  an  uncommonly  hazardous
mix." He smiled thinly. "Be that as it may, we trust that you will  not  judge
the Senex sector by what you are likely to encounter  on  Asmeru.  The  planet
once supported great cities and grand palaces, but all those  fell  victim  to
sudden climatic change. The current population is comprised  of  Ossan  slaves
created on the Vandron world of Karfeddion, but banished here owing to defects
of one sort or another. Bred for agricultural work, the slaves have managed to
make a life for themselves, though we doubt that you will find them especially
welcoming. That might have been the case with the members of the Nebula Front,
as well, but for their superior weapons." "Charming," Depa said,  just  loudly
enough to be heard by her comrades.
     "We're sorry we can't be of more assistance  at  this  time,"  the  human
added. "Perhaps when the present crisis is resolved, the Senex Houses and  the
Republic can meet to discuss matters  of  mutual  concern  and  benefit."  The
miniature figure disappeared,  leaving  the  seven  Jedi  to  trade  looks  of
misgiving.
     "And not yet midway through the minefield are we," Yaddle said.
     The comm chimed again.
     "Communication from Asmeru downside," the pilot announced. "Nebula  Front
sentry ships are presenting no overt threat, but House Vandron  fighters  have
dispersed to remove themselves from any possible  action."  Through  the  port
viewport Qui-Gon could see the sleek Tikiars peeling gracefully away from  the
Prominence.
     When he turned back to the table,  a  leathery-skinned  humanoid  with  a
barbarous twist to his mouth stood in the holoprojector's cone of blue  light.
His face was deeply pitted and his features were large.
     His skull was shaved, save  for  a  braided  topknot  that  fell  to  his
shoulders. Qui-Gon thought that he was getting his first  glimpse  of  one  of
Asmeru's banished slaves, until the humanoid spoke.
     "Republic cruisers, identify yourvs or risk being fired on." Saesee  Tiin
positioned himself for the holocam and spoke for the Jedi, his cowl lowered to
reveal his tight, shiny face and downward-facing horns. "We are members  of  a
diplomatic mission dispatched by Coruscant."  "This  is  not  Republic  space,
Jedi. You have no authority here." "We acknowledge that," Tiin  replied  in  a
calm voice. "But we have prevailed upon the rulers of this sector to guide  us
to Asmeru for the purpose of opening negotiations with the Nebula Front."  The
humanoid showed his teeth. "The Nebula Front's grievances are with  the  Trade
Federation, not Coruscant--and we can settle those in our own fashion.  What's
more, we know full well how the Jedi "negotiate." his Tiin leaned  toward  the
holocam pickup, narrowing already narrow eyes. "Then let me provide you with a
reason. Coruscant has grievances with the  Nebula  Front  when  they  make  an
attempt on the life of a Republic dignitary." The humanoid blinked in apparent
bafflement. "Your meaning escapes me, Jedi. Whose life was  threatened?"  "The
life of Supreme Chancellor Valorum." Concern tugged at  the  humanoid's  gross
features. "Your guides have misled you. As I said, we have no issue  with  the
Republic." "Some of the assassins were tracked to Asmeru," Tiin pressed.
     "They may have been tracked here, but we know nothing of their  actions."
Tiin pressed his point. "I propose that someone in a position of command  come
aboard and speak with us." The humanoid scoffed. "You must  be  space  happy."
"Then will you allow us to come to the surface and speak  with  you?"  "Do  we
have a choice in the matter?" "No, not  really."  "I  thought  as  much,"  the
humanoid said. "How many Jedi are you?" "Seven."  "And  how  many  judicials?"
"Perhaps twenty." The humanoid turned to discuss the matter with  someone  out
of view. "As a gesture of good faith, leave one of  your  cruisers  in  orbit,
along with most of the Judicial force,"  he  replied  at  last.  "Two  of  our
CloakShapes will usher the other cruiser down." Tiin glanced at  Yaddle,  then
Billaba, both of whom nodded. He swung back to the holocam pickup.  "We  await
your escort." "Is there anyone here who feels confident about  this?"  Vergere
asked while the cruiser was descending through the  thin  clouds  that  barely
masked Asmeru's wrinkled surface. When  no  one  responded  to  the  delicate,
feathered Jedi's question, she shook her disproportionately large head.  "Just
as I feared." Qui-Gon glanced meaningfully at Obi-Wan.
     The two of them left the pod and retraced their steps to the cockpit.  By
the time they arrived, features of the landscape were coming into  view:  ice-
capped  mountain  ranges;  arid  plateaus;  steep  and  intricately   terraced
hillsides, pale-green with crops,  climbing  above  ribbons  of  racing  black
water.
     "What should we do in the event of trouble,  Master?"  Obi  -  Wan  asked
quietly.
     Qui-Gon's gaze didn't leave the cockpit viewport. "In  a  rainstorm,  you
try to keep dry by hurrying for shelter. But you get soaked regardless." "It's
better to conclude beforehand that you're going to get wet," Obi-Wan said.
     Qui-Gon nodded.
     The ruins of an ancient city of quarried stone appeared on the  horizon--
monolithic monuments, rectangular platforms, and stepped pyramids, silhouetted
against the sky, as if they were a range of hills.  Directly  below,  enormous
geometric shapes and animistic symbols had been etched  into  the  perpetually
thirsty ground. The city was bounded by  walls  made  of  cyclopean  boulders,
assembled in the shape of lightning bolts.
     Surrounding the ruins spread a maze of primitive dwellings built  of  mud
and sun-baked clay.
     Tiny figures could be glimpsed moving along dirt roadways, some  of  them
in wheeled wagons, and others driving herds of long-haired  pack  animals,  as
large as banthas. To the north, an expansive lake dotted  with  rocky  islands
stretched across the creased terrain like a spill of liquid jet.
     "There's the landing area," the pilot said.
     She directed Qui-Gon's attention to a large plaza at the  center  of  the
ruins, as wide as the hangar arm of a Trade Federation freighter and twice  as
long. Bordered on all four sides by flat - faced pyramids, the plaza was large
enough to accommodate a flotilla of cruisers.
     "Prominence, this is Ecliptic" the same female voice said in  haste  over
the cockpit speakers. "Our scanners have detected  five  unidentified  vessels
emerging from Asmeru's dark side. House Vandron's Tikiars and Dreadnaughts are
leaving orbit." Qui-Gon glanced sharply at the pilot. "It's a  trap,  Captain.
Order the Ecliptic to get clear." "Ecliptic," the pilot started to say, when a
long burst of static issued from the cockpit speakers. Then the  female  voice
returned, her words shot through with alarm.
     "'Prominence, they're detonating the mines! We can't maneuver!
     Unidentified ships closing. Four  starfighters  and  a  Tempest  -  class
gunship." Obi-Wan shot Qui-Gon a wide-eyed look.
     "The Hawk-Bat!" "We'll know soon enough."  A  prolonged  screech  erupted
from the  speakers.  At  the  same  time,  the  Prominence  began  to  shudder
violently.
     "We're being pulled in," the pilot said in astonishment.
     She and the copilot began to struggle with the controls.
     Qui - Gon pressed his face to the cool  transparisteel  viewport.  A  rec
tangular opening had appeared in  the  inclined  face  of  one  of  the  plaza
pyramids, revealing the telltale grid of a tractor beam.
     "It's a commercial array," Qui-Gon said. "Can we  break  away?"  "We  can
try," the pilot said.
     "We could also end up blowing out the sublight drives,"  Obi-Wan  thought
to point out.
     The copilot opened a channel to the communications station. "Send a burst
transmission to Coruscant, alerting them to our situation."  Below,  the  flat
roof of a sprawling building was parting like  a  curtain.  The  barrel  of  a
weapon elevated into view.
     "Ion cannon," the pilot said through gritted teeth.
     Qui-Gon squatted down next to her. "Our visit  was  clearly  anticipated,
Captain." Abruptly, she pivoted to  the  controls  that  ena4  the  salon  pod
ejection system. "Master, tell your comrades to exit the salon pod. There  may
yet be a way out of this." Qui-Gon glanced out the viewport. One of the escort
Cloak - Shapes had altered vector to move in front of the cruiser. The landing
area was directly ahead, only a  few  kilometers  distant.  "There  are  ways,
Captain. But not the one you have in mind." "Do as I say," she snapped.
     Qui-Gon hesitated, then leaned toward the intercom pickup. "Master  Tiin,
evacuate the salon pod immediately."  "Why,  Qui-Gon?"  "There's  no  time  to
explain. Hurry." The pilot waited for confirmation that  the  pod  was  empty.
Then she triggered the pod's separator charges. The cruiser's bow tipped up as
the magnoclamps below the cockpit blew,  and  the  pod  broke  away  from  the
fuselage.
     All but immune to the effects of the tractor beam because  of  its  small
size, the pod rocketed ahead of the decelerating cruiser,  its  self-contained
jets flaring, but its course dictated by the Prominence's captain.
     The pilot of the CloakShape flying point couldn't  have  known  what  hit
him.
     Rammed forcefully in the tail by the pod, the  fighter  lurched  forward,
then veered violently to one side.
     The pilot tried to correct, but the repulsorlift engine had been  fatally
damaged, and the small craft was out of control. Belching  intermittent  puffs
of white smoke and a stream of viscous fluids, the CloakShape tipped  up  onto
its right stabilizer, then began a  corkscrewing  plummet  toward  the  city's
central plaza.
     The pilot leaned forward to track the fighter, her right  hand  clenched.
"Stay on target," she urged the fighter. "Stay on  target..."  The  CloakShape
slammed nose first into the sloping  face  of  the  pyramid  that  housed  the
tractor beam, and blew to pieces. Narrowly missed, the grid held for a moment,
then sparks began to gambol across the invisible perimeter  of  its  deflector
shield.
     "That's all we needed!" the pilot said.
     She fed full power to the tri-thrusters, and was just starting her  climb
when the cruiser jerked to a halt,  then  was  released,  only  to  be  jerked
motionless once more.
     "You damaged it, Captain," Qui-Gon said, "but you didn't  kill  it."  The
pilot's continued efforts to pull away succeeded only in throwing the  cruiser
into a dizzying horizontal spin. Still half in the grip of the dazed grid, the
Prominence slued sharply to  starboard,  flying  over  the  plaza  and  headed
straight for the city's northernmost pyramid.
     Qui-Gon was certain that they were go ing to hit the  structure  head-on,
but at the last moment, the cruiser surged upward. Even so,  the  tail  struck
the  pyramid's  upper  platform,  shearing  off  the  central  and   starboard
thrusters.
     At the same instant, the ion cannon opened fire.
     Energy pulsed from the weapon's reciprocating barrels, finding soft spots
in the belly of the ship.
     Charges leapt about the deflector shield, forking  like  lightning,  then
encasing the ship in a scintillating web of blue light.
     All shipboard systems failed.
     Silence reigned for a split second, then  sporadic  power  returned.  The
cruiser commenced a rapid, diagonal glide, held aloft by  its  sole  remaining
engine.
     Lambent with late sunlight, the black lake expanded below.
     "And I thought you were just being figurative about getting wet, Master,"
Obi-Wan said as he looked around for something to hold on to.
     The Prominence skimmed the surface of the lake,  then  bellied  into  the
water and began to  hydroplane  toward  the  center.  The  cruiser  was  on  a
collision course with one of the rocky islands, until its blunt  bow  dropped,
and the lake robbed it of forward momentum. It came to a  shuddering  stop  in
turbulent water, then listed to its damaged side and slowly began to sink.
     By then the seven Jedi and the few judicials aboard had gathered  at  the
starboard docking ring airlock.
     Blowing the hatch, they eased down into the frigid water and  started  to
swim for the nearest island, which rose in a jumble of  wind  -  and  water  -
smoothed boulders to a height of one hundred or so meters.
     First to reach shore, Qui-Gon launched himself to dry  land,  landing  on
his feet on a narrow stretch of rocky beach. Waves generated by the  cruiser's
plunge crashed around his ankles. He used his hands  to  sluice  some  of  the
water out of his long hair and beard. Then he emptied his boots,  plucked  his
soaked tunic away from his chest, and slipped into the cloak he had held above
the waves while swimming. Unclipping his lightsaber, he acti vated  the  blade
and swept it in front of him.
     Satisfied that the weapon hadn't been damaged, he  switched  it  off  and
reclipped it to his broad leather belt.
     He inhaled deeply, but didn't  come  close  to  filling  his  lungs  with
oxygen. The high-altitude air was thin; the  sky,  an  inverted  bowl  of  the
deepest blue, was seemingly supported on the ice - white shoulders of mountain
ranges that ringed the horizon.
     As - meru's sun was  a  huge  red  smear  on  the  western  horizon.  The
temperature was falling fast, and certainly would be below freezing by sunset.
     To the south, the sky was streaked with the contrails of ships  rocketing
down the planet's gravity well, no doubt headed for the landing area.  Qui-Gon
wondered briefly which one of them might be the Hawk-Bat.
     He turned his back to the lake and  let  his  gaze  wander  up  over  the
lifeless rocks. Assembled by hand rather than nature, the island was itself  a
pyramid, with the ruins of ancient structures surmounting it.
     To both sides of Qui-Gon, Jedi and judicials were beginning to climb from
the lake, their waterlogged tunics and uniforms weighing them down.
     Following Qui-Gon's lead, Obi-Wan sprang from the water, landing atop one
of the smaller rocks. Vergere floated in like a water fowl until  she  reached
the stony beach, then she called on her powerful reverse-articulated  legs  to
catapult her ashore. Saesee Tiin's  big  hands  cut  through  the  waves  like
flippers. Yaddle rode in atop Ki-Adi-Mundi's broad shoulders, her  short  arms
wrapped around his tall head, and her topknot of golden-brown  hair  plastered
to her green skull.
     Close by, Depa Billaba stepped gracefully to the beach,  as  if  emerging
from a warm bath.
     Three hundred meters away, the dorsal hull of the  Prominence  was  still
visible above the waterline. Giant air bubbles broke the surface of  the  lake
and popped loudly.
     Everyone was a bit stunned. With a fractured arm, the cruiser's pilot was
the most seriously injured. In obvious pain, she made her way over to Qui-Gon,
breathless when she reached him.
     "I thought we could break free," she said, by way of apology.
     "Don't condemn your actions just yet," Qui-Gon replied. "Nothing  happens
by chance." The pilot nodded and looked at Saesee Tiin.
     "Was it House Vandron that betrayed us?" The  Iktotchi  folded  his  arms
across his massive chest. "That has little bearing on our present  situation."
He glanced at Yaddle. "The question is, what do we  do  next?"  "An  immediate
answer, that question begs," the small Jedi replied, "as company  we're  about
to have." Qui-Gon followed her gaze. Several vessels were approaching from the
lake's south shore.
     Obi-Wan reached to unclip his lightsaber, but Qui-Gon restrained him with
a look. "There's always time for that. Just now we need  to  assess  where  we
stand." Obi-Wan glanced around. "On an island, in the middle of a  lake,  with
adversaries on the approach, Master." "Wasn't it you who said that things  are
not always what they appear to be?" Obi-Wan frowned. "I stand corrected." Qui-
Gon touched him on the shoulder and nodded his chin to the others. "There's no
sense making ourselves easy targets." Drawing on the  Force,  and  taking  the
judicials with them, the Jedi vaulted and bounded up into the boulders.
     From higher up, they had a better vantage from which to see just what was
approaching. Driven by repulsorlifts, the vessels were as gruesomely  fanciful
as the spaceships of House Vandron. Some  had  upturned  animistic  prows  and
ribcage gunwales; others had elaborately raised sterns,  carved  with  ghastly
visages. All were equipped with mounted repeating blasters.
     The bestial flotilla came to a hovering halt just short  of  the  island,
weapons traversing the shore. Each vessel carried a crew of humans,  Weequays,
Rodians, Bith, Sullustans, and others, many of them layered in heavy garments,
gloves, and headpieces that covered noses and mouths.
     Standing in the bow of the lead craft, a tall human unwound the  colorful
scarf that masked his lower face and cupped his hands to his mouth.
     "For what it's worth, Jedi, we  had  planned  on  providing  you  with  a
warmer, and certainly drier, welcome." Saesee Tiin, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and  Qui-Gon
showed themselves. "The same warm welcome you  provided  our  other  cruiser?"
Tiin said.
     The human had the boat brought about to face Tiin.
     "In attempting to flee, your other cruiser struck several mines  and  was
destroyed. We had no intentions of firing on it." "What  are  your  intentions
here?" Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
     "First, to declare that we are dismayed that the Jedi would  oppose  free
trade in the outlying systems, by choosing to side with the Trade Federation."
"We have taken no sides," Tiin said gruffly. "Our sole aim is to resolve  this
crisis before it intensifies into open warfare. That,  too,  is  the  goal  of
Supreme Chancellor Valorum, who is anything but your enemy  is  this  matter."
"We had nothing to do with the assassination attempt," someone in one  of  the
other boats shouted.
     The terrorists" spokesman whirled angrily to the source of the  outburst,
then regained his composure. "If Valorum is not our enemy, why was the  Nebula
Front excluded from the Eriadu summit?" "If you will agree to  meet  with  the
Supreme Chancellor, he will explain his reasons." The human shook his head  at
Tiin. "That's not good enough. The conference will unite the Trade  Federation
and the Commerce Guild against us. We demand that Valorum cancel the  summit."
"Is that what this is about?" Qui-Gon asked, gesturing broadly. "You intend to
hold us hostage while you issue your demands?" The  human  spread  his  gloved
hands. "What are the chances of Valorum listening to us otherwise, Jedi?" Tiin
responded to it. "And should the supreme chancellor refuse to  listen  to  you
now?" "Then the blood of however many of you die here  will  be  on  Valorum's
hands," the man said after a long moment.
     He continued before any of the Jedi could respond.
     "All of us are aware of your abilities. We're not yet desperate enough to
attempt to take you by force.
     We know that you can probably survive on this pile of rocks for  as  long
as you wish, even without adequate food and water. But that is also acceptable
to us. For the moment, the fact  that  you  are  stranded  here  is  all  that
matters. It is our hope, however, that you will come to your senses and  allow
us to imprison you in a  style  more  in  keeping  with  that  which  you  are
accustomed." Night passed slowly.
     Warming themselves through the Force, the Jedi huddled on the stone floor
of the island's ruined summit temple, with  the  judicials  pressed  in  among
them. Glow sticks provided  light  when  they  needed  it,  and  food  tablets
provided some sustenance. But there was no water, even from the lake,  because
of its dangerously high salinity.
     Vergere tucked her legs beneath her and sat as if roosting. Yaddle pulled
her delicate robes around her and slipped easily into a trance state.
     Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Depa Billaba, KiAdiMundi, and Saesee Tiin took turns at
guard duty.
     Lifeless as the island was, the Force was strong there, in the  lingering
presence of the ancients who had assembled it.
     Through trapezoidal windows in the  temple  walls,  dawn  cast  long  red
shadows into the room. When everyone was awake, Yaddle and  Depa  Billaba  got
right down to business.
     "By now, Coruscant has learned of our predicament,"  Billaba  said.  "I'm
certain that the Supreme Chancellor will not delay the Eriadu summit.  But  he
may dispatch more judicials to Asmeru." "A conflict that  guarantees,"  Yaddle
said.
     "Lost already is the Ecliptic, presumably with all hands. Now, additional
deaths in the offing are. A better way to resolve this there is." It  was  not
the first time in her 476 years  that  the  tiny  Jedi  had  been  imprisoned.
According to legend, she had ascended to the rank of Master  as  a  result  of
having spent more than a hundred years in an underground prison on Koba.
     "The Nebula Front can't hope to gain anything by holding us  here,"  Qui-
Gon said with patent suspicion.  "Surely  they  know  that  we  were  able  to
communicate with Coruscant before we crashed." "Perhaps they don't think  that
way," Ki-Adi-Mundi suggested. "Perhaps strategy of that sort doesn't come into
play." Qui-Gon looked at him. "But it does. I've already seen it  in  action."
"Explain it to you Cohl will, when finally you  confront  him,"  Yaddle  said.
"Until that time, resolve to yield or fight we must." Vergere's  willowy  ears
pricked up. She glanced knowingly at Qui-Gon, then cut her oblique eyes to the
doorless portal that led to the  temple's  adjoining  room.  Qui-Gon  listened
intently for a moment, then he and Ki-Adi-Mundi stood up and moved silently to
either side of the gaping opening.
     Yaddle, Depa, and Vergere began to converse again,  as  if  nothing  were
amiss. Suddenly, Qui-Gon and KiAdiMundi reached into the doorway, tugging into
the scant sunlight a humanoid who looked as if he, or perhaps she,  had  risen
from the ground itself. The being's thick skin  was  certainly  impervious  to
wind, snow, or high-altitude solar radiation. Its four  hands  and  bare  feet
were configured for digging and scooping, and its back was built for  carrying
loads. Eyes clearly capable of seeing in the dark were  prominent  in  a  mere
suggestion of a face, lacking ears or nose, with  a  mouth  barely  suited  to
speech.
     Held in the grip of the two Jedi, the biped began to babble nervously  in
an unknown tongue.
     Depa got to her feet. "He speaks the traders tongue of the  Senex  sector
Houses," she said.
     Yaddle nodded. "One of their allegedly flawed  bioengineered  slaves,  he
is." The slave continued to speak, his gaze riveted on Depa.
     She listened, then smiled gently and  touched  his  shoulder.  "It  seems
there's an alternative we hadn't considered," she told everyone. "This one  is
offering to help us escape." Qui-Gon spoke to the  slave.  "By  what  method?"
Depa translated the reply. "By taking the route he  took  to  reach  us."  The
slave motioned to the adjoining room. Qui-Gon and Obi - Wan lighted  two  glow
sticks and ducked through the doorway. In the room's rear wall, a hinged stone
door, a meter thick, was ajar.
     "Explored this place during the night, did you not?"  Yaddle  asked  from
behind them.
     "We did, Master," Obi-Wan said.
     She shook her head  in  rebuke.  "Careless,  you  are."  The  slave  said
something to Depa.
     "This one says that this temple and the city are  linked  by  underground
tunnels. Some of the tunnels lead to the structures  that  surround  the  main
plaza--the landing platform. Apparently, the plaza  is  lightly  guarded,  and
this one believes that we could easily seize the starfighters  parked  there."
Yaddle's eyes narrowed somewhat. "Clearly what we are meant to do," she  said.
"Less certain, I am,  about  our  chances  of  leaving  Asmeru."  Tiin  nodded
decisively. "We'll defer any decision until that option is in hand." In single
file they moved through the hidden doorway into a cold and dank  corridor.  At
the bottom of a steep flight of stairs, two more slaves, all but identical  to
the first, were waiting. Oily black and acrid smoke curled  from  the  torches
they carried.
