by James Luceno
Some strangers will be coming to give you an additional droid, Sidious had said, a battle droid. You are not to question them, nor the purpose of the droid itself. You will simply instruct the droid to join the others you brought to Eriadu. It will respond to your commands.
Gunray had been feverish with questions, but he had managed to restrain himself when the strangers arrived at his quarters with the boxed battle droid. He hadn’t even informed Lott Dod of the communication, even when the senator—alone among the Trade Federation delegation—had casually remarked that he could have sworn that they had arrived on Eriadu with only twelve droids.
The shipping manifest would bear that out, of course. But considering that the Trade Federation enjoyed diplomatic status, it was improbable that Eriadu customs would raise a concern when the delegation returned to the spaceport with the extra droid in tow.
It was the second of the Sith Lord’s directives that continued to prey on Gunray’s thoughts, in any case, and was the cause of his present disquiet.
Even now he saw that the ensemble of musicians were assembling on the floor, in preparation of trumpeting the fanfares that would inaugurate the summit.
It was only a matter of minutes.
Gunray made note of where Lott Dod was seated.
Discreetly, he mopped away some of the perspiration that beaded his face, and he tried to calm himself. Mostly, however, he counted down the minutes in silence.
From the padded seat of a repulsorlift chair Boiny had helped him commandeer from an oblivious veteran of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict, Cohl gazed across the summit hall to where the Trade Federation delegation had an area to itself, opposite Supreme Chancellor Valorum and the Coruscant bunch. His vision was unfocused and narrowed to a tunnel, and his body was racked with pain, despite the injections Boiny had been administering with increasing frequency.
Cohl’s seeming and actual nurse, the Rodian stood behind him, training a small pair of electrobinoculars on the Trade Federation’s complement of thirteen droids.
“Only one of them is missing a restraining bolt,” Boiny said, close to Cohl’s left ear. “The droid with the yellow blazes on its head and midsection. Just to the Neimoidian’s right, at the head of the line on that side of the rostrum.”
Cohl put the electrobinoculars to his eyes. “I’ve got him,” he said weakly. Then he began to scan the immense hall with the glasses. “Havac’s somewhere in here, probably with a remote control in hand.”
Boiny glanced around. “It’s possible that the droid has been programmed to respond to a certain event, or at a specific time. But even if Havac has a remote, it won’t necessarily have to operate by line of sight. He could be anywhere in the hall, or outside it.”
Cohl shook his head. “Havac’s the type who needs to watch this happen. He planned it. It’s his show.”
Boiny’s gaze continued to wander over the tiers of seats. “He can’t be in the delegate’s section. And I doubt he plays the trumpet—”
Abruptly, Cohl looked over his shoulder at the Rodian. “What was Havac before he turned to terrorism, Boiny—before he joined the Nebula Front?”
Boiny thought about it. “Some kind of holomaker, right?”
“A documentary holomaker. A freelance media correspondent.”
In concert they raised their eyes to the media booths high overhead.
Fresh from the rooftop chase, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan joined Saesee Tiin and Adi Gallia on the floor of the hall, just inside the north entrance. Valorum was seated to the right and above them; the Trade Federation Directorate, to the left. In front of them, the members of the Eriadu delegation were taking their places in the stands that had been erected in the center of the hall. Below the stands, a group of drummers and trumpeters were tuning their instruments.
The air was charged with excitement.
“The six we captured maintain that they’ve never heard of Cohl or Havac,” Qui-Gon explained to the other Jedi, “and that they don’t know anything about an assassination attempt.”
“Then what were they doing on the roof, armed and dangerous, and firing on you with a rocket launcher?”
“They claim to be a band of thieves, who thought they could take advantage of the disorder surrounding the summit by breaking into the Seswenna Sector Bank.”
“Did you tell them about the roofscape image found in the holoprojector?” Tiin asked.
