by James Luceno
“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—”
“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—for all intents and purposes, taxation of the Trade Federation—be 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 cross-checked 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 perfectly 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, Substatute 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.
&n
bsp; “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 Asmeru, did you venture into that 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—”
“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 tapcafs 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-Bat’s 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 Hawk-Bat and recoiled crazily from the floor.
