Star Wars: Cloak of Deception

by James Luceno

  Qui-Gon continued to believe that Havac had wanted the holoprojector to be found, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance that Havac’s leaving the device behind hadn’t constituted a genuine oversight.

  Just now the trio of airspeeders was approximately two kilometers south of the summit hall. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were passengers in the lead vehicle, trailed by Ki-Adi-Mundi and Vergere in the second, and two judicials in the third.

  Gazing down over the speeder’s starboard gunwale, Qui-Gon thought he glimpsed movement on one of the rooftops. But when he shielded his eyes with the edge of his hand and looked again, all he saw was what might have been heat shimmer at the base of a slender brick tower.

  He reached out through the Force.

  At the same instant the speeder’s terrain-following computer began to chirp repeatedly, indicating that it had matched the image. The computer’s screen displayed the stored image superimposed on the roofscape directly below. Pivoting in his seat, Qui-Gon saw Ki-Adi-Mundi wave a sign of acknowledgment that the computer of the second airspeeder has also discovered the match.

  The Eriadu security officer at the controls banked the airspeeder through a sweeping turn and was headed back toward the stretch of roofs when the craft’s threat assessor suddenly added its voice to the steady chirping of the terrain-following computer.

  “Missile lock!” the pilot said in astonishment.

  Obi-Wan leaned over the side of the craft and pointed to something below. “There, Master!”

  Qui-Gon caught sight of the small rocket and realized at once that it had been launched from the base of the tower, just where he had detected movement moments earlier.

  The pilot dropped the airspeeder into an abrupt dive, prepared to execute another maneuver should the missile home in on them, but the rocket stayed true to its original course. Narrowly missing the rear of the craft, it exploded high overhead, raining shrapnel on the airspeeder, which came about and shot for the source of the fire.

  “Movement below,” the pilot said, glancing at one of the scanner displays. “I count six figures.”

  Obi-Wan raised himself out of his seat. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Mimetic suits,” Qui-Gon said. He swung to the pilot. “Find a place to set us down.”

  Another rocket streaked into the sky, detonating between the second and third airspeeders.

  “Targets are headed south,” the pilot said.

  Qui-Gon let his eyes roam over the varied domes and hip roofs. Emerging from a narrow cleft between two domes, three humans came briefly into view, only to disappear against a background of roof tiles.

  The pilot steered the airspeeder for the top of a long barrel vault and let the craft settle down. Blaster bolts began to whiz past the fuselage and ricochet erratically from the vault’s arched walls. Lightsabers ignited, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan leapt over the gunwales. Hitting the vault, they somersaulted through the air for the flat area below. Some distance behind, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Vergere, and the two judicials hit the roof running.

  In a blur of motion, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bolted to the end of the flat roof, wound between several domes, and covered a length of sheer ledge without a moment’s hesitation. Side by side, and with blaster bolts darting beneath them, they hopped across an interior courtyard and continued the chase without breaking stride.

  The terrorists were retreating deeper into the sinuous topography. Qui-Gon pursued a pair of fleetingly visible figures, ultimately bounding far ahead of them. With lightsaber raised, he waited for them to rush directly into his path.

  His green blade hissed and thrummed as it sliced through the air, deflecting a dozen blaster bolts—along with a hurled blaster to top it off. Perceiving the direction of the pair’s revised retreat, Qui-Gon dropped both of them with a Force push. The two judicials arrived in time to pounce on the terrorists, before their mimetic suits had a chance to reenergize.

  Sensing something behind him, Qui-Gon whirled, but not quickly enough. A meter-long vibroblade secured to the fist of a nearly indiscernible assailant pierced the right side of his brown cloak, just missing his ribs. Qui-Gon spun through a full turn, slashing diagonally with his lightsaber and halving the vibroblade.

  The terrorist scampered to the center of the roof, where the brick wall of a small dwelling afforded him better camouflage, and drew a blaster. Qui-Gon rushed forward, evading blaster bolts, then moving in to grapple hand to hand with a human of similar size.