     The wide tunnel beyond the stairway was constructed of un - mortared  but
precisely cut stones, some of which were  perfectly  curved  to  form  vaulted
supports.
     Shifts in the land had wrought damage to the ancients' work.  Lake  water
dripped through formerly solid joints and  puddled  on  the  stone  floor.  In
several places, the walls were entirely encrusted in salt.
     Depa continued to converse with  the  slave  as  they  began  to  descend
beneath the shallow lake.
     "When the Nebula Front first arrived on Asmeru, they asked the slaves for
shelter, and made no demands of them," she explained. "But the later arrivals-
-the members this one calls "the soldiers"--forced  the  slaves  to  surrender
their homes and provide food. The soldiers are as cruel as  the  Senex  Lords,
and they frequently clash with the Front's more nonviolent founders about  how
things should be done. Fortunately, there are few commanding soldiers  onworld
just now." "Few soldiers," Qui-Gon said to Obi-Wan.
     "That's odd." "How so, Master?" "Where are they, while we are here?"  The
tunnel began to angle up and the dripping ceased,  indicating  that  they  had
reached the mainland. Smaller tunnels branched  off  in  all  directions,  and
there were visible signs that the passageways were used on a regular basis for
moving about the ancient city.
     Crude sconces were affixed to the walls, and the edges of stones  at  the
tunnel intersections had been polished to a gloss by the caresses of countless
hands.
     "We're close to the landing platform," Depa announced quietly.
     The central tunnel  debouched  into  a  large  rectangular  cavern,  with
stairways leading up at the center of each wall. Depa pointed to  the  nearest
one.
     "This will take us into the northern pyramid. The starfighters are parked
near the structure that houses the tractor beam  generator."  "That's  a  good
distance away," Qui-Gon said.
     Depa nodded. "Most of the  guards  are  quartered  in  the  tractor  beam
pyramid. We're certain to encounter resistance." The slave  led  them  up  the
stairs and guided them through a series of small rooms  to  a  massive  portal
that looked out on the plaza. Several CloakShapes could be  seen,  along  with
the Hawk - Bat, resting on a trio of landing pads.
     In the middle distance, a few armed guards traded remarks in Basic.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan led everyone but the slaves out into the plaza,  most
of which lay in deep morning shadow. They weren't even halfway to the  closest
starfighter when a voice called out.
     "I'm glad to see that you've  decided  to  join  us."  Seven  lightsabers
igniting in a rush, the Jedi formed a protective  circle,  with  their  energy
blades poised for deflection. At the  center  of  the  circle,  the  judicials
crouched with drawn blasters.
     The human who had spoken to them from the hover vessel stepped  out  onto
the balcony of a palatial structure that overlooked the plaza.  Then,  to  all
sides of the plaza, appeared Nebula Front soldiers brandishing all  styles  of
blaster weapons.
     Behind the terrorists gathered a curious but wary audience of slaves.
     "Again, we are betrayed," Ki-Adi-Mundi said.
     Depa looked back at the pyramid doorway.
     Quaking with primitive fear, the three slaves were being  shoved  forward
by two armed terrorists.
     "Only by our predictability," she said.
     "Master, who is our enemy here?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
     Qui-Gon shook  his  head.  "I've  been  wondering  that  since  Dorvalla,
Padawan. There is more to all this than we know."  The  terrorists'  spokesman
followed an exterior stairway down into the plaza, where he was  joined  by  a
second member--a Bith.
     Obi-Wan glanced briefly at Qui-Gon.
     "Master, isn't that--was "Quiet, Padawan," Qui-Gon cut him off.
     The human and the Bith stopped while they were still some  distance  from
the ominous circle the Jedi had formed.
     "We have two choices here," the human began. "Of course, we could  fight.
Ultimately, you would certainly emerge the victors.
     But some of you might die in the process, and those  who  don't  will  be
forced to kill all of us. Or--was He paused briefly. his-comwe could all lower
our weapons." Qui-Gon looked  to  Yaddle  and  Tiin,  who  nodded  curtly  and
deactivated their lightsabers. At a signal from the spokesman, the  terrorists
began to holster their blasters. Qui-Gon and the  other  Jedi  followed  suit,
dousing their lightsaber blades but keeping the hilts at ready.
     "I'm delighted that we could reach an understanding," the human  said  in
what sounded like genuine relief.
     Qui-Gon's gaze roamed over the terrorists in  front  of  him.  "Where  is
Captain Cohl?" He asked after a moment.
     The question took the human off his guard. "Ah, of course,"  he  replied,
after a moment. "You recognized his ship." "Where is he?" Qui-Gon repeated.
     The human shook his head. "I'm sorry to report that Captain  Cohl  is  no
longer with us. I believe he retired. But back to matters at hand, do we  have
a truce here?" "A temporary one, at best," Tiin cautioned.
     "One piece of business first," the terrorist said,  then  turned  to  the
soldiers who had herded the three slaves into the plaza.
     Without warning, blasters discharged and the slaves fell to  the  ground.
Depa broke from the circle and hurried over to them, going down on one knee as
she reached the slave who had guided them out of the pyramid. She touched  the
slave's neck, then glanced up at Yaddle and gave her head a mournful shake.
     "That's what happens to traitors," the human was shouting to  the  slaves
who had gathered round the plaza.
     Qui-Gon exchanged brief looks with Yaddle and Tiin.
     Seven lightsabers reignited.
     "We're annulling the truce," Tiin announced.
     The hologram showed a diplomatic cruiser attempting to maneuver through a
field of asteroidlike space mines, grazing  one  then  another,  and  another,
losing pieces of itself with each encounter, and in the  end  vanishing  in  a
brief-lived tempest of expanding fire.
     "That was the Ecliptic" Valorum  explained  to  Senators  Bail  Antilles,
Horox Ryyder, and Palpatine, in his office in the Republic Executive Building.
"The images were relayed to Coruscant by the Famulus,  one  of  the  ships  of
House Vandron that led our mission into the Senex sector. All twenty judicials
aboard the Ecliptic are presumed dead." Valorum switched off the holoprojector
and lowered himself into his soft chair.
     "Has there been further word from the Prominence?"" Antilles asked.
     Valorum shook his head. "We know only that those aboard- - seven Jedi and
five judicials--survived the crash. By now they could be  in  captivity."  "Is
there any evidence to suggest  that  House  Vandron  was  involved  in  this?"
Senator Ryyder asked.
     He was exceptionally tall, even for an Anx, with  a  long,  bearded  head
that rose like a  mountain  spire  from  his  curved  neck.  His  skin  was  a
variegated yellow-green, and his fingers were elongated spindles.
     He favored bright red robes, with high round collars.
     "No evidence whatever," Valorum said. "Lord  Crueya  maintains  that  the
commanders of their ships were ordered  beforehand  to  avoid  engagement,  no
matter what occurred." "I don't accept that for a moment," Antilles said.
     Valorum blew out his breath. "I'm not certain that I do,  either.  Master
Yoda was right about the rulers of the Senex. They  are  no  better  than  the
Nebula Front terrorists." "Has the Front issued any demands?" Palpatine  asked
mildly.
     "Not yet. But I suspect we can sense  what's  coming:  demands  that  the
Trade Federation be disbanded, or that the Republic guarantee reduced  tariffs
for the outlying systems. I will not consent to those, but, if  nothing  else,
we should at least postpone the trade summit until this crisis is settled." "I
respectfully disagree," Palpatine said.
     "I'm certain that is precisely what the Nebula Front wishes  us  to  do."
Valorum's forehead furrowed. "They could be  holding  the  survivors  hostage,
Senator. And I'm responsible for having sent them into danger." "All the  more
reason to stand firm." Palpatine glanced around the room. "Supreme Chancellor,
if I may say so, the moment is ripe to demonstrate the far-reaching  authority
of the Republic, and thus ensure Senate approval  of  taxation  of  the  trade
routes. Moreover, with the Nebula Front eliminated, the Trade Federation  will
be more inclined to accept taxation." Valorum frowned at him. "Need  I  remind
you that the Senex sector is not Republic space?
     Sending additional forces to As - meru would constitute  a  violation  of
Senex sovereignty. The senate would never  sanction  such  action."  Palpatine
remained calm. "Again, I beg to disagree. The senate will sanction it  because
Republic interests are at stake." Again he glanced  at  Antilles  and  Ryyder.
"Assuming for the moment  that  the  Jedi  have  failed  in  their  diplomatic
mission, the Nebula Front is free to  disrupt  the  Eriadu  summit,  and  thus
broaden the existing conflict to include not only the  Trade  Federation,  but
also the Commerce Guild and the Corporate Alliance.  Supreme  Chancellor,  you
yourself said that the summit should, under no circumstances, be  jeopardized.
That was your paramount reason for dispatching the  Jedi  to  Asmeru."  "Yes,"
Valorum conceded, "you're right." "And what of the Senex Houses?" Ryyder asked
Palpatine.
     "They will support whatever actions we take, if only on the  chance  that
we will rescind  the  restrictions  that  have  prevented  them  from  trading
directly with the Republic."  Valorum  considered  Palpatine's  remarks,  then
shook his head. "Even if we are successful  in  securing  Senate  approval  to
proceed as you suggest, a show of force at Asmeru  could  provoke  the  Nebula
Front  to  kill  their  hostages."  Palpatine  smiled   tolerantly.   "Supreme
Chancellor, the hostages  are  Jedi  Knights."  "Even  Jedi  can  be  killed,"
Antilles argued.
     "Then perhaps we should leave it to the Jedi High  Council  to  decide  a
course of action." Valorum stretched the baggy skin under his eyes.
     "I concur. I will attend to the matter personally." The lean air  of  the
plateau was sibilant with the hiss of laser bolts, resonant with the thrum  of
lightsabers, energized by detonations of artificial light.
     Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Ki-Adi-Mundi stood with their backs pressed to  one
another, deflecting a hail of blaster bolts the  terrorists  poured  into  the
plaza. The blades of their lightsabers -  comgreen,  blue,  and  purple--moved
faster than the eye could follow, blazing bright as novas  as  they  sent  the
bolts caroming from the ancient stone walls and ricocheting  off  the  sloping
faces of the pyramids.
     Elsewhere, standing tall on  her  extended  legs,  Vergere  led  a  fleet
assault up the staircase of an adjacent structure, her gleaming emerald  blade
raised above her downy head. Two of the judicials followed in her long stride,
discharging their weapons as they ran.
     Not far away, Saesee Tiin led another  pair  of  judicials  in  a  charge
against a half a dozen terrorists entrenched in a narrow alley between two  of
the pyramids, his blade a blur of cobalt as it parried bolts and sent blasters
flying from outstretched hands.
     Yaddle and Depa remained  with  the  injured  cruiser  captain  near  the
entrance to the northern pyramid.
     Pinned down by a torrent of fire  from  the  summit  of  the  ion  cannon
bunker, they swung and windmilled their lightsabers, repulsing bolts as if  in
some crazed sports contest.
     Most of the slaves had scattered with the first  bolts  fired  after  the
brutal execution of the three who had helped the  Jedi.  But  several  of  the
bioengineered bipeds were being used as living shields.
     Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Ki-Adi-Mundi began to work their  way  deeper  into
the plaza, intent on reaching the grounded  CloakShape  fighters,  or  perhaps
even the gunship, before any of the terrorists could get to the crafts.
     Qui-Gon advanced with determination, scarcely aware of the thrum  of  his
blade, or the chaotic fusillade of blaster bolts. His mind  turned  with  each
and every action of his adversaries, whirling right, left, or wherever needed.
He left no traces of himself in any particular place  or  direction,  focusing
only on what lay ahead, with the past smoothing out behind him like  the  wake
of a settling boat.
     He remained subtle and imperceptible, invisible in his detachment,  never
lingering to watch, or clinging to thoughts of what he might have done.
     Wounded by deflected bolts, terrorists fell in his path,  though  he  had
yet to meet any of them head-on, and by the looks of things wouldn't.  Already
they were retreating fast for the fighters.
     "If they launch, we'll really have our hands full," he told Obi-Wan in  a
moment of quiet.
     Then a new sound whipped up the frigid air.
     Around  the  sharp  edge  of  the  southern  pyramid  came  two  of   the
repulsorlift vessels the Jedi had last seen on the lake.
     Bolts  from  the  crafts'  repeating  blasters  lanced  into  the  plaza,
carbonizing the cut stones where they hit.  In  unison,  Qui-Gon  and  Obi-Wan
leapt for cover, while Ki-Adi-Mundi parried a stream of fire that nearly  spun
him completely around.
     The vessels came about for another run, firing wildly.
     Momentarily overwhelmed, the trio of Jedi were forced to fall back.  Qui-
Gon saw that Vergere's and Tiin's teams were also being driven back  down  the
steps and into the plaza. First to hit  level  ground,  Vergere  directed  the
judicials to race for the shelter of the northern pyramid, but only one of the
men made it. The other was cut down by fire from a nearby tower.
     The two judicials who had fought beside Tiin were wounded.  The  Iktotchi
carried one of them under his left arm, while he  continued  to  divert  bolts
with the lightsaber clutched in his right hand. The other  judicial  scampered
backwards, covering their retreat amid a storm of fire from the gunboats.
     In a blur of motion, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan hurried to Tiin's aid,  spinning
and leaping in the face of the onslaught.
     The gunboats had completed their pass and were swooping  in  for  another
strafing run. At a nod from Qui-Gon, he and Obi - Wan leapt  ten  meters  into
the air with their swords raised, ripping the  repulsorlift  engine  from  the
lead craft.
     Sparks showered down on  them  as  they  landed  and  rolled  for  cover.
Overhead, the gunboat careened out of control and struck the  upper  story  of
the palace, exploding into white-hot fragments and  loosing  an  avalanche  of
stone onto the plaza.
     Tiin and the judicials reached the safety of the  pyramid  entrance  just
ahead of the rockslide.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan followed  them  inside,  as  bolts  from  the  second
gunboat's repeater blaster rained against the portal's  engraved  columns  and
monolithic lintel.
     Yaddle and the others were massed in the rear of the corridor.
     Flattened against the wall, Qui-Gon peered into the plaza.  "We  have  to
get to the fighters." "If we have to, we will," Tiin said.
     Obi-Wan nodded at Qui-Gon and reactivated his blade.
     Lightsabers raised, they charged back into the plaza.
     The High Council Chamber felt empty without the  three  Masters  who  had
accompanied Vergere, Qui-Gon, and his Pada - wan to Asmeru. Now  it  was  Yoda
who stood at the center of the inlaid mosaic floor, pacing  while  Mace  Windu
and the others discussed what was to be done.
     "Even without word from the Prominence, we can't assume that the ship was
destroyed, or that any who were aboard have been killed,"  Windu  was  saying.
"Everything I feel about the situation tells me that Yaddle and the others are
alive." "Alive, she is," Yoda said. "The others, too.  But  in  grave  danger,
they are." "That supports the Nebula Front's  claim  that  they're  holding  a
dozen hostages," Adi Gallia said. "They're demanding that the Eriadu summit be
cancelled." "Valorum must not give in to them," Oppo Rancisis cautioned.
     "He isn't going to acquiesce to the  demands,"  Windu  assured  everyone.
"He's aware that by doing so he would only lessen the chances for ratification
of the taxation proposal." "The Nebula Front  is  not  the  important  concern
here," Yarael Poof said. "It is  the  Trade  Federation  that  matters."  Yoda
turned to the long-necked Master.
     "Thought to be less important, the Nebula Front is.
     But directing this, they are. Directing all of this." He paced through  a
circle, then stopped. "Moving us around like  pieces  on  a  hologame  board."
"Then we need to finish the game," Even Piell said with conviction.
     Windu nodded. "I assured Supreme Chancellor Valorum  that  there  was  no
need for him to deliver an apology in person. We agreed to intervene  in  this
matter. Therefore, this is as much our responsibility  as  it  is  his."  "Too
little thought, we gave this," Yoda said pensively. "Un - revealed  forces  at
work." He glanced at Windu. "Clouded, this is. Muddled by motives difficult to
perceive." Windu interlocked his hands and rested his  elbows  on  his  knees.
"The senate has promised the Supreme Chancellor whatever authority he needs to
deal with the crisis. But we cannot leave the decision to him."  Yoda  nodded.
"Focused on the trade summit, he is." "The Judicial Department has  also  been
given  expanded  authority,"  Windu  continued.  "They  advocate   dispatching
additional forces from Eriadu, which is only a jump from Asmeru's location  in
the  Senex  sector."  "The  judicials  are  on  Eriadu  to  safeguard  Supreme
Chancellor Valorum and the delegates," Gallia said.
     "The Judicial Department feels certain that they  have  enough  personnel
there to deal with both situations." "Do we have any assurances that the Senex
Houses will stay out of this?" Poof asked.
     "We could offer them a deal," Piell said. "They have long wanted to trade
with the Republic, but have been shunned because of  continued  violations  of
the Rights of Sentience. If we offer to arbitrate an accord between  them  and
the Republic, I'm  certain  they  would  agree  to  overlook  any  territorial
infringements that arise from the situation at  Asmeru."  Yoda  gazed  at  the
floor and shook his head back and forth. "Deeper and darker and  murkier  this
becomes." He looked up at Windu. "How many Jedi on  Eriadu?"  "Twenty."  "Send
ten to Asmeru with the judicials to help Master Tiin  and  the  others,"  Yoda
said in a troubled voice. "Pay our debts when they come due, we  will."  Windu
nodded somberly.
     "May the Force be with them," Gallia said for everyone.
     Qui-Gon,  Obi-Wan,  Tiin,  and  Ki-Adi-Mundi  surged  from  the   pyramid
entrance, engaging the terrorists that had driven them back. A quarter of  the
way across the immense plaza, the Jedi spread out in a wedge formation,  their
constantly moving blades fending off blaster bolts loosed from  ahead  and  to
either side. Behind the energy barrier fashioned by the  lightsabers,  Yaddle,
Depa, Vergere, and two of the judicials raced out  to  divert  fire  from  the
rear.
     The point of the wedge, Qui-Gon advanced steadily into the fray, whirling
and crouching, his green blade sonorous as it sent bolts arching  every  which
way.
     Terrorists fell wounded from the surrounding  stairways,  balconies,  and
rooftops, but none of them fled.
     "You will have to kill All of us, the spokesman had said.
     Unexpectedly, the unrelenting blasterfire began  to  taper  off.  Qui-Gon
took a moment to look around, realizing in a rush  that  the  terrorists  were
suddenly directing fire toward the heavily bulwarked perimeter of the plaza.
     With eerie, tremolo war cries, hundreds of slaves charged into the  plaza
from the deep alleys separating the pyramids. Lacking anything in the  way  of
shields, they brandished stone axes and  knives,  spears  fashioned  from  the
wooden handles of tools, and whatever other implements  they  had  managed  to
sharpen or provide with an edge.
     Blaster bolts felled them by the score, but still they came, resolved  to
overthrow the outsiders who had robbed them of what little freedom and dignity
they possessed.
     Qui-Gon grasped that the uprising had to have been in the works for  some
time. But determination alone wasn't going to win the day against blasters.
     He and Obi-Wan pressed their attack, Vergere off to  one  side  of  them,
leaping high into the air and returning to  the  ground  with  her  lightsaber
slashing.
     Caught between the rebelling slaves and the Jedi, the terrorists gathered
in two lines, one to handle each front.
     A second surprise gave Qui-Gon pause.
     Some  of  the  terrorists  were  succumbing  to  blasterfire.  It  seemed
improbable that the slaves had somehow managed to reconfigure blasters to suit
their fingerless hands.
     Then he saw where the fire was coming from.
     Advancing in leap-frog fashion came a contingent of  terrorists,  led  by
the Bith who had been Qui-Gon's informant.
     Events of the day had splintered the Nebula Front into two factions:  the
militants responsible for the attack on Valorum, and the moderates who had for
so many years restricted themselves to nonviolent actions  against  the  Trade
Federation.
     The militants  clearly  hadn't  anticipated  insurrection  by  their  own
confederates. All at once the race for the grounded  Cloak  -  Shape  fighters
became more desperate than ever.
     One of the starfighters was already lifting off  on  repulsorlift  power.
Realizing what was occurring below, the pilot wheeled the craft through a half
turn and opened up with the forward laser cannons. Each hyphen of  raw  energy
decimated the opposition.
     Stone blasted from the encompassing structures, and lightning-bolt  walls
whizzed through the air like shrapnel, tearing into ^th  who  had  managed  to
flee the fatal energy beams themselves.
     Qui-Gon understood that the  one  starfighter  could  turn  the  tide  of
battle--not only against the  alliance  of  slaves  and  moderates,  but  also
against the Jedi.
     Even as he was thinking it,  the  hovering  CloakShape  began  to  rotate
toward the Jedi's side of the battle arena. The wingtip lasers had swung  into
view, poised to fire, when without warning the starfighter exploded. Pieces of
its angled wings slammed against the face of the tractor beam  grid,  and  its
flaming fuselage spun down into the plaza.
     Qui-Gon glanced up from where he had flattened himself to the ground. The
landing platform was littered with white-hot wreckage, small bits of which had
burned holes in his cloak.
     His eyes searched the plaza for signs of the weapon that had brought down
the ship, only to grasp  that  the  devastating  bolt  hadn't  come  from  any
downside emplacement.
     It had come from above.
     A crimson and white craft streaked overhead, so  close  that  it  rattled
Qui-Gon's teeth.
     "Judicial Lancet," Obi-Wan said  when  the  sound  of  the  starfighter's
passing had roared through.
     White veins in the blue dome of the sky told  Qui-Gon  that  other  ships
were coming down the well.
     He swung back to regard Depa and the judicials, one of whom was  speaking
into his wrist comm. Sensing Qui-Gon's gaze on him, the judicial looked up and
raised his left fist in a sign of confidence.
     Qui-Gon raised his gaze to the sky. From the south, a  Corellian  cruiser
was on the approach.
     The sight of the descending  fighters  didn't  deter  the  radicals  from
continuing their fight for the CloakShapes, however. Three  more  starfighters
lifted out of the plaza. But rather than waste time pouring fire  against  the
slaves, the ships rocketed off to the east,  with  a  pair  Lancets  in  close
pursuit. A fourth Cloak - Shape whirred noisily to life, managing, during  its
reeling ascent, to take out an incoming Lancet.
     Off to Qui-Gon's left, the ion cannon pulsed.  Dazed  by  a  direct  hit,
another Lancet rolled over on its back and dived silently toward  the  parched
ground. Shortly, an explosion boiled high into the  air  behind  the  southern
pyramid.