“There was no point. They might have been hoping to assault the Supreme Chancellor’s hovercade from the roof, but I think they were simply there to distract us. That’s what Cohl and Havac have been doing from the start, as far back as the incident at the Galactic Senate.
“Even if any of the six eventually admit to having been hired by Cohl, they could continue to claim that robbery was their intent. None were carrying documentation, so we don’t even know who they are or what worlds they hail from. Eriadu security is running their likenesses and retinal prints, but, assuming Cohl gathered them from distant worlds, it could be weeks before any matches are discovered.”
“Then we have nothing more to go on,” Adi said.
“Only that the rest of Havac’s assassins are somewhere in this hall.”
“There have been no incidents at the entrances,” Tiin said. “No one has been arrested.”
“That means nothing,” Qui-Gon said. “For experts like Cohl and Havac, this hall is as permeable as a Podrace finale. They would have no trouble getting inside.”
Tiin compressed his thin lips. “The only thing we can do is be prepared to defend the Supreme Chancellor.”
Qui-Gon glanced in Valorum’s direction. “Will he permit us to get any closer to him?”
“No,” Adi said. “He gave explicit orders that he doesn’t want the proceedings disrupted—nor does he want us by his side. He wants the Jedi to be seen as impartial in this trade dispute.”
“Nevertheless, we can’t stand here, waiting for something to happen,” Tiin growled. “We should divide and look around; locate the trouble before the trouble finds Valorum.”
Obi-Wan, who had been standing quietly throughout the exchange, noticed a familiar look come into Qui-Gon’s eye. It was as if Qui-Gon’s gaze was fixed on some invisible presence the living Force had highlighted.
“What is it, Master?” he asked quietly.
“I can feel him, Padawan.”
“Havac?”
“Cohl.”
The tiny, dingy booth assigned to the Eriadu Free HoloDaily consisted of a couple of rigid chairs, a control console of dust-covered flatscreen displays and holoprojector pads, and a large single-pane window that looked out on the hall.
Havac stood by the window, staring down at the mostly seated crowd while he mounted a holocam in its stand. Behind him, and armed with blasters they had secreted in the summit hall weeks earlier, sat two of his human confederates. One of them wore a wrist comm.
When Havac had trained the holocam on the Trade Federation’s arc of seats, he attached a scanner to the cam head. Then he aimed the device, which resembled a directional microphone, toward the trumpeters on the floor of the hall.
“Any word from the spotter team?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Not a chirp,” the man with the comlink replied. “And Valorum has been here for over ten minutes. What do you think happened?”
“The likely explanation is that they were discovered.”
“Why do you say that?”
Havac turned to face the pair. “Because I notified the authorities about Cohl’s freighter, and left the holoprojector behind to be found.” He waited for smiles of revelation, but when none appeared, he added, “It was the only way to ensure that the authorities would be kept occupied while we went about our business here.”
“Then Cohl has also been found—or his corpse, at any rate,” the one with the comlink said.
The other man looked doubtful. “Suppose, as you say, the spotters have been found out, and they decide to cut a deal by telling what they know�
��credits or no credits.”
Havac shrugged theatrically. “They know me as Havac, and no ‘Havac’ has been cleared by security to attend the summit. The credit transfers to Cohl’s hired hands can’t be traced directly to us. The safe house will be empty by the time they lead the authorities to it. We’ll be long gone from Eriadu before anyone is able to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle.”
Clearly meant to restore confidence, Havac’s discourse failed to have the intended effect. If anything, the two men looked even more skeptical than before.
“Is our shooter in place?” Havac asked impatiently.
“Out on the walkway—just waiting for the music to begin.”
“What do you want us to do with him afterward?” the one with the comlink asked.
Havac considered it. “He’s a misfit with a counterfeit identity badge and a blaster, who has just fired at the delegates. You’ll be a public hero if you kill him—or at least see to it that he falls from the walkway.”
“No loose ends,” the same one said.
“As few as possible.”