  A hail of bolts tore past Qui-Gon’s left ear as he threw his quarry to the roof. Two more bolts singed his long hair in their passing. He leapt to the right and rolled for cover. Drawing on the Force, he coaxed a slate tile loose from the dwelling’s peaked roof. The tile slipped from the grasp of its fasteners, shot spinning through space, and clipped the terrorist in the side of the head, felling him instantly.

  Qui-Gon rushed in, grabbing a handful of the mimetic suit and tearing it from the man’s prone body. Its circuitry interrupted, the suit failed and the wearer became visible.

  Qui-Gon determined that the terrorist would be unconscious long enough for the judicials to find him. Off to his left, he spied Vergere leaping from dome to dome, as if she were wearing a rocket pack. Following after her, he saw that the Fosh and Ki-Adi-Mundi were closing on a Gotal, whose mimetic suit couldn’t camouflage the trail of shed fur he was leaving.

  He glanced around for Obi-Wan and found him standing at the base of a large dome, atop a wall that enclosed a deep courtyard. Qui-Gon was headed toward him, when he spied an indistinct shape sliding down the steep curve of the dome. The shape collided with Obi-Wan and sent him flailing over the edge of the building.

  Qui-Gon dashed forward, holding his lightsaber at hip level, then flicking the blade upward when he reached the spot where he predicted the terrorist would land.

  A pained cry rang out, and a right arm flashed into visibility and went sailing over the edge of the roof. Disabled, the mimetic suit phased out, revealing a howling human female, down on her knees, her left hand gripped on what remained of her severed right arm.

  Qui-Gon rushed to the wall, hoping to find that Obi-Wan had found a soft spot to land. Instead, an airspeeder rose out of the courtyard, with Obi-Wan clinging by one hand to the craft’s aft starboard stabilizer.

  The airspeeder gently deposited Obi-Wan on the roof next to Qui-Gon. Nearby, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Vergere, the two judicials, and a couple of Eriadu security officers were securing the six terrorists that had been captured.

  Neither Havac nor Cohl were among them.

  “That was quite a stunt, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said.

  “I guess you would rather have found me dangling by my teeth, Master.”

  Qui-Gon showed him a perplexed look.

  “The thought-puzzle Master Anoon Bondara put to his students on the day we spoke with Luminara,” Obi-Wan explained. “About the man dangling by his teeth from the strut of a skimmer over a treacherous pit.”

  “I remember now,” Qui-Gon said, with sudden interest.

  Obi-Wan blew out his breath. “After much though, I decided that the skimmer is meant to be the Force, and that the pit represents the dangers that await any of us who stray from the path.”

  “And what of the lost travelers who asked for help?”

  “Well, on the one hand, travelers—even when they’ve lost their way—should know better than to ask questions of a man dangling by his teeth over a treacherous pit. But, more important, the travelers were merely distractions that the man should ignore, if he is to remain in the Force.”

  “Distractions,” Qui-Gon murmured.

  He thought back to the attempt on Valorum’s life, the events on Asmeru, and the evidence that had been discovered in the customs warehouse.

  Qui-Gon clapped Obi-Wan on both shoulders. “You’ve helped me see something that has been eluding me.” He glanced at the half-dozen terrorists. “There’s little more we can do here. Hurry now, Padawan, Havac’s scheme is afoot.”

  “Where are we goin
g, Master?”

  “Where we were meant to go from the beginning.”

  The scene outside the south entrance to the summit hall was chaotic, with mobs of onlookers and security personnel milling about, and media reporters jostling for close-ups with their holocams and recorders. Cordons of body-armored police fought to keep the masses from pressing too close, as vehicles ranging from the most primitive to the most luxurious conveyed delegates to the porte cochere that hooded the entrance. Judicials circulated through the crowd, trying not to be obvious, despite the communicator beads in their ears and the sophisticated comlinks on their wrists, while Jedi Knights, with their brown cloaks and belt-mounted lightsabers, made themselves all too obvious.

  “I don’t see a hope of getting inside,” Boiny said to Cohl, at the leading edge of the crowd. “Even if we managed to reach the door, we’d never be able to slip any hardware past the weapons scanners.”