     The cannon continued to send darts of disabling  fire  skyward,  but  the
alliance of slaves and moderates were  already  storming  the  emplacement.  A
dozen warriors fell to the charge, but the rest  persevered,  lobbing  thermal
grenades from where they hunkered behind a toppled monument.
     A moment later the gun emplacement belched a column of howling  fire  and
collapsed in on itself.
     The ongoing turmoil in the plaza had prevented the cruiser from  landing.
While it hovered at the level of the pyramid summits, hatches  opened  in  the
underside of the ship and twenty or more figures rappeled down on monofilament
cables. Half of them were armed with  blasters,  and  the  rest  with  glowing
lightsabers.
     The battle raged furiously for several more minutes. Then, hemmed  in  on
all sides, the militants began to surrender their weapons and  drop  to  their
knees. Captives of the slaves, other groups were marched into the  plaza  with
hands raised above their heads.
     Tiin, Depa Billaba, and  some  of  the  Jedi  reinforcements  started  to
meander through the devastation, gathering  up  weapons  and  tending  to  the
wounded. Qui-Gon saw Yaddle standing at the entrance to the northern  pyramid,
shaking her head in dismay.
     He and Obi-Wan set out to find the Bith.
     Shortly, he saw Obi-Wan waving him over to the southwest  corner  of  the
plaza.
     Qui-Gon clipped his lightsaber to his belt and broke into a jog. He  knew
before he arrived that calamity was waiting.
     The Bith was curled on his side, his long-fingered  hands  pressed  to  a
blackened hole in his midsection.
     Qui-Gon went down on one knee beside him.
     "I tried to contact you on Coruscant," the black-eyed alien  began  in  a
weak voice. "But after  what  happened  at  Dorvalla,  Havac  and  the  others
suspected that there was an informant among them." "Havac?" Qui-Gon said.  "Is
he the one who had the slaves executed?" The Bith shook his large head.  "He's
just a lieutenant. Havac is the leader. But  he's  not  onworld--many  of  the
militants aren't." He paused to take a breath. "They've undone  everything  we
tried to do. They've turned this into a war with the Trade Federation, and now
the Republic." "It's over," Qui-Gon said.  "You've  deposed  them.  Save  your
strength, friend." The Bith clamped his hand on Qui-Gon's forearm.
     "It's not over. They have something dreadful planned."  "Where?"  Obi-Wan
asked. "When?" The Bith turned Part way to him. "I don't know.
     The plan was kept secret from most of us. But I  know  that  it  involves
Captain Cohl..." The Bith's words trailed off. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan's gaze  on
him. At the same time, all light fled the alien's eyes.
     "He's dead, Master," Obi-Wan said.
     "Jedi," someone said  from  behind  Qui-Gon.  The  speaker  was  a  Nikto
humanoid, flat-faced and horned.
     "I don't mean to intrude, but your friend was my friend, as  well."  Qui-
Gon stood up. "What do you know about this plan involving the  one  he  called
Havac and Captain Cohl?" "I know that it had something to do with Karfeddion."
"Karfeddion?"  Obi-Wan  repeated,  while  he  showed  the   Nikto   his   most
disapproving gaze.
     "The homeworld of House Vandron," Qui-Gon said. "Deep in the  Senex."  He
turned back to the humanoid. "Your name?" "Cindar." "Do you know this Havac on
sight?" "I do." Qui-Gon considered something, then said, "Come  with  us."  He
led the way to where Tiin, Yaddle, and some of the others were gathered in the
plaza.
     "There's no time to sort  all  this  out,"  Tiin  was  saying,  gesturing
broadly to ruination. "The High  Council  and  the  Judicial  Department  have
ordered us to leave the Senex sector as quickly as possible." "We need to make
one stop first," Qui-Gon interrupted. "At Karfeddion."  Tiin  stared  at  him,
awaiting an explanation.
     "Cohl is executing another plan." Qui-Gon indicated Cindar. "This one  is
going to help us pick up Cohl's trail." Tiin and Yaddle traded brief  glances.
"Cohl is no longer working for the Front," Tiin said. "We all heard as  much."
"The plan has been a closely guarded secret.
     Someone named Havac is behind it. We must go to Karfeddion." "Impossible,
Qui-Gon," Yaddle said, shaking her head back and forth. "Leave the  Senex,  we
must." Qui-Gon squared his shoulders. "Then my Padawan and I  will  go."  Obi-
Wan's jaw dropped slightly.
     "Not in any of our ships, Qui-Gon," Tiin said in challenge.
     Qui-Gon glanced around. "Then  we'll  use  the  Hawk-Bat."  "Making  this
personal, you are," Yaddle said.
     "Defying a direct order from the High Council, you'll be." Qui-Gon didn't
argue the point. "My duty is to the Force, Master." Yaddle studied him  for  a
long moment. "To what end, Qui - Gon? To what  end?"  The  holobanner  glowing
through the t'bac smoke in the cantina read: the  tipsy  mynock  welcomes  the
karfeddion skull CRACKERS. A smashball team, the  Skull  Crackers  were  known
throughout the Senex for their blatant disregard for the rules of play and for
the lives of their opponents. A boisterous dozen  of  the  local  heroes  were
gathered in a corner of the Tipsy Mynock, raising flagons of  fermented  drink
to one another and whomever  happened  by,  growing  more  inebriated  by  the
minute, and fairly itching to cause trouble of a major sort.
     A few booths away, Cohl and Boiny sat with a hulking human who might have
been a member of the Skull Crackers- - had he been a few  centimeters  shorter
and a lot less dangerous looking.
     A pleasant-looking humanoid female bred on one of  the  Karfeddion  slave
farms placed a tall shot of bright-yellow liquid in front of Cohl's guest, who
downed the notoriously strong drink in one swallow.
     "Thanks, Captain," the human said genuinely, wiping his  mouth  with  the
back of his hand. "It's not often I get a taste of  the  real  article."  Cohl
appraised Lope, as  the  man  called  himself,  from  across  the  table  that
separated them. The fact that Lope could handle himself in a brawl was  beyond
dispute.
     But the Eriadu operation would not turn  on  brute  strength,  but  on  a
combination of skill and intelligence.
     Of  course,  situations  could  arise  in  the  most  carefully  designed
scenarios when it came down to muscle. But Cohl still  wasn't  convinced  that
Lope was suited to handle even that eventuality.
     "What's your specialty?" he asked after a moment.
     Lope planted his elbows on the table.
     "Vibroblade, stun baton, nerve pick. But I can also  handle  a  blaster--
BlasTechs, Merr-Sonns,  Czerkas..."  "But  you  prefer  in-close  work."  Lope
shrugged. "When it comes right down to it, yeah, I guess I do. Why, what's the
job, Captain?" Cohl shook his head. "I can't tell you that unless I decide  to
bring you aboard." Lope nodded. "I understand. But I'd sure like  to  hire  on
with you, Captain. They don't come any better  than  you."  Cohl  ignored  the
flattery. "Where have you worked?" "Up and down  the  Corellian  Trade  Spine,
mostly. I did a stint in the Stark Conflict.
     I'd still be in the Core, if I didn't have a price on my head for  a  bit
of wet work I did on Sacorria." "Are you wanted anywhere else?"  "Only  there,
Captain." Cohl was mildly encouraged. Lope was typical  of  the  outlaws  that
fled to the outlying systems, but he wasn't a professional.
     "You have any problem working with aliens, Lope?" Lope glanced briefly at
Boiny. "Not Rodians. Why, you've got others on your  crew?"  "A  Gotal."  Lope
stroked his stubbled jaw. "Gotal, huh?
     I can work with those." A sudden commotion erupted at the entrance to the
cantina, and four large and mean-looking humans shouldered their  way  to  the
bar. Cohl thought they might be members of the Skull Crackers  or  some  rival
team, until the largest among them climbed up onto the bar and fired a blaster
bolt into the ceiling.
     "Lope, I know you're in here somewhere," he shouted  while  plaster  dust
drifted down around him and he scanned the tables and booths. "Where are  you,
you double-dealing slime?" Cohl glanced from the  man  at  the  bar  to  Lope.
"Friend of yours?" "Not for long," Lope said, getting to his feet  and  waving
his arm. "Right here, Pezzle."  Pezzle  squinted  in  Lope's  direction,  then
jumped down from the bar and began to shove and barrel  his  way  through  the
crowd, his cohorts following in his wake.
     "You're a no-good cheat," he said as soon as he reached the  booth.  "You
figured you could walk out without paying us, is that it?" Cohl  watched  Lope
take in everything at a glance: Pezzle's raised weapon, the  position  of  the
other three men, how far their hands were from their blasters.
     "You weren't worth paying," Lope said flatly.
     "You only took care of one of them, and you left me  to  clean  up  after
you." Cohl and Boiny started to slide out of the booth, but Lope put his  hand
on Cohl's shoulder. "Don't leave, Captain. This won't take a minute.
     Maybe you could consider it an audition." "All  right,"  Cohl  told  him,
settling back down.
     Customers in the adjacent booths weren't as confident as  Cohl.  Climbing
over seats and whatever else stood in their way, they began to scramble out of
the line of fire.
     Sweating profusely, Pezzle gulped and found his voice. "You'll pay  now,"
he said, flinging spittle from his thick lips.
     Cohl never saw Lope's blaster leave its holster.
     He saw the blur of Lope's right hand, he heard several weapons discharge,
and the next thing he knew, Pezzle and his trio were piled in a  heap  on  the
floor.
     His smoking blaster still in hand, Lope regarded Cohl expectantly.
     "You'll do," Cohl said, nodding his head.
     Karfeddion Spaceport was a sprawl of  docking  bays,  repair  shops,  and
cantinas even seedier than the Tipsy Mynock. Nodding to the several members of
Docking Bay 331 "s maintenance crew, Cohl,  Boiny,  and  Lope  closed  on  the
battered freighter the Nebula Front had provided.
     "What happened  to  the  Hawk-Bat,  Captain?"  Lope  asked  as  he  gazed
uncertainly at the ship.
     "Too well known for where we're headed," Cohl said.
     Cohl introduced Lope to the pair of humans who were standing at the  foot
of the freighter's boarding ramp.
     "Captain," one of them said in a scratchy voice, "some  dame  is  waiting
for you in the forward compartment." "Who? "Cohl said.
     "She wouldn't say." Cohl and Boiny traded looks. "Maybe it's that  bounty
hunter you were searching for," the Rodian suggested.
     "I've got another idea," Cohl said, without elaborating.
     "You don't think--was "Who else could it  be?  The  only  thing  I  can't
figure is how she found me." "Maybe she attached a tracker to some part of you
before she left," Boiny suggested.
     They left Lope and the others to get acquainted and climbed the ramp.
     "Did I tell you she would miss me?" Cohl asked over his shoulder as  soon
as he had stepped into the forward hold.
     Rella was sitting in Cohl's chair, with her long legs crossed.
     "You're right, Cohl," she said. "I couldn't stay away--but  not  for  the
reasons you think." Her outfit of tunic, trousers, capelet, and cowl was  made
of a silvery metallic fiber that shimmered as she moved.
     "By the look of you, I'd say you've been dipping  too  deeply  into  your
retirement fund, and you need the credits." She scowled at him. "Is it safe to
talk in here?" Cohl nodded to Boiny, who ena4 the cabin's security system.
     "I've been hearing rumors that you're putting together a new crew," Rella
said when Cohl sat down.
     He shrugged. "What else could I do after  you  walked  out  on  me?"  She
didn't even crack a smile. "The way I  hear  it,  you're  in  the  market  for
lookouts and second-rate exterminators--like that brute you just brought  in."
"Tough jobs call for tough personnel." Rella looked him in the eye. "What have
you gotten yourself into, Cohl? Be straight with  me--for  old  times"  sake."
Cohl considered it, then said, "It's  an  execution."  She  nodded  knowingly.
"Who's the target?" "Valorum--on Eriadu." Rella seemed to shrink in the chair,
as if her worst fears had been realized. "You can't do this, Cohl." He laughed
shortly. "You're welcome to watch." "Listen to me," she started to say.
     "What, you bought yourself some scruples to go along with the new outfit-
-the new you?" "Scruples? Don't insult me,  Cohl."  "Then  what  is  it  about
Valorum?" She shook her head. "It's not about Valorum.
     It's about you--your reputation. Without even trying, I  found  out  that
you'd been to Belsavis, Malastare, Clak'dor, and Yetoom. How hard do you think
it's going to be for anyone else to track you? And I don't mean thugs  looking
to hire on with you. I'm talking about judicials or Jedi." "I  appreciate  the
warning, Rella, but it won't matter now. I've got everyone I need. Unless,  of
course, you want to sign aboard." She held his gaze. "I do." He blinked.
     "No, I'm not kidding you, Cohl," she said.
     All at once Cohl grew serious and reached for her hands. "Listen, kid,  I
appreciate your finding me, but this operation isn't something you want to get
involved in." She appraised him. "I don't get it. A minute ago you were acting
like you had the galaxy by the tail." "Bluster, Rella, pure and simple."  "Are
you saying you wish you hadn't taken the job on?" "Maybe I'm just  feeling  my
age, but, yeah, I should have stepped out of the life when I  could.  I  mean,
moisture farming can't be all that difficult to  learn,  right?  And  there'll
still be exciting times..." Rella  smiled  broadly.  "Of  course  there'll  be
exciting times, Cohl. Just drop this thing. You can walk away right  now."  He
shook his head. "I gave my word. I have to at least see this  through."  Rella
studied him for a moment, then forced an exhale. "All the more reason  for  me
to tag along.
     If you can't look out for yourself, then I'll have to  do  it  for  you."
world of rugged landmasses and slender seas, slate-gray Eriadu had long sought
to be the Coruscant of the Outer Rim. That goal had been furthered by dint  of
Eriadu's choice  location  in  the  heart  of  the  Seswenna  sector,  at  the
intersection of the Rimma Trade Route and the Hydian Way.
     But where Coruscant had confined most of its factories and  foundries  to
specific areas, industry held sway over all Eriadu, fouling air, land, and sea
with unrelenting outpourings of toxic by-products. Worse, while the planet was
prosperous compared to  its  neighbors,  Eriadu's  legislators  remained  more
interested in unbridled growth than in investing in the atmosphere  scrubbers,
aquifer purifiers, and waste disposal systems that made Coruscant livable.
     The planet's principal city was in the southern  hemisphere.  A  thriving
seaport that had grown up around the mouth of a major river, it spread  almost
one hundred kilometers inland, sprawling along the shores of  a  finger-shaped
bay to the west, and creeping up and over the once thickly forested hills that
rose at its back.
     From the rear of the energy-shielded,  repulsorlift  limousine  that  had
swept him past crowds of demonstrators at Eriadu Spaceport,  Valorum  surmised
that the city must have been a scenic wonder, once upon a time.
     Now it was a gloomy warren of tiled domes, narrow alleyways, lofty arches
and towers, and  open-air  marketplaces,  thronged  with  turbaned  merchants,
veiled women, bearded men drawing on the spouts of  bubbling  waterpipes,  and
six-legged beasts of burden, heaped with trade goods,  vying  for  space  with
rusting landspeeders and aged repulsorsleds.
     Valorum couldn't help thinking of Eriadu as a dusty and forlorn flip side
of Theed, the capital city of Naboo.
     The din of voices and vehicles was nearly enough to overwhelm the tinted,
sound-cancellation windows of his limousine, though many of the city's streets
had been cleared for his passing. Traffic  had  been  diverted,  and  security
personnel and droids were stationed at  nearly  every  intersection.  Citizens
were allowed to watch from the narrow sidewalks,  but  anyone  caught  peering
from an upper-story window or overhead walkway risked being shot  by  judicial
snipers stationed on the rooftops and riding in speeders above  the  Coruscant
delegation hovercade.
     Earlier,  Valorum  had  learned  that  several  decoy  convoys  had  been
dispatched from the spaceport, and  that  the  route  his  hover  -  cade  was
following through the city had been altered at  the  last  moment,  to  thwart
premeditated attacks.
     To the protective force of judicials, Senate Guards, and security droids,
he was known in code as "The Goods." After  the  decision  to  send  half  the
supplemental force of Jedi Knights to Asmeru, to deal with the  crisis  there,
the security detail chiefs had demanded  that  Valorum  submit  to  wearing  a
temporary locator implant, so that they would know where he was at all times.
     It was ironic that he should find himself  in  the  spotlight,  when  the
whole idea behind the trade summit had been to focus attention  on  the  Outer
Rim worlds. Still, he was glad that he had  had  sense  enough  to  listen  to
Senator Palpatine about going through with the summit as planned, despite what
was occurring in the Senex sector.
     An added irony was that the Valorum family had played a part  in  fouling
Eriadu's atmosphere, as well as in cooking it, courtesy of the enormous  balls
of flame that spewed periodically from the factory stacks that  dominated  the
outskirts of the city.
     The family's contribution was a space vessel  construction  and  shipping
concern, based in orbit and  in  several  downside  facilities.  In  terms  of
output, the company wasn't in the same league as TaggeCo and the  other  giant
corporations, and in terms of transport it was no match for Duro Shipping, let
alone the Trade Federation. But thanks  in  part  to  the  Valorum  name,  the
company had never failed to show a profit.
     Valorum's onworld relatives had offered their stately homes and  mansions
for use during his visit, but once again  he  had  followed  a  suggestion  by
Senator Palpatine, that he  stay  at  the  home  of  the  sector's  lieutenant
governor, who was an acquaintance of Palpatine's.
     The lieutenant governor's name was Wilhuff Tarkin, and his  compound  was
said to overlook the artificially blue waters of the bay.
     Tarkin was rumored to be an ambitious man, with grandiose ideas, and,  in
that, his manse by the sea did not disappoint.
     Equal in size to those of Valorum's wealthy cousins on Eriadu, the  house
was an ostentatious blend of Core Classic and Mid Rim Ornate,  which  declared
itself with huge, domed enclosures, gilded columns, and stone floors  polished
to a liquid sheen.
     There was, however, something impersonal about the great,  high-ceilinged
rooms and stately colonnades. It was as if the costly furnishings  and  framed
artwork were there merely for show, when what the owner actually preferred was
the antiseptic gleam of a space-worthy freighter.
     Valorum was ushered into the manse by a surround of Senate  Guards.  Also
under escort, walked Sei Taria and a dozen members of the Coruscant delegation
to the summit. Trailing them came Adi Gallia and three  other  Jedi,  who  had
assented to Valorum's request that they be as unobtrusive as possible.
     Once inside, the guards allowed Valorum a bit of breathing room, but that
was only because every guest and every droid servant had been scanned, well in
advance of his arrival. The house itself had been gone over top to  bottom  by
the security detail, who had turned part of the estate into theirthe  tactical
command and control headquarters. Snipers roosted in  the  trees  and  on  the
parapets, and gunships patrolled the offshore waters.
     Testament to the priorities of Eriadu's leaders, Seswenna Hall, where the
summit was to take place, was an even more  elaborate  structure.  A  dome  of
enormous dimensions, it crowned a high mount at the center  of  the  city  and
rose in mosaic splendor to a height of some two hundred meters.
     Valorum had expected to be feted, but he had not  been  prepared  for  so
sizable a gathering. With Sei Taria  at  his  side,  he  was  announced  to  a
ballroom filled with dignitaries representing worlds throughout  the  Mid  and
Outer Rims. From Sullust, Malastare, Ryloth, and Bespin they had come; few  of
them enamored with Valorum, but all of them eager to be heard on the matter of
taxation of the free trade zones.
     "Supreme Chancellor Valorum," the man who had made it  all  happen  said,
"Eriadu is honored to receive you." Lieutenant Governor Tarkin was a wiry man,
with intense blue eyes, sunken cheeks, and an expressionless mouth.  His  brow
was high and bony, and his taut face seemed to reveal the size  and  shape  of
every bone beneath. Already receding at the temples, his black hair was combed
straight back and meticulously cut. He stood tall and straight as  a  military
officer and projected an air of aristocratic officiousness.
     Valorum recalled hearing that Tarkin, in fact, had served in the military
when Eriadu was part of what had then been known as the Outland Regions.
     "Did Senator Palpatine arrive with you?" Tarkin asked.
     "He had some lingering business  to  attend  to  on  Coruscant,"  Valorum
replied. "But I'm certain that the Naboo delegation will arrive  in  time  for
the summit's opening remarks." Tarkin appraised Valorum openly as they stepped
down into the ballroom, the crowd parting before them.
     "It's a rare occasion when anyone involved in  Republic  politics  leaves
Coruscant," Tarkin continued. "Something of a prison, isn't it?
     Should duty ever call for me to be confined to one place, I will at least
demand that I have ample space around me." He waved his thin  arms  through  a
broad circle.
     Valorum forced a smile. "The trip was short and pleasant." "Yes, but  for
you to leave the Core, and to come here..
     . It's nothing less than extraordinary." "Nothing less  than  necessary,"
Valorum said.
     Tarkin arched a brow as he turned slightly.
     "Necessary perhaps, but certainly unprecedented. And I believe it  speaks
strongly of your desire to do what is best and right for the outlying systems.
" He lowered his voice to add, "I trust you weren't distressed by the  riots."
Valorum frowned. "I observed no riots. There was a crowd of protestors at  the
spaceport, but--was "Ah, yes. Of course, you couldn't have seen  the  rioters,
because your convoy was rerouted at the last instant." Valorum wasn't sure how
he was meant to respond.
     "May I say how disquieted we were to learn of the recent attempt on  your
life, Supreme Chancellor. But then, I suppose we all have our local  troubles.
Ryloth has its smugglers, King Veruna of Naboo has his detractors, and  Eriadu
has the Trade Federation and the possibility of taxation of the trade routes."
Valorum was aware of some of the less-than-welcoming looks  he  was  receiving
from Tarkin's guests. "News of the assassination  attempt  doesn't  appear  to
have granted me much sympathy in this room."  Tarkin  gestured  in  dismissal.
"Our fears regarding taxation  revolve  around  the  potential  for  increased
corruption, as is ever the case when  additional  layers  of  bureaucracy  are
positioned between those with power and those without.
     "But that doesn't mean we favor separatism, or encourage open  rebellion.
Like other worlds along the Rimma, Eriadu has many  Nebula  Front  supporters,
but  I  am  not  one  of  them,  nor  are  any  of  those  in  the  governor's
administration. Threats of insurrection must be met with  strong,  centralized
power. One must seize the moment, and strike." Tarkin lightened  his  diatribe
with a self-deprecating laugh. "Forgive the  ravings  of  a  lowly  lieutenant
governor, Supreme Chancellor. Moreover,  I  realize  that  it  is  hardly  the
Republic's way to answer violence with violence." "I would  have  thought  the
same, until recently," someone nearby interjected.
