Star Wars: Cloak of Deception

by James Luceno

  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 yourselves 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.’ ”

  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 longhaired 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 Dread-naughts 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 rectangular 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 enabled 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 CloakShapes 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 going 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 hi
s 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 activated 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. Asmeru’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.