by James Luceno
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 to 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 final 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 v
essels. 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-Bat 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 Valorum,” 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 fumbled 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 yourselves.”
“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 dread-naughts 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.”