     Disdain and provocation mixed in the genteel,  feminine  voice,  and  the
speaker was every centimeter a lady, from the train of her priceless  gown  to
her dazzlingly jeweled tiara.
     Tarkin smiled thinly as he offered his crooked arm to the heavyset  woman
and introduced her.
     "Supreme Chancellor Valorum, it is my pleasure  to  present  Lady  Theala
Vandron, of the Senex sector." Taken off his guard, a flushed  Valorum  nodded
his head in a courtly bow. "Lady Vandron," he said without emotion.
     "It may interest you  to  know,  Supreme  Chancellor,  that  the  hostage
situation on Asmeru has been, shall we say, resolved." "Asmeru?" Tarkin  said.
"What's  this?"  Valorum  quickly  regained  his  composure.   "The   Republic
dispatched a peace delegation of judicials and Jedi to confront agents of  the
Nebula Front based there." Tarkin looked at him askance. "Confront or contain?
" "Whichever was deemed appropriate." Tarkin's face lit up in revelation.  "So
that's why several judicials and Jedi were  called  away  from  Eriadu.  Well,
either way, it appears that our policies  are  perhaps  not  so  antithetical,
after all, Supreme Chancellor." "On the heels of an assassination attempt, the
Supreme Chancellor takes direct action in non-Republic  space,"  Lady  Vandron
said, looking at Tarkin. "We are obliged to commend him on his willingness  to
venture so far from home in such difficult times." Valorum accepted the  left-
handed compliment with wellborn reserve. "Rest assured, madam, and  Lieutenant
Governor Tarkin, that Coruscant is in good hands." While Valorum didn't  enjoy
universal support even on Coruscant, his absence was felt, especially  in  the
governmental district, where there was a hint of mischief in the air.
     The members of the Galactic Senate awarded themselves liberal leave while
the trade summit was in progress. But a diligent few reported to their offices
in the senate building, if only to catch up on work.
     Bail Antilles was one of them.
     He had spent the morning drafting a proposal that would ease the  trading
tension between his native Alderaan and neighboring Delaya. When he broke  for
lunch, he had nothing more on his mind than a tall glass of Gizer ale  at  his
favorite restaurant near the Courts Building. But politics foiled his plan, in
the form of Senator Orn Free Taa, who intercepted him  in  the  senate's  most
public of corridors.
     The corpulent blue Twi'lek was riding a hoversled.
     "May I glide beside you for a moment, Senator Antilles?" he asked.
     Antilles made a gesture of acceptance. "What is  it?"  he  said,  plainly
annoyed.
     "To come directly to the point, some rather interesting  data  has  found
its way to me. I thought to bring it to the attention  of  Senator  Palpatine,
but he suggested that you, as chair of the Internal Activities Committee, were
the one to whom I should speak." Antilles started to protest, then  sighed  in
resignation. "Go ahead, Senator." Taa's thick head-tails quivered slightly  in
anticipation. "As you know, I've recently been appointed  to  the  Allocations
Committee, and in that capacity  I  have  been  delving  into  precedents  and
legalities for Supreme Chancellor Valorum's  proposed  taxation  of  the  free
trade zones. Clearly, such taxation will have unanticipated  consequences  and
ramifications, but we're hoping to impede corruption by imagining scenarios of
what is likely to occur, should the proposal pass muster in the Senate."  "I'm
certain you are," Antilles muttered.
     Taa took the sarcasm in stride. "The Supreme Chancellor  has  stated  his
wish that a percentage of those revenues  garnered  through  taxation  of  the
trade routes -  comfor  all  intents  and  purposes,  taxation  of  the  Trade
Federation--butevery allocated for social and technological aid to  worlds  in
the Mid and Outer Rim that may be adversely affected by taxation.
     "This, however, presents a dilemma. If the motion  is  ratified  and  the
Trade Federation is forced to surrender some of its hold on the  space  lanes,
many smaller shipping concerns stand to profit--not only  as  a  result  of  a
newly fashioned competitive market, but also from those tax revenues earmarked
for outer system development." Antilles allowed his puzzlement to  show.  "I'm
not sure I see the dilemma." "Well, then, permit me to illustrate  a  specific
case. The Allocations Committee database conducted  a  search  for  Outer  Rim
corporations poised to benefit from taxation, and crosschecked the results  of
the search with data on file with the Appropriations Committee, of which I  am
also a member. Out of the compiled list  of  thousands  of  corporations,  one
concern was singled out: A shipping concern based on Eriadu that has  received
a sudden and, may  I  add,  substantial  inflow  of  capital."  "That  doesn't
surprise me," Antilles said.
     "Investors with their noses to the air are  doing  the  same  thing  your
committee is doing, except that they're looking for financial  opportunities."
"Exactly," Taa said. "Investor speculation.
     But in this case the dilemma arises from the fact  that  the  concern  is
owned by relatives of Supreme Chancellor Valorum." Antilles came to a halt and
turned to the hovering Twi'lek.
     Taa showed the palms of his big hands. "Let me make per fectly clear that
I am not suggesting impropriety on the part of  the  Supreme  Chancellor.  I'm
certain he is aware that anyone with privileged information about  legislative
proposals or construction contracts and the like  is  constrained  by  Statute
435, Sub - statute 1759 of the  Amended  Proprieties  Bill,  to  refrain  from
profiting by such knowledge, by investment or other means." Antilles  narrowed
his eyes. "But you are suggesting something by not suggesting it."  Taa  shook
his head. "I merely find it  curious  that  the  Supreme  Chancellor  has  not
brought this seeming conflict of interest to the attention of the senate.  I'm
confident that the dilemma will disappear once we have determined  the  origin
of the investment and are satisfied  that  there  is  no  link  between  those
investors and Supreme Chancellor Valorum himself." "Have you learned anything?
" Antilles asked.
     "That's the other peculiar thing," Taa said. "The deeper I  dig  for  the
source, the more dead ends I encounter. It's almost as if someone doesn't wish
to have it known where or with whom the  investment  originated.  My  lack  of
success is partially explained by the fact that I lack the necessary clearance
to access the relevant financial files. Access of the sort to  which  I  refer
requires someone of high standing. Someone,  well,  like  yourself."  Antilles
stared at him. "I assume that you've collected the pertinent  data,  Senator."
Taa restrained a smile. "As a matter of fact, I happen to have a copy with me.
" He proffered a data holocron.
     Antilles took it. "I'll see what I can find out." The commandeered  Hawk-
Bat streaked  toward  Karfeddion,  a  mottled  green  semicircle  filling  the
gunship's forward  viewports.  In  the  slung  cockpit,  Qui-Gon  sat  at  the
controls. Dressed in a poncho, scarf,  and  boots  borrowed  from  Asmeru,  he
looked every part a member of the Nebula Front.
     Obi-Wan stood behind the copilot's chair,  shrugging  out  of  his  brown
cloak.
     "Put your robes there," Qui-Gon said, gesturing to the empty  navigator's
chair. "Along with your lightsaber." Obi-Wan froze. "My lightsaber?" "Once  we
land, we want to be sure to give the wrong impression." Obi-Wan thought  about
it for a moment, then nodded uncertainly and unclipped the cylinder  from  his
belt.
     Setting the lightsaber down, he eased back into the copilot's chair.
     "Master, did we take the right action on Asmeru?" he  asked,  breaking  a
prolonged silence.
     "Could the violence have been avoided, as Master  Yaddle  wished?"  "What
can be avoided, whose end is purposed by the Force?" Obi-Wan fell  silent  for
another long moment.
     "Is it dangerous to give too much thought to the dark side?" "I  keep  my
gaze fixed on the light, Padawan. But to answer  your  question:  Thought  and
action are very different things." "But how can we  be  certain  our  thoughts
don't color our actions? The path we walk is at times so narrow." Qui-Gon  put
the Hawk-Bat on autopilot and swung to face his apprentice.
     "Shall I tell you how Yoda explained it to me when  I  was  even  younger
than you are?" "Yes, Master." Qui-Gon gazed out the viewport while  he  spoke.
"On distant Generis stands an especially dark, dense,  and  near  impenetrable
growth of sallap trees. For many generations it was necessary to travel a long
distance around the forest to reach the glorious deep-water lake  on  the  far
side. But then a Sith Lord thought to  blaze  a  trail  directly  through  the
trees, in the hope of providing a quicker route to the lake.
     "As you might imagine, only a few have taken both  routes  and  lived  to
tell of their experiences. But all agree that while the path through that dark
wood is shorter, it actually fails to arrive at the lake.
     Whereas the path that skirts the forest, though  long  and  arduous,  not
only arrives at the shore, but is, in itself, a destination." Without glancing
at Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon asked, "On As - meru, did you venture into t dark wood, or
did you remain in the light, with the Force as your companion  and  ally?"  "I
had no destination in mind, other than to follow  where  the  Force  led  me."
"Then you have the answer." Obi-Wan swung to face  the  starfield.  "The  Sith
were before Master Yoda's time, were they not, Master?" Qui-Gon came close  to
smiling. "Nothing was before Yoda's time, Padawan." Obi-Wan turned  to  glance
toward the gunship's forward cabin. "Master, about Cindar--was  "No,  I  don't
trust him at all." "Then why have we come to Karfeddion?" "We  have  to  begin
somewhere,  Obi-Wan.  In  time,  even  Cindar's  lies  will  betray  his  true
intentions." "In time for us to prevent Captain Cohl from doing whatever Havac
has tasked him to do?"  "That,  I  can't  say,  Padawan."  Just  then,  Cindar
wandered  forward,  his  gaze  falling  on  the  discarded  Jedi   robes   and
lightsabers.
     "Won't you feel naked without them?" Obi-Wan swung away from the  console
to face him.
     "We want to be certain  to  give  the  wrong  impression."  "That's  good
planning," the Nikto said.
     "Especially since I'm new to Karfeddion myself, and haven't an idea where
to begin looking for Cohl or Havac." Qui-Gon glanced at  him.  "Don't  concern
yourself about that. I suspect we've  already  made  a  beginning."  With  the
gunship grounded in the docking bay, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan,  and  Cindar  descended
the boarding ramp and set out to make inquiries at some  of  the  disreputable
cantinas and tap - cafs that surrounded the  spaceport.  They  weren't  twenty
meters from the ship when a pair of maintenance technicians  intercepted  them
at the exit to the street.
     "Hawk-Bat, right?" the taller of the two said to Qui-Gon.
     Qui-Gon looked the man in the eye. "Who's asking?" "No offense, Captain,"
the other said, showing his grease - stained hands in a mollifying gesture.
     "We just wanted to tell you that you just missed him." Obi-Wan started to
say something, but thought better of it.
     "We just missed him?" "Launched a couple of hours  back,"  the  tall  one
replied, "with a full complement of crew in a  beat-up  Corellian  freighter."
"Oh, that ship," Qui-Gon said.
     The shorter tech adopted a conspiratorial look.
     "Are you three part of this Eriadu business?" "What do you  think?"  Qui-
Gon said rhetorically.
     The two techs traded meaningful glances. "You wouldn't by chance  need  a
couple of spare hands, would you, Captain?" the taller one asked.
     Qui-Gon pretended to assess them. "I've no need for technicians. What are
your other talents?" "Same as the ones Cohl was  flying  with,  Captain,"  the
tall one said with increasing assurance. "Light and heavy arms, melee weapons,
explosives, you name it." "Small wars and revolutions," the other enthused.
     Qui-Gon nodded. "I'll pass the word along to Captain  Cohl."  The  taller
one nudged his partner in anticipation.
     "Much appreciated, Captain." "Can you tell us what's planned?" the  other
asked.
     "Just so we know how to prepare?" Qui-Gon shook his head firmly.
     The taller man frowned. "We understand. It's only that we  heard  it  was
extermination work." Qui-Gon said nothing in a blank-faced definite way.
     "Well, you know where to find us, Captain," the short one said.
     Qui-Gon let them take a few steps toward the exit before he  called  out.
"By the way, was Havac with him?" The question clearly puzzled them.
     "Don't know the name, Captain," the shorter of the pair said. "Just Cohl,
his Rodian sidekick, and the ones Cohl  had  hired."  The  other  man  grinned
broadly. "And the woman." Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. "So she was there, too.
" The tall one laughed shortly. "If looks could kill,  eh,  Captain?"  Qui-Gon
didn't so much as glance at Obi-Wan until the pair had left the  docking  bay.
But by that time, Cindar had already made his move.
     "You're one lucky fellow," the humanoid said, holding his  blaster  where
he could cover both of them.
     "Not from where I'm standing," Qui-Gon said.
     "You weren't meant to hear any of that," Cindar went on. "I  didn't  know
anything about Cohl's coming to Karfeddion." "So this was just to keep us away
from Eriadu." Cindar sneered. "Yeah, and this is as far as it goes, Jedi.  Too
bad you left your lightsabers on board." Qui-Gon folded his arms. "We  had  to
make you feel confident about drawing your blaster  and  revealing  yourself."
"Huh?" Obi-Wan threw a small sound toward the ship, and Cindar  whirled.  When
he spun back to the two Jedi, they had moved.
     Spying Obi-Wan ten meters to his right, Cindar triggered a bolt, but Qui-
Gon called on the Force to shove Cindar's blaster  hand,  and  the  bolt  went
wild. At the same instant, Obi-Wan leapt over Cindar's head, landing  directly
behind him.
     Cindar spun on his heel, prepared to fire.
     Obi-Wan swept his right  leg  through  a  forward  circle,  knocking  the
blaster from Cindar's hand.
     Crouching suddenly, he whirled one foot, kicking Cindar's legs  out  from
under him.
     The thickset humanoid fell hard on his side, but  sprang  nimbly  to  his
feet and began to advance, throwing combinations of punches and  kicks,  which
Obi-Wan blocked with his raised forearms and knees.
     Frustrated, Cindar threw his arms around Obi-Wan in a  front-facing  hug,
only to end up hugging himself when Obi-Wan made himself slender  and  dropped
out of the embrace. Off - balanced, Cindar staggered forward and crashed  into
one of the Hawk-Bafs landing struts.
     Obi-Wan leapt and landed.
     Cindar charged--but with hidden purpose.
     Anticipating Obi-Wan's next leap, Cindar  stopped  short,  then  threw  a
powerful roundhouse kick. Tagged in the torso as he was landing, Obi-Wan moved
with the force of the blow, cartwheeling to one side, and  landing  square  on
both feet, facing Cindar. The humanoid charged once more, catching the  impact
of Obi-Wan's abrupt back flip, full in the jaw.
     Cindar blundered backwards into the same strut.
     Evading Obi-Wan's follow-up blows with bobs and twists, he  squatted  and
made a sudden grab for Obi-Wan's right ankle. But Obi - Wan distanced  himself
by executing another back flip.
     The momentary lapse in the fighting was all Cindar needed. From an  ankle
holster he drew a hold-out blaster.
     The first bolt nicked Obi-Wan's right leg and sent him down on one  knee.
Qui-Gon appeared out of nowhere to drive him out of the path of the next bolt.
Compact packets of energized light ripped through the  docking  bay,  glancing
off the walls and ceiling.
     Cindar tried to track the Jedi, but they moved too quickly for  him.  His
next blasts caromed from the underside of the  HawkBat  and  recoiled  crazily
from the floor.
     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  KiAdiMundi  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 yourvs at the airlock and be ready  to  receive  company."  The
mercenaries ena4 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." I n 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 nearly 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
Holoationet!" "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  -  -  was
"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."  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--was "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 a 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 - comand 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.
     bar 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 mechno - chair 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 -  comtwo  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.
     "No preferences," the man grunted.
     "The same," the woman said.
     Havac took a portable holoprojector from his pocket and set  it  atop  an
alloy cargo crate. Everyone gathered  round  as  an  image  of  a  Classic-era
building with a domed roof took shape in the cone of light.
     "The site of the trade summit," Havac said, as the image began to rotate,
showing tall, slender towers at each corner,  and  four  principal  entrances.
"The main hall is a rotunda, similar in design to the Galactic Senate, but  on
a much smaller scale and without the detachable balconies." Havac called up  a
panoramic view of the interior.
     "True  to  their  exaggerated  sense  of  self-importance,   the   Eriadu
delegation has placed  itself  at  the  center  of  the  hall.  The  Coruscant
delegation will occupy east-side tiers of seats--here- - with the  members  of
the  Trade  Federation  Directorate  in  west  -   side   tiers.   Delegations
representing the Core Worlds, the Inner Rim, and the outlying systems will  be
dispersed throughout the rest of the hall.
     "In the event of trouble, the Trade Federation Directorate will  be  able
to  activate  a  force  field.  But  Valorum's  delegation   is   deliberately
unshielded, as a show of good faith." The sniper scrutinized the image  for  a
moment.
     "Valorum is going to be a difficult target--even from the highest tier in
the rotunda." "You'll be higher than that," Havac said. "The upper por-tion of
the hall is a maze of maintenance walkways and  gantries,  along  with  booths
designated for media personnel." "We'd have a better chance of hitting Valorum
before he enters the building," Lope said.
     "Perhaps," Havac conceded.  "But  the  plan  hinges  on  our  ability  to
infiltrate the summit and do the job  there."  "Four  entrances,"  the  sniper
said. "Which one is Valorum coming through?" Havac shook his  head.  "Unknown.
The route to the summit  hall  won't  be  revealed  until  the  last  possible
instant, and we don't have anyone close enough to him to provide us with  that
data. That's why we need a  spotter  team  on  the  outside."  Havac  conjured
another image from the holoprojector, showing the older quarter of  the  city,
where the summits of innumerable buildings merged into an extensive  range  of
rounded rooftops and elegant towers.
     "Eriadu security is trying to keep the rooftops clear, but  there  aren't
enough repulsorlift vehicles to provide  steady  surveillance,  especially  in
areas like this, where the roofs are all interconnected.
     Instead, security is flying sweeps at  regular  intervals,  concentrating
their efforts on the buildings adjacent to the summit hall."  Havac  indicated
one of the domed rooftops. "From here, there's  a  decent  view  of  the  four
boulevards that lead to the summit hall's separate entrances.  The  spotters--
was He pointed to Lope, the Gotal, and the woman. his-comw  have  just  enough
time to position yourvs on the roof between air sweeps. Access to the roof  is
through a safe house we maintain on Eriadu. The safe house will also serve  as
our rendezvous point after we're  finished,  or  should  something  unforeseen
occur beforehand. Valorum's hovercade will be easy to spot. As soon as  you've
ascertained the route, you'll communicate that information to the rest of us."
"Where will you be?" Lope demanded to know.
     Havac turned to him. "The shooters will already be inside the hall, up in
the walkways." "That'll be the first place security  will  look,"  the  sniper
groused. "I want something extra if I'm expected to hang myself out  to  dry."
Havac shook his head. "You'll receive the same as everyone else. We  all  have
important parts to play in this." "Havac's right," Lope said.  "If  you  don't
like being the shooter, I'll  take  your  place,  and  you  take  the  rooftop
surveillance. I don't like heights, anyway." The sniper  glared  at  Lope.  "I
didn't say I wouldn't do it. I'm only asking how I'm supposed to  get  to  the
walkways." Havac motioned one of his alien confederates forward.
     The Nikto placed a suitcase  atop  the  same  crate  that  supported  the
holoprojector and opened it. Havac lifted  a  jacket  from  the  suitcase  and
handed it to the sniper.
     "This will identify you as Eriadu security," he explained. "I'll  provide
you with the necessary documentation later. The point is,  you'll  be  in  the
summit hall before any of the delegations arrive.
     Once we've learned which entrance Valorum is coming through,  you'll  get
into whatever position you deem best." The sniper folded  the  uniform  jacket
over his arm.
     "When do I take the shot?" "The proceedings will commence with  a  series
of three prolonged trumpet fanfares," Havac went on.
     "Plan to fire at the start of the third fanfare." "Valorum  will  already
be in his seat?" Havac nodded, as he brought back the image of the interior of
the hall. "He will. But you're going to  place  your  first  bolt  here."  The
sniper stared at the spot on the summit hall floor Havac had  indicated,  then
gazed in puzzlement at Havac. "I don't get it.
     Who's going to be there?" "No one." "No one," the sniper  repeated,  then
began to shake his head. "I don't know where you're going with this, but  I've
got a reputation to uphold, and when I'm hired to shoot, I don't miss."  Havac
grumbled beneath his scarf. "All right, so choose a  target.  Wound  someone."
Lope stepped forward. "I thought we had a target- - Valorum." Havac  confirmed
it with a nod and glanced at everyone.
     "But I don't want any of you doing the actual shooting." While  Lope  and
the rest were trading looks, Havac deactivated the holoprojector  and  set  it
aside. At the same time, a pair of Bith began to  open  the  alloy  crate  the
device had been sitting on, and slid from it a boxlike tangle of  alloy  limbs
and a long cylinder of head.
     "Meet the  most  important  member  of  our  team,"  Havac  said.  "Built
specially for us by the same company that supplies the Trade  Federation  with
its security droids." Taking a  small  remote  control  from  his  pocket,  he
entered a code into the touchpad, and a battle droid unfolded into an  upright
posture, its arms at its side  and  a  blaster  rifle  mounted  alongside  its
backpack. The Nikto pried a restraining bolt from the chest  plastron  of  the
alm-two-meter-tall droid and stepped to the side.
     The restraining bolt  hit  the  floor  and  rolled  beneath  the  closest
repulsorsled.
     Havac keved in another code.
     Instantly, the droid reached over its shoulder  for  the  blaster  rifle.
With matching speed, the mercenaries reacted by adopting  defensive  positions
and drawing their own weapons.
     "Settle down," Havac said loudly, gesturing with his hands.
     Again, he keyed the remote. When the battle droid had returned the  rifle
to its mounting, Havac began to circle it.
     "It's harmless," he assured everyone, "unless I tell it to be otherwise."
The Gotal was the only one who hadn't reholstered his weapon.  "I  can't  work
with a droid," he said angrily.  "Their  energy  waves  overload  my  senses."
"You're not going to have to work with it," Havac said.
     "It's also going to be inside the hall."  Lope  and  the  sniper  swapped
concerned glances.
     "Who's leading him in?" Lope asked.
     "The Trade Federation." The  sniper  worked  his  square  jaw.  "Are  you
telling me that the droid is the actual shooter?" Havac nodded.
     "Then why do you have me shooting at the floor?" "Because  your  bolt  is
going to touch off a chain of events that will allow our alloy  teammate  here
to execute his commands." Havac regarded the droid.
     "It doesn't need a control computer. But  it  does  need  to  perceive  a
threat before it can be tasked." Lope started shaking his head. "You want this
to end up looking like it was the Trade Federation that killed  Valorum."  The
rest of the mercenaries stared at Havac.