  The two of them were wearing loose-fitting robes, sandals, and turbans that concealed their head wounds. Cohl had found himself an actual crutch made of a lightweight alloy, but he was weaker than when he and the Rodian had made their hasty departure from the customs warehouse. Both were surviving on bacta patches and periodic injections of pain blockers.

  Cohl gazed up at the summit hall. In addition to the security guards posted at the entrance, there were sharpshooters in the towers that stood at the corners of the enormous building.

  “Let’s have a look at some of the other entrances,” he said, quietly and short of breath.

  They began a circular zigzag around the grounds. The west and north entrances were no less crowded or confused, but the east entrance wasn’t nearly as mobbed, or as well guarded.

  Waiting to be admitted were administrative aides and freelance translators, protocol and service droids, an ensemble of drummers and trumpeters sporting tall helmets and garish uniforms, and mixed-species groups representing the Rights of Sentience League and the Association of Free Trade Worlds, among others.

  “Strictly second-tier attendees,” Boiny remarked.

  “Our kind of folks.” Cohl nodded with his chin, indicating that they should saunter down the long line.

  Partway along, announcing themselves with a colorful banner, waited a hundred or so veterans of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict. A brief though bloody conflict that had erupted twelve years earlier, it had been fought largely on worlds where bacta was scarce or too expensive. Consequently, many of the veterans, human and alien alike, still showed gruesome scars, patches of horribly puckered or wrinkled flesh, and missing limbs or tails. Paralyzed as a result of disruptor fire or electromagnetic detonations, a few were confined to repulsorlift chairs and sleds.

  It was the latter group that caught Cohl’s attention.

  “I think we’ve found our way inside,” he told Boiny.

  Centered in the 180-degree arc of tiered seats that separated the Coruscant delegation from the Trade Federation Directorate, Senator Palpatine sat with Sate Pestage, Kinman Doriana, and others, in the section designated for the Naboo system.

  Palpatine had angled himself to the left, in order to watch the seven members of the directorate assume their seats. Flanking the four humans, the Sullustan, the Gran, and the Neimoidian, contingents of security droids stood with blaster rifles affixed to their squarish backpacks, like skeletal sentinels of death.

  Palpatine was so engrossed that he failed to observe the approach of Senator Orn Free Taa, despite the fact that the bloated Rutian Twi’lek had arrived by means of a repulsorlift chair, with his retinue of attachés and aides trailing behind him like servants.

  “An impressive showing,” Taa said to Palpatine, glancing around the resplendent hall as he lowered his chair to the floor. “Delegates from Sullust, Clak’dor, the Senex sector, Malastare, Falleen, Bothawui … Why even some of the Hutt worlds are represented.” Taa paused to track Palpatine’s gaze to the Trade Federation section. “Ah, the objects of everyone’s fascination.”

  “Assuredly,” Palpatine said in a distracted way.

  “How like the directorate to bring droids—though I suppose it makes little difference whether one chooses Jedi Knights or droids. I have heard, however, that the directorate also insisted on a shield projector.”

  “Yes, I heard the same.”

  Taa regarded Palpatine for a long moment. “Senator, permit me to say that you seem somewhat preoccupied.”

  Palpatine finally swiveled in his chair to face Taa. “In point of fact, I have just received some rather distressing news from my home system. It seems that Naboo’s King Veruna has abdicated the throne.”

  Taa’s massive head-tails twitched. “I … I must confess, Senator, that I don’t know whether to feel sorry or glad for you. But where exactly does this leave you, in any case? Is there some danger of your being recalled?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Palpatine said. “Naboo will have an acting regent until elections are held.”

  “Who is in the running to replace Veruna?”

  “That, too, remains to be seen.”

  “Dare I inquire as to your hope?”

  Palpatine shrugged lightly. “Only for someone enthusiastic about opening Naboo to the galaxy. Someone less—how shall I put it?—traditional than Veruna.”

  A glint came into Taa’s eyes. “Or more easily persuaded perhaps?”

