by James Luceno
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—”
“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 Grebleips 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 Coruscant’s sky. But the fact that it was riding outside the defined 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 t
he 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 those who devoted themselves to such things—that 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 Alderaan’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?”