     "You object to that?" "Captain Cohl said that this  was  going  to  be  a
straight forward job," the sniper protested. "He didn't say anything about the
Trade Federation." "Captain Cohl wasn't briefed on  the  full  extent  of  the
plan," Havac replied coolly.
     "There was no point risking a leak." Lope forced a short laugh. "I  guess
we can appreciate that, Havac. But the fact is,  if  word  gets  out  that  we
helped set up the Trade Federation..." "They've got a longer  reach  than  the
Republic, Havac," the sniper took over. "They'll have every bounty hunter from
Coruscant to Tatooine after us.
     And I, for one, don't want to have to spend the rest of my days hiding in
a hole somewhere." Havac showed everyone a stony look. "Let's be  clear  about
this. We're going to have to outwit Eriadu security, Republic  judicials,  and
Jedi Knights just to pull this off. And, sure, you might have to buy off  some
bounty hunters when we're done. But all that means is simply living up to your
reputations. If any of you don't think you're up to that, now is the  time  to
say so." Lope glanced at the sniper,  then  at  the  Gotal,  then  at  Havac's
several human and alien confederates, and back at the sniper again.
     "It's settled?" Havac asked, breaking the long silence.
     Lope nodded. "Just one more question, Havac. Where will you be during all
this?" "Where I can watch over all of you," he said, and let it go at that.
     From the tile mosaic floor of the summit hall, Qui-Gon peered up  at  the
tiers of seats, the banks of ornate, arch-topped windows, and, high  overhead,
the media booths and maintenance walkways.
     He rotated through a full circle, his gaze taking  in  groups  of  droids
inspecting the hall's several hundred video monitors, and teams  of  judicials
and security personnel moving through  the  tiers  with  leashed  beasts  that
sniffed, tasted, and probed the stale air.
     In that quarter of the hall  designated  for  the  Coruscant  delegation,
Masters Tiin and Ki-Adi-Mundi were  snaking  among  the  seats,  open  to  the
slightest disturbances in the Force.
     Elsewhere in the rotunda, Adi Gallia and Vergere  were  doing  the  same,
stretching out with their feelings, in the hope of discovering some indication
of what Havac and Cohl's assassins had planned for the summit.
     Agape in four directions, and perforated by its many  windows,  the  hall
was a security nightmare.
     Worse, Eriadu had decreed the summit open not only to delegates, but also
to Holoationet reporters, assorted dignitaries and veterans groups, musicians,
corporate representatives, and just about anyone with a modicum  of  authority
or influence. So many diverse species were expected to attend--each with their
individual entourages of aides, attendants, translators, and security guards--
that it was going to be near impossible to determine who  was  legitimate  and
who wasn't.
     Qui-Gon turned through another circle. The Eriadu delegation had  granted
itself the center of the floor, with Supreme Chancellor Valorum to their left,
and the Trade Federation Directorate to their right. The  Commerce  Guild  and
the Techno Union had an arc of seats between the two, buffered by  delegations
from the Core and the outlying systems.
     Qui-Gon's eyes  were  drawn  once  more  to  the  overhead  walkways  and
gantries, many of which supported arrays of spotlights and acoustic devices.
     Snipers could be placed almost  at  will,  he  told  himself.  Assas-sins
without regard for their own lives could inflict incalculable injury.
     "Do you sense anything, Master?" Obi-Wan asked from behind him.
     "Only that we are fighting something unseen, Obi-Wan. Each time  we  draw
close to identifying our adversary, it subverts and evades us." "Then it isn't
Captain Cohl?" Qui-Gon shook his head. "There is an organizing  hand  at  work
here--one that moves Cohl about as effortlessly as it  moves  us."  "Not  this
Havac." Qui-Gon pondered it momentarily, then shook his head again. "It has no
name that I know, Padawan.
     Perhaps the mystery owes to nothing more than my inability to see  beyond
the moment. What do you feel?" Obi-Wan's expression became  serious.  "I  feel
that we're close to resolving  this,  Master."  Qui-Gon  touched  him  on  the
shoulder. "That's comforting to hear." Adi Gallia and Vergere stepped down  to
the first tier to speak with them.
     "Security assures us that the entry scanners  are  capable  of  detecting
explosives, along with weapons--regardless of their composition," Adi said.
     "Guards will be stationed on the floor of the hall,  and  circulating  up
top, along the walkways.
     Security units and other droids will provide continuous  surveillance  of
the roof areas." "That may hamper Cohl from initiating an attack  here,"  Qui-
Gon replied, "but what about outside  the  hall?"  "The  Supreme  Chancellor's
route will be determined wascomputer, at the last moment."  "I'd  rather  that
the route be by skycar to the rooftop pad." Adi  shook  her  head  negatively.
"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. He insists on arriving by  ground-effect  vehicle.  We'll
have to trust in the same precautions that safeguarded him on the  route  from
the spaceport to Lieutenant Governor  Tarkin's  compound."  "Qui-Gon!"  Master
Tiin called out suddenly.
     Qui-Gon turned to find him and Ki-Adi-Mundi  hurrying  across  the  floor
toward them.
     "Captain Cohl's freighter has been found," Tiin continued. "The Corellian
freighter. Ten customs agents were found tied up in the rear  cabin."  Qui-Gon
and Obi-Wan swapped brief looks. "How do they know it's the one  Cohl  piloted
here?" "The navicomputer  indicates  that  the  ship  jumped  to  Eriadu  from
Karfeddion space," Ki-Adi-Mundi explained.
     "Cohl must have piloted the customs agents' ship to the surface," Qui-Gon
surmised.
     Tiin nodded as he came to a halt in front of Qui-Gon. "The  customs  ship
has been located at the spaceport." "We should  see  for  ourselves,"  Obi-Wan
said in a rush. Then he stopped himself and regarded Tiin.
     "What prompted anyone  to  conduct  a  search  of  the  freighter?"  Tiin
appeared to have anticipated the question, along with Qui-Gon's look  of  wary
concern.
     "The authorities received an anonymous lead." c ohl's eyelids  fluttered,
then snapped open.
     Boiny's blood -  smeared  face  swam  unfocused  in  his  gaze.  He  felt
nauseated and wired. He knew that he should be in great pain, but he was  only
vaguely aware of his body. Boiny had obviously dosed him with  pain  blockers.
Cohl tasted blood in his mouth, and something else--the syrupy astringency  of
bacta.
     Boiny's features began to sharpen and come into focus.
     A blaster bolt had burned a deep furrow in the left side of the  Rodian's
greenish skull. The wound glistened  with  freshly  applied  bacta,  but  Cohl
doubted that the miracle substance would prevail.
     His memory made a hurried return. He gave a start and tried to sit up.
     "Wait, Captain," Boiny said. His voice was weak and raspy.  "Rest  for  a
moment." Cohl paid him no mind. He pushed  himself  upright,  and  immediately
fell face first to the hard floor. He heard the tip of his nose crack and felt
a trickle of blood course down over his mustache and drip onto his lower lip.
     He began to drag himself across the floor,  to  where  Rella's  body  lay
unmoving--unmoving and cold when he stretched out his hand and grazed her face
with his fingertips.
     Boiny was suddenly beside him again.
     "She's dead, Captain," he said, anguished.
     "By the time I came to, there was nothing I could do." Cohl  crawled  the
final meter to Rella. He threw his right arm over her shoulders,  tugging  her
to him and weeping quietly for a long moment.
     "You had to come back," he said quietly, between sobs.
     Then he rolled over and glared at Boiny.
     "You should have let me die." Boiny had clearly anticipated his rage.
     "If you were close to dying, I might have  been  able  to  do  that."  He
tugged Cohl's ragged shirt aside to expose the thick armorply garment beneath.
"The vest absorbed most of the charge, but you  have  internal  injuries."  He
glanced at Cohl's tattered  left  thigh,  then  leaned  over  to  examine  his
forehead.
     "I did the best I could with your other wounds." Cohl raised his hand  to
his head. The bolt from Rella's blaster had burned away all the  hair  on  the
right side of his head and left a wound every bit as deep and  ragged  as  the
one that trenched Boiny's skull.
     "Where'd you find--was "An emergency medkit in a cabinet by the door.
     The bacta patches are a couple of months expired, but they probably  have
enough potency to sustain us for a while." Cohl passed the back  of  his  hand
under his nose, then took a stuttering breath. "Your head..."  "Fractured,  as
well as burned. But I gave myself a healthy measure of the pain blockers I fed
you. I came close to overdosing myself. But at least I'm seeing  only  one  of
you now." Cohl managed to sit up. Glancing around the room, he spied  the  man
he had killed lying faceup on the floor, exactly where the blaster had dropped
him. Otherwise, the room was empty. He looked back at Boiny.
     "Why didn't they finish us?" "This wasn't supposed to  happen.  I  figure
that Havac panicked." Cohl thought about it for a moment. "No. The Jedi are on
to us. He wants us to be found." He paused briefly, then added, "But he  isn't
fool enough to believe  I'd  keep  quiet  about  this  mission,  out  of  some
misguided sense of honor." "I'll wager that he's counting on the fact that you
won't betray Lope and the others." Cohl nodded slowly. "Havac read  me  right.
But he's going to regret not killing me when he had the chance." With  visible
effort, he raised himself up on his uninjured right knee.  "Are  any  of  them
still in the warehouse?" "Only the customs agents secured in the corridor. The
cargo bay is deserted." Cohl extended his arm to the Rodian. "Help me up."  He
winced as Boiny tugged him to his feet.
     Gingerly, he planted his left foot on the floor and nearly collapsed.
     "I'm going to need a crutch." "I'll fix you  up  with  something,"  Boiny
said.
     Cohl balanced on his good leg. He thought his heart  might  burst  if  he
looked at Rella again, but he forced his gaze downward nevertheless.
     "Some of us were born to be betrayed," he whispered.
     "I can't make

     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  durashcct
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 landspeeder 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 ena4?" "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  yourvs  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 pub-trans 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." L ope 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 the 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.
     Qui-Gon continued to believe that Havac had wanted the  holoprojector  to
be found, but he wasn't willing to take the chance that  Havac's  leaving  the
device behind hadn't constituted a genuine oversight.
     Just now the trio of airspeeders was approximately two  kilometers  south
of the summit hall.
     Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were passengers in the lead vehicle, trailed  by  Ki-
Adi-Mundi and Vergere in the second, and two judicials in the third.
     Gazing down over the speeder's starboard gunwale, Qui -  Gon  thought  he
glimpsed movement on one of the rooftops. But when he shielded his  eyes  with
the edge of his hand and looked again, all he saw was  what  might  have  been
heat shimmer at the base of a slender brick tower.
     He reached out through the Force.
     At the same instant the speeder's  terrain-following  computer  began  to
chirp repeatedly, indicating that it had matched  the  image.  The  computer's
screen displayed the stored  image  superimposed  on  the  roofscape  directly
below. Pivoting  in  his  seat,  Qui-Gon  saw  Ki-Adi-Mundi  wave  a  sign  of
acknowledgment that the computer of the second airspeeder has also  discovered
the match.
     The Eriadu security officer at the controls banked the airspeeder through
a sweeping turn and was headed back toward  the  stretch  of  roofs  when  the
craft's threat assessor suddenly added its voice to the steady chirping of the
terrain-following computer.
     "Missile lock!" the pilot said in astonishment.
     Obi-Wan leaned over the side of the craft and pointed to something below.
"There, Master!" Qui-Gon caught sight of the small rocket and realized at once
that it had been launched from the base  of  the  tower,  just  where  he  had
detected movement moments earlier.
     The pilot dropped the airspeeder into an abrupt dive, prepared to execute
another maneuver should the missile home in on them,  but  the  rocket  stayed
true to its original course. Narrowly  missing  the  rear  of  the  craft,  it
exploded high overhead, raining shrapnel on the airspeeder, which  came  about
and shot for the source of the fire.
     "Movement below,"  the  pilot  said,  glancing  at  one  of  the  scanner
displays. "I count six figures." Obi-Wan raised himself out of  his  seat.  "I
don't see anyone." "Mimetic suits," Qui-Gon said. He swung to the pilot. "Find
a place to set us down." Another rocket  streaked  into  the  sky,  detonating
between the second and third airspeeders.
     "Targets are headed south," the pilot said.
     Qui-Gon let his eyes roam over the varied domes and high roofs.  Emerging
from a narrow cleft between two domes, three humans came  briefly  into  view,
only to disappear against a background of roof tiles.
     The pilot steered the airspeeder for the top of a long barrel  vault  and
let the craft settle down.
     Blaster bolts began to whiz past the fuselage  and  ricochet  erratically
from the vault's arched walls.
     Lightsabers ignited, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leapt over the gunwales. Hitting
the vault, they somersaulted through the air for the  flat  area  below.  Some
distance behind, KiAdiMundi, Vergere, and  the  two  judicials  hit  the  roof
running.
     In a blur of motion, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bolted to the end  of  the  flat
roof, wound between several domes, and covered a length of sheer ledge without
a moment's hesitation. Side by side, and with blaster  bolts  darting  beneath
them, they hopped across an interior courtyard and continued the chase without
breaking stride.
     The terrorists were retreating deeper into the sinuous  topography.  Qui-
Gon pursued a pair of fleetingly  visible  figures,  ultimately  bounding  far
ahead of them. With lightsaber raised, he waited for  them  to  rush  directly
into his path.
     Is bar bar His green blade hissed and thrummed as it sliced  through  the
air, deflecting a dozen blaster bolts--along with a hurled blaster to  top  it
off. Perceiving the direction of the pair's revised retreat,  Qui-Gon  dropped
both of them with a Force push.
     The two judicials arrived in time to pounce  on  the  terrorists,  before
their mimetic suits had a chance to reenergize.
     Sensing something behind him, Qui-Gon whirled, but not quickly enough.  A
meter-long vibroblade secured to the fist of a nearly indiscernible  assailant
pierced the right side of his brown cloak, just missing his ribs. Qui-Gon spun
through a full turn, slashing diagonally with his lightsaber and  halving  the
vibroblade.
     The terrorist scampered to the center of the roof, where the  brick  wall
of a small dwelling afforded him better camouflage, and drew a blaster.
     Qui-Gon rushed forward, evading blaster bolts, then moving in to  grapple
hand to hand with a human of similar size.
     A hail of bolts tore past Qui-Gon's left ear as he threw  his  quarry  to
the roof. Two more bolts singed his long hair in their passing.  He  leapt  to
the right and rolled for cover. Drawing on the Force, he coaxed a  slate  tile
loose from the dwelling's peaked roof. The tile slipped from the grasp of  its
fasteners, shot spinning through space, and clipped the terrorist in the  side
of the head, felling him instantly.
     Qui-Gon rushed in, grabbing a handful of the mimetic suit and tearing  it
from the man's prone body. Its circuitry interrupted, the suit failed and  the
wearer became visible.
     Qui-Gon determined that the terrorist would be  unconscious  long  enough
for the judicials to find him.
     Off to his left, he spied Vergere leaping from dome to dome,  as  if  she
were wearing a rocket pack. Following after her, he saw that the Fosh and  Ki-
Adi-Mundi were closing on a Gotal, whose mimetic suit couldn't camouflage  the
trail of shed fur he was leaving.
     He glanced around for Obi-Wan and found him standing at  the  base  of  a
large dome, atop a wall that enclosed a deep  courtyard.  Qui-Gon  was  headed
toward him, when he spied an indistinct shape sliding down the steep curve  of
the dome. The shape collided with Obi-Wan and sent him flailing over the  edge
of the building.
     Qui-Gon dashed  forward,  holding  his  lightsaber  at  hip  level,  then
flicking the blade upward when he reached the  spot  where  he  predicted  the
terrorist would land.
     A pained cry rang out, and a right arm flashed into visibility  and  went
sailing over the edge of  the  roof.  Disa4,  the  mimetic  suit  phased  out,
revealing a howling human female, down on her knees, her left hand gripped  on
what remained of her severed right arm.
     Qui-Gon rushed to the wall, hoping to find that Obi-Wan had found a  soft
spot to land. Instead, an airspeeder rose out of the courtyard,  with  Obi-Wan
clinging by one hand to the craft's aft starboard stabilizer.
     The airspeeder gently deposited Obi-Wan on  the  roof  next  to  Qui-Gon.
Nearby, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Vergere, the two  judicials,  and  a  couple  of  Eriadu
security officers were securing the six terrorists that had been captured.
     Neither Havac nor Cohl were among them.
     "That was quite a stunt, Padawan," Qui-Gon said.
     "I guess you would rather have found me dangling by  my  teeth,  Master."
Qui-Gon showed him a perplexed look.
     "The thought-puzzle Master Anoon Bondara put to his students on  the  day
we spoke with Luminara," Obi-Wan explained. "About the  man  dangling  by  his
teeth from the strut of a skimmer over a treacherous pit." "I  remember  now,"
Qui-Gon said, with sudden interest.
     Obi-Wan blew out his breath. "After  much  though,  I  decided  that  the
skimmer is meant to be the Force, and that the pit represents the dangers that
await any of us who stray from the path." "And what of the lost travelers  who
asked for help?" "Well, on the one hand,  travelers--even  when  they've  lost
their way--should know better than to ask questions of a man dangling  by  his
teeth over a treacherous pit. But, more important, the travelers  were  merely
distractions that the man should ignore, if he is to  remain  in  the  Force."
"Distractions," Qui-Gon murmured.
     He thought back to the attempt on Valorum's life, the events  on  Asmeru,
and the evidence that had been discovered in the customs warehouse.
     Qui-Gon  clapped  Obi-Wan  on  both  shoulders.  "You've  helped  me  see
something that has been eluding me." He glanced at the half-dozen  terrorists.
"There's little more we can do here. Hurry now,  Padawan,  Havac's  scheme  is
afoot." "Where are we going, Master?" "Where we were  meant  to  go  from  the
beginning." The scene outside the  south  entrance  to  the  summit  hall  was
chaotic, with mobs of onlookers and  security  personnel  milling  about,  and
media reporters jostling for close-ups  with  their  holocams  and  recorders.
Cordons of body-armored police fought to keep the  masses  from  pressing  too
close, as vehicles ranging from the  most  primitive  to  the  most  luxurious
conveyed delegates to the porte cochere that hooded  the  entrance.  Judicials
circulated  through  the  crowd,  trying  not  to  be  obvious,  despite   the
communicator beads in their ears  and  the  sophisticated  comlinks  on  their
wrists,  while  Jedi  Knights,  with  their  brown  cloaks  and   belt-mounted
lightsabers, made themselves all too obvious.
     "I don't see a hope of getting  inside,"  Boiny  said  to  Cohl,  at  the
leading edge of the crowd.
     "Even if we managed to reach the door, we'd never be  able  to  slip  any
hardware past the weapons scanners." The  two  of  them  were  wearing  loose-
fitting robes, sandals, and turbans that concealed their head wounds.
     Cohl had found himself an actual crutch made of a lightweight alloy,  but
he was weaker than when he and the Rodian had made their hasty departure  from
the customs warehouse. Both were  surviving  on  bacta  patches  and  periodic
injections of pain blockers.
     Cohl gazed up at the summit hall. In  addition  to  the  security  guards
posted at the entrance, there were sharpshooters in the towers that  stood  at
the corners of the enormous building.
     "Let's have a look at some of the other entrances," he said, quietly  and
short of breath.
     They began a circular zigzag around the grounds.
     The west and north entrances were no less crowded or  confused,  but  the
east entrance wasn't nearly as mobbed, or as well guarded.
     Waiting  to  be  admitted  were  administrative   aides   and   freelance
translators,  protocol  and  service  droids,  an  ensemble  of  drummers  and
trumpeters sporting tall helmets and garish uniforms, and mixed-species groups
representing the Rights of Sentience League and the Association of Free  Trade
Worlds, among others.
     "Strictly second-tier attendees," Boiny remarked.
     "Our kind of folks." Cohl nodded with  his  chin,  indicating  that  they
should saunter down the long line.
     Part way along, announcing themselves with a colorful  banner,  waited  a
hundred or so veterans of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict. A brief though bloody
conflict that had erupted twelve years earlier, it had been fought largely  on
worlds where bacta was scarce or too expensive.
     Consequently, many of the veterans, human and alien alike,  still  showed
gruesome scars, patches of horribly puckered or wrinkled  flesh,  and  missing
limbs or tails. Paralyzed as a result of  disrupter  fire  or  electromagnetic
detonations, a few were confined to repulsorlift chairs and sleds.
     It was the latter group that caught Cohl's attention.
     "I think we've found our way inside," he told Boiny.
     Centered in the  180-457ree  arc  of  tiered  seats  that  separated  the
Coruscant delegation from the Trade Federation Directorate, Senator  Palpatine
sat with Sate Pestage, Kinman Doriana, and others, in the  section  designated
for the Naboo system.
     Palpatine had angled himself to the left, in order  to  watch  the  seven
members of the directorate assume their seats. Flanking the four  humans,  the
Sullustan, the Gran, and the Neimoidian, contingents of security droids  stood
with blaster  rifles  affixed  to  their  squarish  backpacks,  like  skeletal
sentinels of death.
     Palpatine was so engrossed that he failed  to  observe  the  approach  of
Senator Orn Free Taa, despite the fact that the  bloated  Rutian  Twi'lek  had
arrived by means of a repulsorlift chair, with his  retinue  of  attaches  and
aides trailing behind him like servants.
     "An impressive showing," Taa  said  to  Palpatine,  glancing  around  the
resplendent hall as he  lowered  his  chair  to  the  floor.  "Delegates  from
Sullust, Clak'dor, the Senex sector, Malastare, Falleen, Bothawui... Why  even
some of the Hutt worlds are represented." Taa paused to track Palpatine's gaze
to the Trade Federation section. "Ah, the objects of everyone's  fascination."
"Assuredly," Palpatine said in a distracted way.
     "How like the directorate to bring  droids--though  I  suppose  it  makes
little difference whether one chooses Jedi Knights or droids.  I  have  heard,
however, that the directorate also insisted on a shield  projector."  "Yes,  I
heard the same." Taa regarded Palpatine for a long moment.
     "Senator, permit me to say that you seem somewhat preoccupied." Palpatine
finally swiveled in his chair to face Taa. "In point  of  fact,  I  have  just
received some rather distressing news from  my  home  system.  It  seems  that
Naboo's King Veruna  has  abdicated  the  throne."  Taa's  massive  head-tails
twitched. "I...
     I must confess, Senator, that I don't know whether to feel sorry or  glad
for you. But where exactly does this leave you, in any  case?  Is  there  some
danger of your being recalled?" "That remains to be seen," Palpatine said.