* * *
Back on his alloy crutches, but still wearing a small flag fastened to the front of his robe that identified him as a veteran of the Stark Hyperspace Conflict, Cohl hobbled from the turbolift that had carried him and Boiny to the hall’s main pedestrian level. From here it was possible to ascend to the perimeter walkways that accessed the media and security booths in the upper reaches of the domed building.
They were headed for the array of lifts when a voice called out behind them.
“Captain Cohl.”
Cohl didn’t stop until the stranger repeated the call, then he maneuvered himself through a resigned turn. Ten meters down the corridor stood a tall, long-haired, and bearded Jedi, displaying a green-bladed lightsaber.
“This just isn’t our day,” Boiny muttered.
Cohl heard the characteristic snap and hiss of another lightsaber and glanced over his shoulder. The second Jedi was a clean-shaven young man, wearing the thin braid of a Padawan.
“We’ve been looking forward to meeting you since Dorvalla,” the older one said.
Cohl and Boiny swapped looks of surprised dismay.
“You were the ones in the diplomatic Lancet,” Cohl said.
“You led us a merry chase, Captain.”
Cohl snorted and shook his head. “Well, you found us now. And you can put your glow sticks away. We’re unarmed.”
Qui-Gon merely pointed the lightsaber toward the floor as he approached. “I congratulate you on surviving the destruction of the Revenue.”
Cohl sagged on his crutches. “A lot of good it did me, Jedi. My partner and I are shot to pieces.”
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan regarded them through the Force, and understood that Cohl wasn’t lying. Both he and the Rodian were seriously injured.
“How did you find out about the Dorvalla operation, anyway?” Cohl asked.
“A member of the Nebula Front,” Qui-Gon said. “Now dead.”
“So there was an informant. I guess Havac was right to have been secretive about this one.”
“We’re eager to meet Havac, as well,” Obi-Wan said.
Cohl looked at him. “You’d do better to destroy the droid Havac infiltrated into the summit.”
“Droid?” the Jedi said in unison.
“A battle droid,” Cohl elaborated. “It’s right up there with the rest of the directorate’s droids. We figure Havac plans to have the droid kill Valorum.”
“That’s impossible,” Qui-Gon said. “Battle droids can’t act without a cue from a central control computer.”
“Havac’s is one of Baktoid’s new and improved models,” Boiny said. “A commander. More of a freethinker. It only needs to be tasked, by voice command or remote signal, and it’s capable of swaying the droids around it.”
Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped slightly. “Are you saying that instead of one assassin, there are a potential dozen?”
“Thirteen, actually,” Boiny replied.
“It still can’t initiate an act like that on its own,” Qui-Gon insisted.
“That’s where Havac comes in. He’s the one with the remote.”
Qui-Gon stepped toward Cohl. “Where is he?”
“I have some idea.”
“Tell me what you know, and let me handle this. Obi-Wan will escort you and your partner to medical attention—and into custody.”
Cohl shook his head. “If you want Havac, we go together, Jedi, or not at all.” He canted his head to Boiny. “Besides, we’re the only ones who can identify him.”
Qui-Gon didn’t even have to think about it. He glanced at Obi-Wan. “Padawan, report back to Master Tiin and the others. Quickly.”
“But, Master—”
“Go, Padawan. Now.”
Obi-Wan showed him a tight-lipped nod and spun on his boot heels.
Qui-Gon watched his apprentice rush off, then he deactivated his lightsaber and put one arm under Cohl’s trembling shoulder.
“Lean on me, Captain.”
With ten drummers setting the tempo, twice as many horn players raised their long instruments to their mouths and trumpeted the first of the three prolonged fanfares.
By then Obi-Wan had reached Tiin and the other Jedi.
“It’s the droids,” he began in a sally of words.
Tiin had him slow down and repeat everything he and Qui-Gon had learned from Cohl. Then the Iktotchi turned to Adi, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Vergere, and the rest.