  Before Palpatine could respond, a swell of agitation began to sweep through the hall. To all sides, heads were turning toward the south entrance. Shortly, Supreme Chancellor Valorum and the rest of the Coruscant delegation appeared. The hall responded with extended if merely cordial applause.

  “He arrives,” Taa said, as Valorum was being escorted to his seat. “But who is that with him? I recognize the sector governor, but not the lean and hungry-looking one beside him.”

  “Lieutenant Governor Tarkin,” Palpatine replied, while clapping his hands.

  “Ah, yes—Tarkin. A bit of a throwback, isn’t he? Very militant and authoritarian.”

  “Power can turn even the meekest of bureaucrats into a raging manka cat.”

  “Just so, just so. And speaking of that, Senator,” Taa added in a conspiratorial tone, “do you recall the information I brought to your attention a while back, regarding Valorum family holdings here on Eriadu?”

  “Vaguely. Something about a shipping company, wasn’t it?”

  Taa nodded. “As you know, many small concerns are poised to see their market status considerably advanced as a result of Valorum’s taxation proposal, and also as a consequence of investments from Core worlds, like Ralltiir and Kuat, who are ever on the alert for opportunities.”

  “What does all that have to do with Valorum’s holdings?” Palpatine asked mildly.

  “It appears that said shipping company has recently received a significant inflow of capital, and yet the Supreme Chancellor failed to inform appropriate parties in the senate. Naturally, I began to wonder if he was even aware that someone had invested so heavily in the family business, and just who it was that had invested.”

  “It wouldn’t be like Supreme Chancellor Valorum to conceal something of that nature.”

  “Initially, I believed the same. My assumption was that if it could be determined that the funds had indeed come from investment speculators who had no direct ties to Valorum, then—despite all outward appearances—no breach of protocol or propriety had occurred. But when I endeavored to establish as much, I kept finding myself beset with obstacles, dead ends, and ambiguous leads. As you yourself suggested, I resorted to turning the matter over to Senator Antilles, who has the necessary leverage to pry into those areas to which I was denied.”

  “Has Senator Antilles made any progress?”

  Taa lowered his voice another notch. “What I have to tell you is hardly equivalent to your revelation about King Veruna, but, in fact, I have just learned that Antilles was successful in tracing the origin of the funds to what he at first thought was a venture capital consortium, but which, in fact
, appears to be a fraudulent bank account, set up expressly for channeling illicitly gained funds to areas of special interest.”

  Palpatine stared at him. “By special interests, I assume you refer to those senators who are receiving kickbacks from various organizations, criminal and otherwise.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But you have yet to learn where the funds originated.”

  “We are getting close, and the closer we get, the more potentially embarrassing this could be for the Supreme Chancellor.”

  “I’d appreciate being kept fully informed.”

  Taa smiled. “We’ll make no announcement without consulting you.”

  Palpatine and Taa turned to watch Valorum waving to the crowd, which responded with a second round of gracious applause.

  “This is the Supreme Chancellor’s moment,” Palpatine said. “We shouldn’t spoil it with gossip.”

  Taa was chagrined. “Please accept my apologies, Senator. It was never my intention to spoil the moment.” He glanced to his left. “I’ll leave that to the Trade Federation.”

  Viceroy Nute Gunray felt as if everyone’s eyes were on him, despite the fact that it was Valorum who had the hall’s undivided attention. Gunray’s own eyes, however, were on the battle droid that had been delivered into his care only moments before he and the members of the directorate had left their temporary quarters for the summit.

  Indistinguishable from the dozen other droids providing protection for the directorate—save for a blush of yellow markings—the new addition stood just to Gunray’s right, at the leading edge of the detachment on that side of the Trade Federation rostrum.

  Gunray had barely had time to settle into his quarters on Eriadu when the Sith Lord, faithful to his word, had appeared, by means of the holoprojector Sidious had sent him months earlier. Although on this occasion the image was so distinct, so free of the usual noise and static, that Gunray might have almost believed that Sidious was on Eriadu or some neighboring world, rather than concealed in whatever manner of fathomless den from which he worked his dark magic.