     "Naboo will have an acting regent until elections are held." "Who  is  in
the running to replace Veruna?" "That, too,  remains  to  be  seen."  "Dare  I
inquire as to your  hope?"  Palpatine  shrugged  lightly.  "Only  for  someone
enthusiastic about opening Naboo to the galaxy.
     Someone less--how shall I put it? - - traditional than Veruna."  A  glint
came into Taa's eyes. "Or more easily  persuaded  perhaps?"  Before  Palpatine
could respond, a swell of agitation began to sweep through the  hall.  To  all
sides, heads were turning toward the south entrance.
     Shortly, Supreme  Chancellor  Valorum  and  the  rest  of  the  Coruscant
delegation appeared.
     The hall responded with extended if merely cordial applause.
     "He arrives," Taa said, as Valorum was being escorted to his  seat.  "But
who is that with him? I recognize the sector governor, but not  the  lean  and
hungry-looking  one  beside  him."  "Lieutenant  Governor  Tarkin,"  Palpatine
replied, while clapping his hands.
     "Ah, yes--Tarkin. A bit of a  throwback,  isn't  he?  Very  militant  and
authoritarian." "Power can turn even the meekest of bureaucrats into a  raging
manka cat." "Just so, just so. And speaking of that, Senator," Taa added in  a
conspiratorial tone,  "do  you  recall  the  information  I  brought  to  your
attention a while back, regarding Valorum family  holdings  here  on  Eriadu?"
"Vaguely. Something about a shipping company, wasn't it?" Taa nodded. "As  you
know, many small concerns are poised to see their market  status  considerably
advanced as a result of Valorum's taxation proposal, and also as a consequence
of investments from Core worlds, like Ralltiir and Kuat, who are ever  on  the
alert for opportunities." "What does  all  that  have  to  do  with  Valorum's
holdings?" Palpatine asked mildly.
     was It appears  that  said  shipping  company  has  recently  received  a
significant inflow of capital, and yet the Supreme Chancellor failed to inform
appropriate parties in the senate. Naturally, I began to wonder if he was even
aware that someone had invested so heavily in the family  business,  and  just
who it was that had invested." "It wouldn't be like Supreme Chancellor Valorum
to conceal something of that nature." "Initially,  I  believed  the  same.  My
assumption was that if it could be determined that the funds had  indeed  come
from investment speculators who had no direct ties to  Valorum,  then--despite
all outward appearances--noto breach of protocol or  propriety  had  occurred.
But when I endeavored to establish as much, I kept finding myself  beset  with
obstacles, dead ends, and  ambiguous  leads.  As  you  yourself  suggested,  I
resorted to turning the matter over to Senator Antilles, who has the necessary
leverage to pry into ^th areas to which I was denied." "Has  Senator  Antilles
made any progress?" Taa lowered his voice another notch. "What I have to  tell
you is hardly equivalent to your revelation about King Veruna, but, in fact, I
have just learned that Antilles was successful in tracing the  origin  of  the
funds to what he at first thought was a venture capital consortium, but which,
in fact, appears to be  a  fraudulent  bank  account,  set  up  expressly  for
channeling illicitly gained funds to areas  of  special  interest."  Palpatine
stared at him. "By special interests, I assume you refer to those senators who
are receiving kickbacks from various organizations, criminal  and  otherwise."
"Precisely." "But you have yet to learn where the funds originated."  "We  are
getting close, and the closer we get, the more potentially  embarrassing  this
could be for  the  Supreme  Chancellor."  "I'd  appreciate  being  kept  fully
informed." Taa smiled. "We'll make no announcement  without  consulting  you."
Palpatine and Taa turned to watch Valorum waving to the crowd, which responded
with a second round of gracious applause.
     "This is the Supreme Chancellor's moment," Palpatine said. "We  shouldn't
spoil it with  gossip."  Taa  was  chagrined.  "Please  accept  my  apologies,
Senator. It was never my intention to spoil the moment."  He  glanced  to  his
left.
     "I'll leave that to the Trade Federation." Viceroy Nute Gunray felt as if
everyone's eyes were on him, despite the fact that it was Valorum who had  the
hall's undivided attention.
     Gunray's own eyes, however, were  on  the  battle  droid  that  had  been
delivered into his care  only  moments  before  he  and  the  members  of  the
directorate had left their temporary quarters for the summit.
     Indistinguishable from the dozen other droids providing pro  tection  for
the directorate--save for a blush of yellow markings- - the new addition stood
just to Gunray's right, at the leading edge of the detachment on that side  of
the Trade Federation rostrum.
     Gunray had barely had time to settle into his quarters on Eriadu when the
Sith Lord, faithful to his word, had appeared, by means of  the  holoprojector
Sidious had sent him months earlier. Although on this occasion the  image  was
so distinct, so free of the usual noise and static,  that  Gunray  might  have
almost believed that Sidious was on Eriadu or some neighboring  world,  rather
than concealed in whatever manner of fathomless den from which he  worked  his
dark magic.
     Some strangers will be coming to give you an  additional  droid,  Sidious
had said, a battle droid. You are not to question them, nor the purpose of the
droid itself. You will simply instruct  the  droid  to  join  the  others  you
brought to Eriadu. It will respond to your commands.
     Gunray had been feverish with questions, but he had managed  to  restrain
himself when the strangers arrived at  his  quarters  with  the  boxed  battle
droid. He hadn't even informed Lott Dod of the communication,  even  when  the
senator--alone among the Trade Federation  delegation--had  casually  remarked
that he could have sworn that they had arrived  on  Eriadu  with  only  twelve
droids.
     The shipping manifest would bear that out,  of  course.  But  considering
that the Trade Federation enjoyed diplomatic status, it  was  improbable  that
Eriadu customs would raise a concern  when  the  delegation  returned  to  the
spaceport with the extra droid in tow.
     It was the second of the Sith Lord's directives that continued to prey on
Gunray's thoughts, in any case, and was the cause of his present disquiet.
     Even now he saw that the ensemble of musicians  were  assembling  on  the
floor, in preparation of trumpeting the fanfares  that  would  inaugurate  the
summit.
     It was only a matter of minutes.
     Gunray made note of where Lott Dod was seated.
     Discreetly, he mopped away some of the perspiration that beaded his face,
and he tried to calm himself.
     Mostly, however, he counted down the minutes in silence.
     From the padded seat  of  a  repulsorlift  chair  Boiny  had  helped  him
commandeer from an oblivious veteran of the Stark  Hyperspace  Conflict,  Cohl
gazed across the summit hall to where the Trade Federation delegation  had  an
area to itself, opposite Supreme Chancellor Valorum and the  Coruscant  bunch.
His vision was unfocused and narrowed to a tunnel, and  his  body  was  racked
with pain, despite the injections Boiny had been administering with increasing
frequency.
     Cohl's seeming and actual nurse, the Rodian stood behind him, training  a
small pair of  electrobinoculars  on  the  Trade  Federation's  complement  of
thirteen droids.
     "Only one of them is missing a restraining bolt," Boiny  said,  close  to
Cohl's left ear. "The droid with the yellow blazes on its head and midsection.
Just to the Neimoidian's right, at the head of the line on that  side  of  the
rostrum." Cohl put the electrobinoculars to his eyes.
     "I've got him," he said weakly. Then he began to scan  the  immense  hall
with the glasses. "Havac's somewhere in here, probably with a  remote  control
in hand." Boiny glanced  around.  "It's  possible  that  the  droid  has  been
programmed to respond to a certain event, or at a specific time. But  even  if
Havac has a remote, it won't necessarily have to operate by line of sight.  He
could be anywhere in the hall, or outside it." Cohl shook his  head.  "Havac's
the type who needs to watch this  happen.  He  planned  it.  It's  his  show."
Boiny's gaze continued to wander over the tiers of seats. "He can't be in  the
delegate's section.
     And I doubt he plays the trumpet--was  Abruptly,  Cohl  looked  over  his
shoulder at the Rodian. "What was Havac before he turned to terrorism, Boiny--
before he joined the Nebula Front?" Boiny thought  about  it.  "Some  kind  of
holomaker, right?" "A documentary holomaker. A freelance media correspondent."
In concert they raised their eyes to the media booths high overhead.
     Fresh from the rooftop chase, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan joined Saesee Tiin  and
Adi Gallia on the floor of the hall, just inside the north  entrance.  Valorum
was seated to the right and above them; the Trade Federation  Directorate,  to
the left. In front of them, the members of the Eriadu delegation  were  taking
their places in the stands that had been erected in the center  of  the  hall.
Below the stands, a  group  of  drummers  and  trumpeters  were  tuning  their
instruments.
     The air was charged with excitement.
     "The six we captured maintain that they've never heard of Cohl or Havac,"
Qui-Gon explained to the other Jedi, "and that they don't know anything  about
an assassination attempt." "Then what were they doing on the roof,  armed  and
dangerous, and firing on you with a rocket launcher?" "They claim to be a band
of thieves, who thought they could take advantage of the disorder  surrounding
the summit by breaking into the Seswenna Sector  Bank."  "Did  you  tell  them
about the roofscape image found in the holoprojector?" Tiin asked.
     "There was no point. They might have been hoping to assault  the  Supreme
Chancellor's hovercade from the roof, but I think they were  simply  there  to
distract us. That's what Cohl and Havac have been doing from the start, as far
back as the incident at the Galactic Senate.
     "Even if any of the six eventually admit to having been  hired  by  Cohl,
they could continue to claim that robbery was their intent. None were carrying
documentation, so we don't even know who they are or  what  worlds  they  hail
from. Eriadu security is running their likenesses  and  retinal  prints,  but,
assuming Cohl gathered them from distant worlds, it could be weeks before  any
matches are discovered." "Then we have nothing more to go on," Adi said.
     "Only that the rest of Havac's assassins are  somewhere  in  this  hall."
"There have been no incidents at the entrances," Tiin said. "No one  has  been
arrested." "That means nothing," Qui-Gon said.  "For  experts  like  Cohl  and
Havac, this hall is as permeable as a  Podrace  finale.  They  would  have  no
trouble getting inside." Tiin compressed his thin lips. "The only thing we can
do is be prepared to  defend  the  Supreme  Chancellor."  Qui-Gon  glanced  in
Valorum's direction.
     "Will he permit us to get any closer to him?" "No," Adi  said.  "He  gave
explicit orders that he doesn't want the proceedings disrupted--notor does  he
want us by his side. He wants the Jedi to be seen as impartial in  this  trade
dispute." "Nevertheless, we can't stand here, waiting for something to happen,
" Tiin growled. "We should divide and look around; locate the  trouble  before
the trouble finds Valorum." Obi-Wan, who had been standing quietly  throughout
the exchange, noticed a familiar look come into Qui-Gon's eye. It  was  as  if
Qui-Gon's gaze was fixed on some  invisible  presence  the  living  Force  had
highlighted.
     "What is it, Master?" he asked quietly.
     "I can feel  him,  Padawan."  "Havac?"  "Cohl."  The  tiny,  dingy  booth
assigned to the Eriadu Free HoloDaily consisted of a couple of rigid chairs, a
control console of dust - covered flatscreen displays and holoprojector  pads,
and a large single-pane window that looked out on the hall.
     Havac stood by the window, staring down at the mostly seated crowd  while
he mounted a holocam in its stand. Behind him, and armed  with  blasters  they
had secreted  in  the  summit  hall  weeks  earlier,  sat  two  of  his  human
confederates. One of them wore a wrist comm.
     When Havac had trained the holocam  on  the  Trade  Federation's  arc  of
seats, he attached a scanner to the cam head. Then he aimed the device,  which
resembled a directional microphone, toward the trumpeters on the floor of  the
hall.
     "Any word from the spotter team?" he asked over his shoulder.
     "Not a chirp," the man with the comlink replied. "And  Valorum  has  been
here for over ten minutes.
     What do you think happened?" "The likely explanation is  that  they  were
discovered." "Why do you say that?" Havac turned to face the pair. "Because  I
notified the authorities about Cohl's freighter, and  left  the  holoprojector
behind to be found." He  waited  for  smiles  of  revelation,  but  when  none
appeared, he added, "It was the only way to ensure that the authorities  would
be kept occupied while we went about our business here." "Then Cohl  has  also
been found--or his corpse, at any rate," the one with the comlink said.
     The other man looked doubtful. "Suppose, as you say,  the  spotters  have
been found out, and they decide to cut a deal  by  telling  what  they  know--
credits or no credits." Havac shrugged theatrically. "They know me  as  Havac,
and no "Havac" has been cleared by security to attend the summit.  The  credit
transfers to Cohl's hired hands can't be traced directly to us. The safe house
will be empty by the time they lead the authorities to it. We'll be long  gone
from Eriadu before anyone is able to assemble all the pieces of  the  puzzle."
Clearly meant to restore confidence, Havac's  discourse  failed  to  have  the
intended effect.
     If anything, the two men looked even more skeptical than before.
     "Is our shooter in place?" Havac asked impatiently.
     "Out on the walkway--just waiting for the music to begin." "What  do  you
want us to do with him afterward?" the one with the comlink asked.
     Havac considered it. "He's a misfit with a counterfeit identity badge and
a blaster, who has just fired at the delegates. You'll be a public hero if you
kill him--or at least see to it that he falls from  the  walkway."  "No  loose
ends," the same one said.
     "As few as possible." Back on his alloy crutches,  but  still  wearing  a
small flag fastened to the front of his robe that identified him as a  veteran
of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict, Cohl hobbled from  the  turbolift  that  had
carried him and Boiny to the hall's main pedestrian level. From  here  it  was
possible to ascend to the perimeter  walkways  that  accessed  the  media  and
security booths in the upper reaches of the domed building.
     They were headed for the array of lifts when a voice  called  out  behind
them.
     "Captain Cohl." Cohl didn't stop until the stranger  repeated  the  call,
then he maneuvered himself through  a  resigned  turn.  Ten  meters  down  the
corridor stood a tall, long-haired, and  bearded  Jedi,  displaying  a  green-
bladed lightsaber.
     "This just isn't our day," Boiny muttered.
     Cohl heard the characteristic snap and hiss  of  another  lightsaber  and
glanced over his shoulder. The second  Jedi  was  a  clean-shaven  young  man,
wearing the thin braid of a Padawan.
     "We've been looking forward to meeting you since Dor - valla," the  older
one said.
     Cohl and Boiny swapped looks of surprised dismay.
     "You were the ones in the diplomatic Lancet," Cohl said.
     "You led us a merry chase, Captain." Cohl snorted  and  shook  his  head.
"Well, you found us now. And you can put your glow sticks away.
     We're unarmed." Qui-Gon merely pointed the lightsaber toward the floor as
he approached. "I  congratulate  you  on  surviving  the  destruction  of  the
Revenue." Cohl sagged on his crutches. "A lot of good  it  did  me,  Jedi.  My
partner and I are shot to pieces." Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan regarded  them  through
the Force, and understood that Cohl wasn't lying. Both he and the Rodian  were
seriously injured.
     "How did you find out about the Dorvalla operation, anyway?" Cohl asked.
     "A member of the Nebula Front," Qui-Gon said. "Now dead." "So  there  was
an informant. I guess Havac was right to have been secretive about this  one."
"We're eager to meet Havac, as well," Obi-Wan said.
     Cohl looked  at  him.  "You'd  do  better  to  destroy  the  droid  Havac
infiltrated into the summit." "Droid?" the Jedi said in unison.
     "A battle droid," Cohl elaborated.
     "It's right up there with the rest of the directorate's droids. We figure
Havac plans to have the droid  kill  Valorum."  "That's  impossible,"  Qui-Gon
said. "Battle droids can't act without a cue from a central control computer."
"Havac's is one  of  Baktoid's  new  and  improved  models,"  Boiny  said.  "A
commander. More of a freethinker. It only needs to be tasked, by voice command
or remote signal, and it's capable of swaying the droids around it." Obi-Wan's
jaw dropped slightly. "Are you saying that instead of one assassin, there  are
a potential dozen?" "Thirteen, actually," Boiny replied.
     "It still can't initiate an act like that on its own," Qui-Gon insisted.
     "That's where Havac comes in. He's the  one  with  the  remote."  Qui-Gon
stepped toward Cohl. "Where is he?" "I have some  idea."  "Tell  me  what  you
know, and let me handle this.
     Obi-Wan will escort you and your partner to medical  attention--and  into
custody." Cohl shook his head. "If you want Havac, we go  together,  Jedi,  or
not at all." He canted his head to Boiny. "Besides, we're the  only  ones  who
can identify him." Qui-Gon didn't even have to think about it. He  glanced  at
Obi-Wan. "Padawan, report back to Master Tiin and the others. Quickly."  "But,
Master--was "Go, Padawan. Now." Obi-Wan showed him a tight-lipped nod and spun
on his boot heels.
     Qui-Gon  watched  his  apprentice  rush  off,  then  he  deactivated  his
lightsaber and put one arm under Cohl's trembling shoulder.
     "Lean on me, Captain." w ith ten drummers setting  the  tempo,  twice  as
many horn players raised their long instruments to their mouths and  trumpeted
the first of the three prolonged fanfares.
     By then Obi-Wan had reached Tiin and the other Jedi.
     "It's the droids," he began in a sally of words.
     Tiin had him slow down and repeat everything he and Qui - Gon had learned
from Cohl. Then the Iktotchi turned to Adi,  Ki-Adi-Mundi,  Vergere,  and  the
rest.
     "Position yourvs as close to Valorum as possible," he instructed Adi  and
Vergere.
     "Obi-Wan, Ki, and I will be near the Trade Federation rostrum.  The  rest
of you, disperse to deflect blasterfire. Be unassuming but prepared."  "Master
Tiin, do you think the Trade Federation suspects what's in their midst?"  Obi-
Wan asked as they set out across the floor of the hall.
     "They couldn't. They are aggressive  only  when  it  comes  to  commerce.
However this Havac infiltrated the droid among the others, it had to have been
done without the knowledge of the directorate members." "Should we  order  the
delegation to remove the droids, Master?" Ki-Adi-Mundi  replied.  "Whoever  is
watching may decide to trigger the droids into action.  If  that  happens,  it
could appear that we posed a threat, prompting  the  droids  to  respond  with
blasterfire.
     If there was time, we could  get  someone  aboard  the  Trade  Federation
freighter to shut down the central control computer." "Have you  fought  these
droids before, Master Tiin?" "I know only  that  they're  not  very  accurate,
Padawan." Obi-Wan frowned as he ran. "With thirteen of them firing,  that  may
not matter." Not even a quarter of the way around  the  upper  level  corridor
that  accessed  the  media  booths,  Boiny  spied  Havac   through   a   small
transparisteel panel set high in the door.
     Leaving Cohl to stand on  his  own,  Qui-Gon  pressed  his  back  to  the
corridor wall. "How many of them are in there?" he asked the Rodian.
     "Havac and maybe two other humans--seated to the right of the door." Qui-
Gon nodded to the door release lever. "Try it."  Gingerly,  Boiny  placed  his
hand on the lever.
     "Locked." He glanced at the touchpad mounted on the wall. "I can probably
slice--was "I have a quicker way," Qui-Gon interrupted.
     Activating his lightsaber, he shoved the glowing blade through  the  lock
mechanism. The metal glowed red and instantly began to slag, tainting the  air
with biting odors. With a grating sound, the door slid into xs wall pocket.
     By then, Havac and his two confederates were on their  feet,  weapons  in
hand. A flurry of blaster bolts glanced from Qui - Gon's blade, which he  held
upraised and threw left and right in  precise  parries.  The  deflected  bolts
blazed around the room, two of them wounding Havac's men and knocking them  to
the floor.
     Undiluted terror fumbled the blaster from Havac's grip. As it fell,  Qui-
Gon called the weapon to him with a Force summons and tucked it into the  wide
belt that cinched his tunic.
     Havac dropped back into his seat at the console,  cowering  in  fear  and
raising his shaking hands above his head.
     Boiny and Cohl followed Qui-Gon into the booth.
     Cohl took stock of the situation and looked at Qui-Gon. "I'm glad I never
had to go up against you people." "Cohl," Havac said in genuine amazement.
     Cohl made his eyes narrow.  "Next  time  you'll  know  better,  amateur."
"Where is the remote that controls the battle droid?" Qui - Gon asked Havac.
     Havac adopted a look of innocent perplexity.
     "Remote? I don't know what you're talking about."  Qui-Gon  towered  over
him. "You infiltrated a  droid  into  ^th  the  Trade  Federation  Directorate
brought with them." He reached down and picked Havac out of his chair, holding
him up against the booth's fixed window. "Where is the remote?" Havac clutched
vainly at Qui-Gon's hand.
     "Enough! Put me down and I'll tell  you!"  Qui-Gon  lowered  him  to  the
chair.
     "Our shooter has it," he said, biting out the words.
     "I know the one he means," Cohl said. "A sniper." Qui-Gon looked back  at
Havac. "Where is he?" "Out on the walkways," Havac mumbled, averting his eyes.
     Qui-Gon glanced at Cohl, making up his mind  about  something.  "Are  you
well enough to remain with these three while your partner  and  I  locate  the
shooter?" Cohl lowered himself into one of the chairs. "I think I can find  it
in me." Qui-Gon handed him Havac's blaster. He started to say  something,  but
bit back his words and began again, gesturing to the two  wounded  men.  "I'll
send for medical attention." "There's no hurry," Cohl said.
     When Qui-Gon and Boiny had disappeared through  the  open  doorway,  Cohl
stared balefully at Havac.
     The trumpeters paused briefly, then began the second modulating fanfare.
     The musicians were a stanza into the piece when a human  page  approached
the Trade Federation rostrum and asked for Viceroy Gunray.
     The Kuati chair of the delegation directed the page to the far end of the
directorate's curved table.
     With palpable apprehension, Gunray watched the page advance.
     "I'm sorry to intrude, Viceroy," the human began in Basic, loudly  enough
to be heard over the trumpets, "but apparently there is some problem with your
shuttle. Eriadu Spaceport Control needs to speak with  you  at  once."  Gunray
made his face long and stuck out his already prominent lower jaw. "Can't  this
wait until after the summit concludes?" The page shook his head. "I apologize,
Viceroy, but this is a security matter. I assure you, it will require  only  a
moment  of  your  time."  The  Kuati  chair,  who  had  been  monitoring   the
conversation, swung to face Gunray. "Go attend to the matter. If luck is  with
you, you won't have to endure Supreme Chancellor Valorum's  opening  remarks."