“Position yourselves as close to Valorum as possible,” he instructed Adi and Vergere. “Obi-Wan, Ki, and I will be near the Trade Federation rostrum. The rest of you, disperse to deflect blasterfire. Be unassuming but prepared.”
“Master Tiin, do you think the Trade Federation suspects what’s in their midst?” Obi-Wan asked as they set out across the floor of the hall.
“They couldn’t. They are aggressive only when it comes to commerce. However this Havac infiltrated the droid among the others, it had to have been done without the knowledge of the directorate members.”
“Should we order the delegation to remove the droids, Master?”
Ki-Adi-Mundi replied. “Whoever is watching may decide to trigger the droids into action. If that happens, it could appear that we posed a threat, prompting the droids to respond with blasterfire. If there was time, we could get someone aboard the Trade Federation freighter to shut down the central control computer.”
“Have you fought these droids before, Master Tiin?” “I know only that they’re not very accurate, Padawan.” Obi-Wan frowned as he ran. “With thirteen of them firing, that may not matter.”
Not even a quarter of the way around the upper level corridor that accessed the media booths, Boiny spied Havac through a small transparisteel panel set high in the door.
Leaving Cohl to stand on his own, Qui-Gon pressed his back to the corridor wall. “How many of them are in there?” he asked the Rodian.
“Havac and maybe two other humans—seated to the right of the door.”
Qui-Gon nodded to the door release lever. “Try it.”
Gingerly, Boiny placed his hand on the lever. “Locked.” He glanced at the touchpad mounted on the wall. “I can probably slice—”
“I have a quicker way,” Qui-Gon interrupted.
Activating his lightsaber, he shoved the glowing blade through the lock mechanism. The metal glowed red and instantly began to slag, tainting the air with biting odors. With a grating sound, the door slid into its wall pocket.
By then, Havac and his two confederates were on their feet, weapons in hand. A flurry of blaster bolts glanced from Qui-Gon’s blade, which he held upraised and threw left and right in precise parries. The deflected bolts blazed around the room, two of them wounding Havac’s men and knocking them to the floor.
Undiluted terror fumbled the blaster from Havac’s grip. As it fell, Qui-Gon called the weapon to him with a Force summons and tucked it into the wide belt that cinched his tunic.
Havac dropped back into his seat at the console, cowering in fear and raising his shaking hands above his head.
Boiny and Cohl followed Qui-Gon into the booth.
Cohl took stock of the situation and looked at Qui-Gon. “I’m glad I never had to go up against you people.”
“Cohl,” Havac said in genuine amazement.
Cohl made his eyes narrow. “Next time you’ll know better, amateur.”
“Where is the remote that controls the battle droid?” Qui-Gon asked Havac.
Havac adopted a look of innocent perplexity. “Remote? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Qui-Gon towered over him. “You infiltrated a droid into those the Trade Federation Directorate brought with them.” He reached down and picked Havac out of his chair, holding him up against the booth’s fixed window. “Where is the remote?”
Havac clutched vainly at Qui-Gon’s hand. “Enough! Put me down and I’ll tell you!”
Qui-Gon lowered him to the chair.
“Our shooter has it,” he said, biting out the words.
“I know the one he means,” Cohl said. “A sniper.”
Qui-Gon looked back at Havac. “Where is he?”
“Out on the walkways,” Havac mumbled, averting his eyes.
Qui-Gon glanced at Cohl, making up his mind about something. “Are you well enough to remain with these three while your partner and I locate the shooter?”
Cohl lowered himself into one of the chairs. “I think I can find it in me.”
Qui-Gon handed him Havac’s blaster. He started to say something, but bit back his words and began again, gesturing to the two wounded men. “I’ll send for medical attention.”
“There’s no hurry,” Cohl said.
When Qui-Gon and Boiny had disappeared through the open doorway, Cohl stared balefully at Havac.
The trumpeters paused briefly, then began the second modulating fanfare.
