by James Luceno
“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 portion 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—” He pointed to Lope, the Gotal, and the woman. “—will have just enough time to position yourselves 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 almost-two-meter-tall droid and stepped to the side. The restraining bolt hit the floor and rolled beneath the closest repulsorsled.
Havac keyed 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 straig
htforward 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 HoloNet 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. Assassins 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 by computer, 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.”
Cohl’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—”
“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.