Lott Dod came to his feet as Gunray was preparing to leave. "Should  I  remain
in your absence, Viceroy?" Gunray thought about it for a  moment,  then  shook
his head. "Come with me.  You  are  better  at  dealing  with  procedures  and
legalities than I am. But let us be quick about it, Senator, I don't  wish  to
miss any more of the summit than I have to." A hundred meters above the  floor
of the summit hall, Qui-Gon and Boiny hurried through the network of walkways,
gantries, and trusses that spanned the upper reaches of the building from wall
to wall. The martial bellowing of the trumpets resounded off the curved walls,
playing tricks with the sound. Sunlight, colored by the enormous ocular window
in the center of the dome, poured in.
     Suspended by brackets from the ceiling, or cantilevered from  the  walls,
the walkways had openwork floors and tubular  handrails  and  were  just  wide
enough for a human of normal size  to  pass  through.  At  regular  intervals,
especially  where  walkways  intersected,  were   balconies   that   permitted
maintenance to be performed on speaker arrays or banks of spotlights.
     There were innumerable places where a lone shooter, armed with  a  remote
or a blaster, might conceal himself.
     Qui-Gon and Boiny hadn't gone  far  before  they  encountered  the  first
security agent, who raised a hand weapon as they approached  and  demanded  to
know what business they had there.
     Qui-Gon explained in as few words as possible, at the same time regarding
the agent through  the  Force  to  determine  if  his  demeanor  of  righteous
authority was genuine.
     Disconcerted by Qui-Gon's revelations, the agent  activated  his  comlink
and notified every agent in the vicinity to recheck the documents of anyone in
the walkways, whether  their  badges  identified  them  as  fellow  agents  or
technicians. In the same breath, he ordered that  all  exits  leading  to  the
periphery corridor behind the media booths be sealed off.
     Within moments, Qui-Gon, Boiny, and the agent were joined  by  additional
security personnel. Forming up into three groups, they  fanned  out  into  the
walkways.
     Qui-Gon and Boiny angled away from the perimeter and out over  the  floor
of the hall. Directly below  them  stood  the  two  lines  of  trumpeters  and
drummers.
     They reached another intersection and split up.
     Stretching out with his feelings, Qui-Gon moved warily  toward  the  next
balcony.
     A security agent rushed into view, a blaster rifle cradled in his arms.
     "I received word over the comlink," he said. "There are  two  technicians
on the next balcony.
     I suggest we start with them." The agent stepped  aside  to  let  Qui-Gon
pass.
     Qui-Gon sprinted forward. But the Force drew him up short.
     He began to turn.
     Someone shouted, "Jedi!" Qui-Gon spun  and  saw  Boiny  running  full-out
toward him. The security agent was  between  them,  the  blaster  rifle  still
angled across his chest.
     Boiny pointed to the agent. "That's--was The agent glanced at Qui-Gon.
     "He's with me," Qui-Gon started to say.
     The agent crouched and fired, hitting  Boiny  square  in  the  chest  and
hurling him backwards on the walkway.  Then  he  whirled  on  Qui-Gon,  firing
steadily.
     Qui-Gon unleashed his lightsaber. But the blaster  bolts  were  delivered
with such speed and precision that he was hard-pressed to deflect all of them.
Two whizzed past his blade, grazing his left arm and right leg.
     He stumbled slightly.
     Drawn by the sounds of the blasterfire, a trio of agents raced into  view
from the same direction Boiny had come. Havac's shooter drew a  second  weapon
from a shoulder holster and unloaded on the agents, wounding two of them.
     Qui-Gon changed the cant of his blade to deflect bolts off to each  side,
rather  than  back  at  the  shooter,  for  fear  of  hitting   any   of   the
reinforcements. By now the agents were  returning  fire,  but  showing  little
concern for Qui-Gon's predicament.
     The shooter was dazzlingly fast with his hands and  body,  dodging  bolts
and throwing himself from one  side  of  the  narrow  walkway  to  the  other,
concealed body armor absorbing the few shots that did manage to find him.
     Qui-Gon leapt forward. Slashing horizontally with his blade,  he  severed
two of the walkway's tubular vertical supports.
     Then he slashed downward to rend the struts that braced the platform.
     Abruptly both sections of the cleaved walkway tilted, sending Qui-Gon and
Havac's shooter staggering toward each other and the  increasing  gap  between
the now dangling ends of the platform.
     A crazed yell tore from the shooter's throat.
     He slipped to the floor and began to slide along the grating, firing both
weapons at Qui-Gon as he fell.
     Into the brief silence the musicians  inserted  between  the  second  and
final fanfares, came a rush of voices raised in panic.
     Seated stiffly at the  center  of  the  Coruscant  delegation's  rostrum,
Valorum wasn't sure what had provoked the screams until he saw Sei Taria, with
one hand pressed to her mouth, pointing toward the hall's ceiling.
     In the maze of walkways below the dome's  oculus  window,  blaster  bolts
darted  and  crisscrossed  in  the  tinted  light.  Others  glanced   from   a
lightsaber's green blade. Sparks showered down on the drummers and  trumpeters
like a benediction.
     Sei screamed.
     Jedi Masters Adi Gallia and Vergere rushed forward, their swords ignited.
     Then a figure plummeted from one of the walkways.
     From  the  Trade  Federation's  side  of  the  hall,  the  chair  of  the
directorate watched open-mouthed as a blaster fight erupted  in  the  overhead
trusses and gantries. On the floor, at the same time, three Jedi  and  several
judicials were  moving  quickly  if  surreptitiously  toward  the  directorate
rostrum.
     The Kuati glanced between the ceiling and  floor.  Had  the  summit  been
engineered to trap the directorate? he asked himself. Would the Republic be so
bold as to attack them in public?
     The security droids had gone from standing at attention  to  postures  of
readiness, crouching slightly,  with  arms  crooked  and  left  legs  extended
behind. They were programmed to answer  to  any  or  all  of  the  directorate
members--or at least relay a directorate  member's  commands  to  the  central
control  computer  on  board  the  Trade  Federation  vessel--but  the  droids
responded best to the Neimoidians.
     The Kuati chair looked around for Viceroy Gunray  and  realized  that  he
hadn't returned. At a loss for what to do, he swung to one of his aides.
     "Activate the force field!" he ordered.
     The sounds of blasters and panic on the floor infiltrated the media booth
Havac had secured.
     Seated in a chair with a hand weapon leveled at  Havac,  Cohl  heard  the
holocam click on and saw Havac glance at it.
     "Am I correct in assuming that you  intend  to  kill  me?"  Havac  asked.
"Killing is what you are good at, after all." "You're doing pretty good for  a
beginner, Havac." Havac snorted in disdain.  "I'm  prepared  to  die  for  the
cause, Captain." "Maybe you are," Cohl said. "But I'm not going  to  give  you
that privilege. You're going to die for killing Rella. Besides, your cause  is
lost." Havac glanced at the cam again. "You think so?"  Cohl  gestured  toward
the transparisteel window.
     "You hear those blaster bolts?  The  Jedi  found  your  shooter--the  one
controlling the droid. Valorum is out of danger. I never thought much  of  the
plan anyway, seeing how Valorum is trying to dismantle the  Trade  Federation,
the same as you are." Havac laughed shortly. "You failed  to  see  the  truth,
Cohl. You really are too old for the game.
     What makes you think that  we  were  ever  after  Valorum?"  Cohl's  grin
straightened.
     Grimacing in pain, he pushed himself out of the chair and limped  to  the
window. The blaster fight had thrown the hall into utter chaos. The members of
the Trade Federation Directorate were  standing  behind  their  curved  table,
surrounded by their security droids, everyone safe inside a  shimmering  force
field.
     Off to one side, a group of  Jedi  and  judicials  were  closing  on  the
Federation's rostrum.
     Cohl swung to Havac, his eyes blazing.
     "You're after the Trade Federation!" Havac couldn't restrain a triumphant
smile.
     "It was just a matter of getting them to activate the  force  field."  He
indicated the devices that were aimed down at the hall. "The scanner  detected
the activation. The holocam is going to do the rest." "The remote," Cohl said,
as if in a daze.
     He lunged for the cam, meeting Havac halfway.
     They slammed into each other and fell  grappling  to  the  floor  of  the
booth. They rolled toward the door, each man  fighting  for  superiority,  the
blaster between them, in the clutch of four hands.
     Cohl swung his elbow into Havac's face, knocking him sideways, then  used
Havac's momentum to pitch himself on top of Havac, pinning him  to  the  floor
with his knees.
     Havac squirmed, but held tightly to the blaster, triggering a  bolt  into
Cohl's abdomen. Cohl fell partially back, then slumped forward,  bringing  all
his weight to bear on the weapon and forcing it down into Havac's chest.
     With what little of his strength remained,  Cohl  squeezed  out  a  final
bolt.
     Dangling by one hand from the swaying walkway, Qui-Gon looked down at the
floor of the hall.
     The trumpeters had stopped midfanfare  and  were  scattering  for  cover,
abandoning their horns as they ran. Everywhere  else  delegates  were  fleeing
their seats, literally climbing over one another in  a  desperate  attempt  to
escape.
     Valorum was on his feet, but completely encircled by  Senate  Guards  and
Jedi Knights.
     Saesee Tiin, Ki-Adi-Mundi, and Obi-Wan had taken up positions in front of
the Trade Federation rostrum, their lightsabers lifted to  deflect  fire  from
the droids.
     But the directorate members had raised their  force  field,  which  meant
that no bolts could enter or leave the translucent energy shield.
     The thirteen droids reached over their right shoulders  for  the  blaster
rifles secured to their backpacks.
     The judicials loosed a storm of blaster  bolts,  which  the  force  field
simply consumed.
     Then, all at once, the droids pivoted through an ab-face.
     The members of the directorate mouthed commands and curses and  began  to
back away from the curved table.
     The droids fired.
     As the Jedi and judicials watched helplessly, bolts tore into  the  table
and chairs and into the flesh of the members, shaking them about  and  hurling
them to all sides of the rostrum.
     The firing ceased as abruptly as it had started.
     For a moment, the droids stood with their cooling blasters, then they put
them back over their shoulders and turned to face the hall.
     Stunned by what he  had  witnessed,  Qui-Gon  clambered  onto  the  shaky
walkway and dropped cross-legged to the slanted floor, staring off into space.
     the inner circle The Nebula Front has largely  disbanded,"  the  judicial
officer explained to Qui-Gon. "The few we've been able to track  down  contend
that they knew nothing about Havac's plans for Eriadu.
     Some of them had never even met Havac,  and  assert  that  the  name  was
applied routinely to almost everyone in  the  Front's  militant  faction.  The
Eriadu operation was conceived in  great  secrecy,  in  any  case,  since  the
militants were convinced  that  there  was  an  informant  among  them."  "The
informant was one of the moderates," Qui-Gon amended. "It was through him that
I learned about Cohl's designs to  raid  the  Trade  Federation  freighter  at
Dorvalla, and, on Asmeru, about a clandestine operation Cohl was executing for
Havac." The judicial, a thin, brown-haired woman  with  a  personable  manner,
made note of Qui-Gon's remarks on a desktop datapad. It was just  the  two  of
them in a small cubicle in the Justice Department's cavernous headquarters  on
Coruscant. Almost a standard month had gone by since the assassinations.
     Deactivating the shield the members of the Trade  Federation  Directorate
had thrown about themselves--unknowingly ushering  in  their  own  demise--had
required a team of technicians, using a pair  of  field  disrupters.  The  two
Neimoidians who had survived the massacre, Viceroy  Nute  Gunray  and  Senator
Lott Dod, had not protested when the same  disrupters  had  been  employed  to
dazzle the thirteen droids into states of  guaranteed  submission.  Diplomatic
privilege had permitted the Neimoidians to depart Eriadu without answering any
questions.
     Supreme Chancellor Valorum had ordered the Justice Department to commence
an immediate  investigation,  but  the  chief  investigators  had  soon  found
themselves thwarted by Lieutenant Governor Tarkin.
     Tarkin insisted  that,  since  Eriadu  had  failed  to  provide  adequate
security, the case should be handled by Eriaduan investigators. There was some
concern that Tarkin, fearing retaliation by the Trade Federation,  would  seek
to shift the blame to other parties. But, instead, he had simply  impeded  the
investigation by allowing evidence and eyewitnesses to  vanish.  Ignored,  the
judicials Valorum had asked to remain behind on Eriadu had finally decamped.
     Qui-Gon had tried to stay abreast of developments in the  case,  but  the
chief investigator who served as liaison with the Eriaduan team had only  just
returned to Coruscant.
     "Havac turns out to have been Eriaduan," the judicial officer  continued.
"His real name was Eru Matalis, a media correspondent  and  holodocumentarian,
with a long-standing grudge against the Trade Federation.  At  some  point  he
became the leader of the Nebula Front's cell on Eriadu, and rose  through  the
ranks to a command position in the organization.
     "A search of the safe house the Nebula Front maintained  in  Eriadu  City
revealed that the Front had contacts in all quarters  of  government  and  law
enforcement, and presumably knew as much as  anyone  about  security  for  the
trade summit. Evidently, Havac--Matalis--used his contacts to obtain  security
badges, uniforms, and documentation for the  assassins  Cohl  had  hired,  and
perhaps arranged to have weapons concealed  inside  the  hall,  prior  to  the
summit itself." "The operation must have been planned as  soon  as  the  trade
summit was announced," Qui-Gon said.
     "Or soon after the attack on the Supreme Chancellor, here on Coruscant. I
don't suppose we'll ever know whether that attack  was  genuine,  or  designed
from the start to sidetrack us from what was being set in motion  on  Eriadu."
"Not unless Cohl or Havac learn to speak from beyond the grave," the  judicial
said.
     "What of the assassins who were captured?" "Everyone in  custody  upholds
that Valorum was the target- - even the two who you discovered with  Havac  in
the media booth. As they tell it, Havac's goal was to make it appear that  the
Trade  Federation's  droids  had  killed  Valorum,  at  the  behest   of   the
directorate. That would have led to the dismantlement of the Federation, which
is what the Nebula Front wanted all along.
     "We considered the possibility that something went wrong with the droids'
programming, and that the attack on the directorate was a mistake. But Baktoid
provided ample proof that that could not have happened." "Could  Baktoid  have
been involved in abetting Havac?" "They vehemently deny  any  involvement.  In
fact, their technicians helped us  analyze  the  battle  droid--the  so-called
commander--which was found to contain  a  mechanism  that  allowed  it  to  be
controlled independently of the central control computer, but only for a brief
period. Havac's holocam prompted the commander to act, and  the  twelve  other
droids followed the commander's lead. As soon as the central control  computer
realized what was occurring in the summit hall, it shut  down  all  of  them."
Qui-Gon considered it for a moment. "Havac must  have  had  help  getting  the
droid into Trade Federation hands." "Absolutely," the judicial said,  nodding.
"But diplomatic privilege has prevented us from learning all that we  wish  to
know. For example, Eriadu Spaceport records show that the directorate  arrived
with only twelve droids. So the thirteenth--the assassin- - had to  have  been
acquired while the delegation was on the surface.
     "Gunray, the new commanding  viceroy  of  the  entire  Trade  Federation,
alleges--through his lawyers, at any rate--that  someone  on  the  directorate
must have accepted or introduced the droid. Senator Lott Dod claims that  when
he drew Gunray's attention to the extra droid,  the  viceroy  appeared  to  be
every bit as puzzled as Dod was." "What about the message that took Gunray and
Dod from the summit hall?" "Legitimate--as far as can be determined. A  plasma
leak was detected in the engines of the Neimoidians' shuttle. The leak touched
off scanners at the spaceport, and someone at the spaceport contacted security
at the summit hall. The problem is, we haven't been able to learn the identity
of whoever it was that contacted security. Viceroy  Gunray  insists  that  the
comlink the page led him to was inactive when he reached it.
     The page has verified this. By the time Gunray and Dod were  headed  back
to their seats, the violence had  already  broken  out,  and  security  agents
restrained them from reentering the hall." The  judicial  shook  her  head  in
exasperation. "It all comes down to Havac." Qui-Gon folded his arms across his
chest and nodded, though not convincingly.  "So  it  would  appear."  "It's  a
pleasure to see you again, Senator Palpatine," the  exquisite  figure  in  the
holoprojector field said. "I look forward to the day when we can meet again in
person." "I do, as well, Your Majesty," Palpatine said, bowing his head  in  a
gesture of respect.
     The figure sat in a round-backed  throne,  with  a  towering  arch-topped
window at her back, and, to either side, massive columns of native stone.  Her
low voice was as composed as her posture; the words emerged from  her  painted
lips with scant inflection.
     She had a slight figure and a lovely, feminine face. She  was  remarkably
solemn for one so young.
     It  was  clear  that  she  took  her  responsibilities  with  the  utmost
seriousness.
     Her birth name was Padme Naberrie. But she would henceforth be  known  as
Queen Amidala, the newly elected ruler of Naboo.
     Palpatine was receiving the communication in his apartment, high  in  the
craglike tower that was 500 Republica, in one of Cor  -  uscant's  oldest  and
most prestigious precincts. The walls and  floor  were  as  red  as  Amidala's
throne, with objects of art adorning every niche and corner.
     He could imagine his own ghostly likeness hovering  above  the  composite
holoprojector in the floor of the Advisory Council chambers in  Naboo's  Theed
Palace.
     "Senator, I wanted to advise you about something, which has only now been
revealed to me. King Veruna is dead." "Dead, Your Majesty?" Palpatine  frowned
in apparent disquiet. "Of course, I was aware that he  had  gone  into  hiding
following his abdication. But I understood that he was in  good  health."  "He
was in good health, Senator," Amidala said in a low monotone. "His  death  has
been ruled "accidental," but much mystery  surrounds  it."  Even  at  fourteen
years of age, she was not the youngest monarch ever elected to the throne, but
she was certainly one of the most conventional, in dress and bearing.
     She was sheathed head to foot in a wide-shouldered red gown, whose  ample
cuffs were trimmed with potolli fur. The gown's narrow bib was embroidered  in
priceless thread. Painted white, her face sat in the notch of  a  deep  collar
that not only bracketed  her  fine  features,  but  also  became  part  of  an
elaborate jeweled headpiece that flared behind her head. Her  thumbnails  were
accented with white polish, and each cheekbone with  a  red,  stylized  beauty
mark. A traditional "scar of  remembrance"  bisected  her  lower  lip,  which,
unlike its red mate, was also painted white.  Five  handmaidens  stood  behind
her, dressed in hooded burgundy gowns.
     "I wish you to meet our new chief of security,  Senator,"  Amidala  said,
gesturing to someone out of view. "Captain Panaka." A  clean-shaven  man  with
light-brown skin moved into the holofield. Humorless-looking, he  was  dressed
in a leather jerkin and matching command cap.
     Panaka may have been recently appointed, but he was not new to the court,
since Panaka had served for a time under his predecessor, Captain Magneta.
     "Because King Veruna died under suspicious circumstances," Amidala  said,
"Captain Panaka feels that additional security is  required  for  all  of  us,
including you, Senator." Palpatine looked surprised, even entertained  by  the
notion. "I hardly think that's necessary on Coruscant, Your Majesty. The  only
danger here comes from having to fraternize with other senators,  and  somehow
remain immune to the greed  that  plagues  the  Galactic  Senate."  The  queen
returned to the holofield. "What about the recent troubles between  the  Trade
Federation and the Nebula Front terrorists, Senator?" Palpatine shook his head
in disapproval. "That sorry incident only  pointed  out  how  ineffectual  the
Republic has become at mediating such conflicts. Too many in the Senate  place
their own needs above the  needs  of  the  Republic."  "What  will  become  of
Chancellor Valorum's proposal to tax the free trade zones?"  "I  feel  certain
that the Supreme Chancellor will pursue  the  matter."  "How  will  you  vote,
Senator, should the matter reach a vote?" "How would you have  me  vote,  Your
Majesty?" Amidala thought before replying. "My responsibility is to the people
of Naboo. I would very much like to establish good relations  with  Chancellor
Valorum, but Naboo can scarcely afford to become embroiled in a  dispute  that
pits the Republic against the Trade Federation. I will abide by your  decision
on the matter, Senator." Palpatine inclined his head. "Then I will  weigh  the
matter carefully, and vote according to what is ultimately best for Naboo  and
the Republic." Valorum stood at the tall windows, gazing out on the cityscape.
     "The last time we met here, it was  to  discuss  the  Trade  Federation's
request for protection from terrorists," he said, "and in  the  months  since,
the situation has only intensified. When I reflect on the sequence  of  events
that have brought us to this dark place, I find myself at a loss.  If  someone
had tried to tell me months ago that we were  headed  here,  I  wouldn't  have
heeded the warning, because I wouldn't have considered it  possible."  Senator
Palpatine said nothing. He waited for Valorum to turn from the view.
     "Out of respect for what occurred at the summit, I have deferred bringing
the motion for taxation before the senate. But I am under pressure to  resolve
the matter once and for all--from those who support it, as well as  those  who
oppose it." Valorum pivoted to face Palpatine. "You, perhaps more than anyone,
know the climate of the senate.
     Did the assassinations create sympathy for the Trade Federation,  to  the
point where we won't be able to gather sufficient support for  taxation?"  "On
the contrary," Palpatine  said.  "What  happened  on  Eriadu  only  reinforced
everyone's fears that we are entering violent times,  and  that  the  conflict
between the Trade Federation and the Nebula Front could be a sign  of  greater
tragedies to come.
     "What's more, with the profit-driven Neimoidians now  helming  the  Trade
Federation, tension is likely to increase in the outlying systems.  Your  plan
to redirect revenue to the Outer Rim is praiseworthy, and  is  something  that
should be put into effect. Many worlds and struggling concerns stand to profit
from such a move. Market competition will eventually temper the reach  of  the
Trade Federation, without need for the Republic to intervene, beyond taxation.
" Valorum nodded. "And what of the Trade Federation's request  for  additional
defenses? Even with the Nebula Front eliminated as a threat,  the  Neimoidians
will want permission to augment their army."  "That's  true,"  Palpatine  said
slowly. "As an accommodation, if nothing else, we  should  at  least  consider
allowing the  Trade  Federation  to  take  whatever  steps  are  necessary  to
safeguard their vessels.
     The breakup of the Nebula Front does  not  preclude  the  possibility  of
further acts of terrorism, launched by whatever groups rise up next."  Valorum
regarded Palpatine.  "Will  we  have  Naboo's  vote?"  Palpatine  sighed  with
purpose. "Unfortunately, Queen Amidala is not prepared to support taxation, as
Naboo still relies on the Trade Federation for many essential imports. She  is
young and inexperienced in such matters, but eager to  learn."  He  fixed  his
gaze on Valorum. "However, I will continue to do  all  in  my  power  to  work
behind the scenes.
     I feel certain that we will be able to rally the votes  needed."  Valorum
smiled in gratitude. "For all the support you have  shown  me,  my  friend,  I
trust that you will take on faith that, should need ever arise, I would do all
within my power to render aid to Naboo." "Thank you,  Supreme  Chancellor.  As
you say, I will take you at your word." T he public corridors of the  Galactic
Senate overflowed with Holoationet correspondents, well-wishers, and the  more
civic-minded of Coruscant's citizens.
     Flanked by Senate Guards, a rejuvenated Valorum moved slowly through  the
principal  corridor,  trading  dignified  nods  with  senators  and   ignoring
questions hurled by the media reporters.
     "Supreme Chancellor, did you ever for a moment doubt  that  the  taxation
proposal would be ratified?" a Twi'lek correspondent asked.
     Sei Taria answered for him.
     "The issue has been controversial from the start. But  everyone  involved
remained confident that the proposal would  pass,  once  all  parties  had  an
opportunity to be heard." An attractive human female shouldered her way to the
front of the crowd. "Considering what happened at the  trade  summit,  do  you
still feel that all parties were heard?" Again Sei Taria intervened.
     "While  tragedy  compelled  us  to  abbreviate  the  summit,   much   was
accomplished on Eriadu. Those who were denied an  opportunity  to  speak  were
given ample time to voice their opinions here, when the discussions continued.
" "Discussions or debates, Supreme Chancellor?"  Valorum  waved  his  hand  in
dismissal.
     "Do you feel that taxation strikes a blow for the rights of the  outlying
systems?" "The outlying systems will surely benefit," Taria replied. "But  all
worlds stand to gain as a result of this  historic  action.  Contrary  to  the
claims of  many  a  would-be  political  pundit,  the  passage  of  this  bill
demonstrates clearly that the senate has not grown too unwieldy  or  apathetic
to act for the common  good."  Another  human  correspondent  shoved  his  way
forward. "Would you consider this to be the high point of your administration?
" Taria held up her hands. "Later today, the office of the Supreme  Chancellor
will issue a statement.
     Until that time, there will be no further questions." The  correspondents
grumbled,  but  ultimately  fell  silent  and  stepped  aside,  as   Valorum's
contingent of advisers and  guards  steered  him  toward  the  turbolift  that
accessed his private chambers.
     Once there, he removed his outer cloak, sat heavily into his  chair,  and
loosed a prolonged exhale.
     "Thank you for running interference," he told Taria when the two of  them
were alone in the office.
     She smiled and took a seat opposite him. "We should issue a statement  as
quickly as possible. Do you want to compose something now?"  Valorum  frowned,
then got to his feet and walked to the center of the room, his  hands  clasped
behind his back.
     Taria activated the record function of her wrist comlink.
     "For too long a time the senate has been  bogged  down  by  policies  and
procedures," Valorum began after a moment. "But today we managed  to  sidestep
that bureaucratic morass. We have succeeded  in  overcoming  our  inertia,  by
setting aside petty squabbles and self-interest, and by  banding  together  to
strike a blow for the  Republic  itself.  In  this,  we  have  reaffirmed  our
mandate, and refound our way.
     "While we are honored to have introduced this historic proposal,  victory
would not have been possible without the tireless efforts of several good  and
proper delegates. We shall refrain from going into the matter of how the  vote
was carried. But we do want to say that we owe  much  gratitude  to  delegates
like--was Valorum cut short his remarks when a tone  issued  from  the  office
door. When Sei Taria opened the door, two Senate Guards conducted  Alderaanian
Senator Bail Antilles into the room. In his  right  hand,  the  chair  of  the
Internal Activities Committee held a legal-looking piece of durasheet.
     "Supreme Chancellor, I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of raw tidings on
a day that should be devoted to celebration,"  Antilles  said,  extending  the
durasheet to Valorum. "But this  document  constitutes  official  notification
that you are hereby requested to appear before the  Supreme  Court  to  answer
allegations  of  corruption  and  illegal  enrichment."  Valorum  blinked   in
stupefaction. He couldn't make sense of what he had just heard. This had to be
a mistake, or a joke in  very  poor  taste.  His  heart  thudded  against  his
breastbone, and he grew short of breath. He stared at  the  durasheet  he  had
accepted, then glared at Antilles.
     "I demand to know the meaning of this."  Antilles  compressed  his  lips.
"Again, I apologize, Supreme Chancellor. But that is all I am permitted to say
about the matter at this time." V alorum was surrounded not by  Senate  Guards
but by lawyers when he finally appeared before the Supreme  Court  almost  two
weeks later. During that time his legal team had managed to discover that  the
basis for the allegations was an  investment  made  in  Valorum  Shipping,  on
Eriadu.
     Beyond that, Valorum was in the dark.
     The Supreme Court convened in closed session in the  Galactic  Courts  of
Justice Building, an enormous  edifice  of  pointed  arches,  tall  decorative
spires, and elaborate statuary, located in the so-called Plains of  Coruscant,
not far from the Jedi Temple.
     Valorum and his lawyers were seated at a long table opposite  the  twelve
robed figures who comprised the  judiciary  council.  Bail  Antilles  and  the
members of the Internal Activities Committee sat perpendicular to the bench.
     The chief justice spoke, addressing Valorum.
     "Supreme Chancellor, we appreciate that you elected to appear before  us,
without being subpoenaed by writ." "We are given to understand that this is an
informal inquest," one of the lawyers said in Valorum's stead.
     "Your presumption is correct." The judge looked to  Antilles,  who  stood
and spoke from his place at the committee's table.
     "Your Honors, Supreme Chancellor Valorum," he began. "Just two weeks  ago
the senate met in special session to vote on a motion  introduced  by  Supreme
Chancellor Valorum, calling for a tax to be levied on all shipping  and  other
mercantile activities in what were formerly known as the free trade  zones  of
the outlying systems.
     "An amendment to the original proposal directed that a percentage of  all
revenues collected by the Republic would be redistributed among  the  outlying
systems, for purposes of social welfare and  technological  advancement.  Many
business concerns located in those systems have  already  begun  to  reap  the
benefits of the  amendment,  in  the  form  of  venture  capital  bestowed  by
investors, here in the Core. One of those concerns  is  Valorum  Shipping  and
Transport, of Eriadu, which has received an enormous sum, for a  company  that
has shown only  marginal  profits  over  the  past  several  standard  years."
Valorum's lawyer interrupted.
     "With all due respect, Senator Antilles, Supreme Chancellor  Valorum  was
not made aware  of  the  investment  in  Valorum  Shipping  until  last  week.
Regardless, while it's true that the company bears the Valorum name, and  that
the Supreme Chancellor is a member of the board  of  directors,  he  does  not
participate in company operations, or involve  himself  with  each  and  every
commonplace business transaction.
     "More important, Your Honors, since when does it violate Republic law for
a company to profit, based on merit alone? In the case of Valorum Shipping, it
strikes me as good business sense for investors to be drawn to concerns  owned
by prominent public figures. It's not as if the  Supreme  Chancellor  actively
solicited investments. Furthermore, the Supreme  Chancellor,  as  required  by
law, has made full disclosure of all his holdings, and his record, with regard
to earnings and taxes, is spotless." The twelve judges looked at Antilles, who
was still frowning when the lawyer finished speaking.
     "If I may be allowed to continue. The Internal Activities Committee  does
not take issue with any of the statements made  by  the  Supreme  Chancellor's
legal representative. In fact, when this  matter  was  first  brought  to  our
attention, we proceeded under the assumption that no infringement of  protocol
had occurred. However..." Antilles let the  word  dangle  for  a  long  moment
before continuing.
     "Subsequent investigation has shown  that  the  contribution  to  Valorum
Shipping did not originate with a consortium or venture capital group. Rather,
the revenue was drawn from a blind account, and  moved  to  Eriadu  through  a
Coruscant bank of dubious reputation. I use the  term  moved  advisedly,  Your
Honors, since the investment  was  tendered  in  the  form  of  hard  assets."
Valorum's lawyers regarded one another in  puzzlement.  "Of  what  sort?"  the
spokesman asked Antilles.
     "Aurodium ingots." Blood drained from Valorum's face,  and  a  stir  went
through the room. Valorum and his lawyers conferred for a moment,  before  the
spokesman replied.
     "Your Honors, we acknowledge that the investment begins to  sound,  shall
we say, less than forthright.
     Nevertheless, Senator Antilles has yet to demonstrate  exactly  how  this
matter relates to the Supreme Chancellor." Antilles's  expression  made  clear
that he had been waiting for just this moment. He gazed at  Valorum  while  he
delivered his finishing stroke.
     "What the Internal  Activities  Committee  finds  most  interesting,  and
questionable, is that the value of the  aurodium--and  indeed  the  quantity--
corresponds exactly to a  cache  of  ingots  reported  missing  by  the  Trade
Federation, following an attack on one of their vessels, the Revenue,  in  the
Dorvalla system, several months ago." Hushed conversations erupted  throughout
the room, as Antilles stepped out from behind the  table  and  approached  the
bench.
     "Your Honors, this is not an indictment. The committee merely  wishes  to
be reassured that the Supreme Chancellor did  not  have  a  hidden  agenda  in
supporting taxation, as part of a scheme to enrich his  own  holdings  in  the
outlying systems. The committee also wishes to be reassured that the  aurodium
in question did, in fact, disappear from  the  Revenue,  and  was  not  simply
transferred to Valorum Shipping, to seal a  clandestine  partnership  existing
between the Supreme Chancellor and the Trade  Federation."  Senator  Palpatine
was one of a hundred or more senators who had been invited to Orn  Free  Taa's
lavish penthouse for an evening of exceptional  food  and  extravagant  drink.
What had been touted as an occasion, however, had all the undercurrents  of  a
conclave; and where outsiders  assumed  that  its  purpose  was  to  celebrate
Valorum's seeming victory in the Senate, it was instead intended to cheer  his
recent reversal of fortune.
     On the largest of the penthouse's  many  terraces,  the  blue  -  skinned
Twi'lek host was holding forth for an audience of senators, who  hung  on  his
every word.
     "Of course we knew about the alleged improprieties. But it was  necessary
to delay mention of the scandal to ensure  that  the  tax  proposal  would  be
ratified, which  wouldn't  have  been  the  case  had  Valorum  been  weakened
beforehand." Taa shook his head and fat lekku. "No, by waiting to  reveal  the
allegations, and by supporting Valorum, we managed to  turn  what  might  have
been perceived as an instance of ordinary corruption  into  what  hints  at  a
nefarious plot that threatens the stability of the  very  Republic."  "But  is
there actually anything to the accusations?" Quarren Senator Tikkes asked, his
facial tentacles quivering in prospect.
     Taa's enormous shoulders heaved in a shrug of indifference. "There is the
aurodium, and there is the appearance of deceit. What else matters?" "If it is
true, then Valorum has become a danger to  the  general  good,"  Mot  Not  Rab
remarked.
     Tikkes affirmed that with an enthusiastic  nod.  "I  say  we  shake  him,
before worse  days  endure."  Others  nodded  in  agreement,  muttering  among
themselves.
     "Patience, patience," Taa advised in a soothing voice. "Baseless or  not,
the allegations have  essentially  crippled  Valorum.  We  need  only  to  rid
ourselves of those senators who have buoyed him in the past, enabling  him  to
remain afloat despite our best attempts to sink him. Besides, there may yet be
some advantage to keeping him high and dry."  "What  advantage?"  the  senator
from Rodia asked.
     "With his influence further eroded, and the Justice  Department  stripped
of some of its former authority, commissions will  have  to  be  appointed  to
render judgments and decisions he would ordinarily  make.  The  power  of  the
courts will increase. But cases will  invariably  take  longer  than  ever  to
resolve. And yet Valorum will continue to suffer the blame." "Unless a  strong
vice chancellor is appointed," the Rodian thought to point out.
     "We must not let that happen," Taa said firmly.
     "We need a consummate bureaucrat to serve as vice chancellor." He  leaned
toward his circle of conspirators. "Senator Palpatine has suggested that we do
our best to install the Chagrian--Mas Amedda." "But Amedda is  rumored  to  be
well disposed to the Trade Federation," Tikkes said in disbelief.
     "All the better, all the better." Taa was gleeful. "What matters is  that
the more fanatical he is  about  procedure,  the  more  he  stifles  Valorum's
ability to act." "To what final end?" Mot Not Rab asked.
     "Why, to Valorum's final end," Taa said. "And when that  time  comes,  we
will elect a leader with  fire  in  his  veins."  "Bail  Antilles  is  already
campaigning," the Rodian said.
     "As is Ainlee Teem of Malastare," Tikkes added.
     Taa noticed Palpatine standing by the  terrace  doors,  engaged  in  deep
conversation with the senators from Fondor and Eriadu.
     "I propose that we consider nominating  Palpatine,"  he  said,  gesturing
discreetly.
     Tikkes and the rest glanced at the tall senator from Naboo.
     "Palpatine would never accept the nomination," the Quar - ren  said.  "He
considers himself a supporting player." Taa narrowed his eyes. "Then  we  must
convince him.
     Think what it would mean to the outlying systems if  someone  from  other
than a Core world was elected  Supreme  Chancellor.  There  might  finally  be
equality for all species. He can restore order, if  anyone  can.  He  has  the
right combination of selflessness and quiet power. And  don't  let  yourvs  be
fooled: there is a strong hand concealed within those loose sleeves.
     He cares deeply about the integrity of  the  Republic,  and  he  will  do
whatever is needed to enforce the laws." Tikkes was dubious. "Then we will not
be able to play him as we have Valorum." "That's the beauty of it," Taa  said.
"We won't have to, because he thinks like one of us." I n all  the  years  she
had known him, Adi Gallia had never seen Valorum so despondent.  He  could  be
moody at  times,  and  unjustly  hard  on  himself,  but  the  allegations  of
corruption had tipped him into a dark place from which he could  not  surface.
In the month since she had seen him last, he appeared to have aged a year.
     "The aurodium was the Nebula Front's final stab at me,"  he  was  telling
her. "The terrorists were determined to take me down,  along  with  the  Trade
Federation Directorate. That has to be the explanation. And do you know why my
family members on Eriadu said nothing  of  the  aurodium?  Because  they  felt
slighted that I had chosen to accept the hospitality  of  Lieutenant  Governor
Tarkin, who, it seems, has been something of a nemesis for them. I did so only
as a courtesy to Senator Palpatine, who now feels that he played a guilty part
in this whole wretched affair." Adi was about to  reply,  but  Valorum  didn't
give her the chance.
     "Although I ask myself if certain senators weren't involved.
     Those who would sooner see me disgraced than simply dis - empowered." Adi
had come to his office in the senate, which had become a place  of  purposeful
whisperings and innuendo. The entire climate of the  senate  had  changed--and
Valorum felt responsible.
     "It will only be a matter of time before you are exonerated,"  Adi  tried
to reassure him.
     He shook his head. "Few  are  interested  in  seeing  me  exonerated--the
media, least of all. And with the terrorist Havac dead, there is no one to say
with certainty that the Trade Federation wasn't trying to buy  my  influence."
"If that was the case, why would you have pushed so  hard  to  tax  the  trade
routes? The tax alone is proof of your honesty." Valorum's weak  smile  belied
his sense of hopelessness. "My critics have an explanation.
     To offset the tax, revenue that goes to the outlying systems will  simply
find its way back into the deep pockets of the Neimoidians' robes." "It's  all
conjectural," Adi said. "It will disappear." Valorum scarcely heard her.
     "I don't care what they say about me personally.
     But now, all that I have accomplished in the senate is in question. I  am
made to answer to Mas Amedda, who is so consumed with procedure  that  no  new
legislation  will  pass.  Yet  more  commissions  and  committees  will   come
inffbbing, and with them, expanded opportunities for  graft  and  corruption."
Valorum fell quiet for a long moment, shaking his head back and forth.
     "The assassinations on Eriadu, and now  this  scandal,  will  have  wide-
ranging consequences. It has already been made clear to me that the  Jedi  are
not to become involved in trade disputes, without the express consent  of  the
senate.
     "But worst of all, is the  disservice  I  have  done  the  Republic.  The
citizenry take its cue from the head of state--even when that one  has  become
little more than an ineffectual figurehead.
     "I looked for the causes of corruption and found myself to blame.  Did  I
conveniently forget all the deals  I  struck  with  malicious  beings?  Did  I
conveniently forget that I, too, had been corrupted?" He put his elbows on the
desk and pressed his fingertips to his temples, keeping his gaze downward.
     "I had a terrible dream last night, that seemed as much a  reflection  of
my present circumstance as a vision of  the  future.  In  it,  I  felt  myself
besieged by nebulous forces, by wraiths of one sort or another. Something  was
reaching for me out of the blackness, to crush me in its grip." "Terrible, but
only a dream," Adi said. "Not a vision." Valorum managed to  summon  the  same
weak smile when he looked up at her.
     "If only I had more supporters like you and Senator Palpatine." "Better a
few faithful supporters, than a wealth of false friends," Adi  said.  "Perhaps
you can find some solace in that." In the  High  Council  tower  of  the  Jedi
Temple, the eleven Masters listened to Adi recount her meeting  with  Valorum.
As ever, Yoda was in motion, walking about with his  gimer  stick  cane,  and,
because of the part they had played in the events, Qui - Gon and Obi-Wan  were
present.
     "The Supreme Chancellor is correct about one  thing,"  Mace  Windu  said.
"The aurodium could only have come  from  Havac.  Cohl  delivered  the  stolen
ingots to him, then Havac set up the blind account and  saw  to  it  that  the
aurodium was invested in Valorum Shipping." "But why?" Yarael Poof asked.
     "By suggesting collusion, Havac hoped to  bring  down  both  the  Supreme
Chancellor and the Trade Federation." "Valorum, perhaps," Depa  Billaba  said.
"But the Neimoidi - ans have much of the senate on their  payroll.  The  Trade
Federation hasn't been touched by the scandal." "Indeed  they  haven't,"  Oppo
Rancisis agreed. "Too little thought we gave these events," Yoda said. "All of
us." Yaddle turned to face Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, who were standing outside  the
Masters' circle. "You two: flying here, flying  "there,  chasing  clues...  If
stopped for a moment to listen to the His: unifying Force, see what was coming
you might have." "I did what I had to  do,  Masters,"  Qui-Gon  said,  without
apology. Yoda loosed a prolonged sigh. "Blame  you,  we  don't,  Qui-Gon.  But
exasperate us, you do." Qui-Gon inclined his head in a bow.
     "This scandal wasn't the sole work of the Nebula Front," Adi  said.  "The
Supreme Chancellor has other enemies -  comhidden  enemies,  plotting  against
him. Trying to maneuver him into a position where he will err gravely, and  be
voted out of office or be forced to resign." "To be replaced by the  likes  of
Bail Antilles or Ainlee Teem," Saesee Tiin muttered.
     Windu nodded. "He  has  been  too  trusting."  "Too  naive,"  Even  Piell
remarked harshly.
     Yoda paced, then stopped. "Help him, we must--in secret, if need be." "We
must heed the will of the Force in this matter," Windu said. "We must be  open
to ways to counter the treacherous vor-tex  into  wh  the  Republic  has  been
drawn. Perhaps we can help Valorum get wind of events before his enemies  have
an opportunity to stack those events against him." "He senses  perilous  times
ahead," Adi said.
     "As if some darkness has been awakened, intent on spreading itself across
the galaxy." Yaddle broke the long silence.
     "Tipping the balance is." Yoda looked at her.  "Tipping,  yes.  But  from
troubled times to untroubled, or from bad times to worse?" Windu steepled  his
fingers in front of his face.
     "And what unknown hand is doing the tipping?" Darth Sidious visited  Nute
Gunray and his advisers by hologram, on the bridge  of  the  Trade  Federation
freighter Saak'ak, bar bar known, in Basic, as the Profiteer.
     "Congratulations on your promotion, Viceroy," the Sith Lord rasped, in  a
manner that made derision sound like a compliment.
     "Thank you, my Lord," Gunray was quick to respond. "We did  not  imagine,
when you said you would convince our competitors in the directorate, that  you
would..." "That I would what, Viceroy? Perhaps you imagined that I  would  act
with greater subtlety, is that it? Now there is no one to stand in your way of
acquiring an army or directing the future course  of  the  Trade  Federation."
Hath Monchar, Rune Haako, and Commander Daultay Dofine  looked  at  Gunray  in
stark apprehension.
     "I meant no offense, my Lord," he stammered.
     Sidious was briefly quiet. If only they could see his  eyes,  they  might
have had a hint of what he was thinking.
     "Soon I will be taking steps to eliminate some of your other competitors,
" he intoned a moment later. "But that does not concern you. Instead,  I  want
you to devote your energies to becoming familiar with the capabilities of your
newly acquired toys--your battle droids, and starfighters, and landing  craft.
Have Baktoid and Haor Chall Engineering been filling your orders on schedule?"
"They have, my Lord," Gunray said. "Though at exorbitant cost." "Don't try  my
patience with talk of credits, Viceroy," Sidious warned.  "There  is  more  at
stake than the health  of  your  financial  accounts."  Gunray  was  close  to
trembling. "What would you have us do, my Lord?" "We are going to put your new
army to the test." Gunray and Hath Monchar exchanged fearful glances.
     "A test?" Monchar said.
     Sidious seemed to gaze at him for an uncomfortably long time. "I  suspect
that you are hardly thrilled by the senate's sanction of taxation of the trade
routes," he said at last.
     Gunray nodded. "The senate has no right." "Of course not. And what better
way to demonstrate your  displeasure  than  through  a  trade  blockade."  "Of
Eriadu," Gunray said eagerly. "Because of  what  happened--was  "Eriadu  would
respond with force, Viceroy. We don't want a war. We want an embargo."  "Which
world shall it be?" Monchar said.
     "I suggest we strike at  the  homeworld  of  the  senator  who  was  most
responsible for championing the taxation bill: Naboo." "Naboo?" Haako said  in
genuine bewilderment.
     Sidious nodded. "Senator Palpatine  is  adept  at  dissembling  his  real
nature. You scarcely realize how much damage  he  has  already  caused."  "But
would such a blockade be legal?" Gunray asked. "Valorum will never  sit  still
for it." "I have a surprise in store  for  feeble-tempered  Valorum,"  Sidious
promised. "What's more, the scandal surrounding the Supreme Chancellor has led
many senators to rethink the taxation legislation. Few will  grumble  about  a
trade embargo of a world so distant from the Core." Monchar  stepped  forward.
"And what of the Jedi?" "They are already constrained from interfering."  "But
if they do, my Lord?" Gunray said.
     "We will not be subtle in dealing with  them."  Gunray  bowed  his  head.
"Once again, we place ourselves in your hands." Sidious smiled faintly. "As  I
told you once before, Viceroy, you serve yourvs best when you serve me."