Star Wars - Cloak Of Deception

by James Luceno

  her right hip and checked the charge.

  The airlock hissed opened, and a slim human and a reptilian humanoid

  stepped into the corridor, dressed alike in caftans, coarsely woven trousers,

  and knee-high boots.

  The latter had tough, corrugated skin, iridescent in sunlight, and hands

  the size of scoopball mitts. His flat face had multiple nostrils, and four

  small horns protruded from his forehead. From his left hand dangled a sizable

  carrycase.

  "Welcome to Asmeru, Captain Cohl," the human said in Basic. "It's good to

  see you alive and comparatively well." Cohl nodded curtly in greeting. "Havac.

  " Havac motioned to his hulking partner. "You remember Cindar." Cohl nodded

  again. Neither he nor the Hawk-Bat's scanners saw signs of concealed weapons

  on the pair.

  "Rella," he said, motioning to her by way of introduction.

  Havac smiled and extended his hand to her in a courtly gesture. "How

  could I forget?" "Let's go forward, where we can talk," Cohl said.

  He appraised his guests as they walked. Havac wasn't the human's real

  name, but rather his combat name. A former holo - documentarian, Havac had

  been an alien-rights activist during the Stark Hyperspace Conflict and had

  spent the past several years chronicling the various abuses of the Trade

  Federation. In fact, he had no stomach for violence, but he was sharp and had

  a talent for treachery.

  He and Cindar weren't characteristic of the thousands of human and

  nonhuman members of the Nebula Front. But they were standard issue in the

  organization's burgeoning militant wing. Now headquartered on the arid planet

  below, the Front had recruited from worlds up and down the Rimma Trade Route,

  from Sullust to Sluis Van, but only the Ancient Houses that ruled the Senex

  sector had granted them a base of operations.

  "Where's the rest of your crew, Captain?" Havac asked over his shoulder.

  The question hit Cohl like a just-remembered nightmare.

  It was the same question he had asked the commander of the Revenue days

  earlier, when Cohl's team had numbered twelve.

  "You might say that a lot of them never left Dorvalla space," he said

  finally.

  It took Havac a moment to grasp Cohl's meaning, then he frowned in

  sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, Captain. We thought we'd lost you, as well.

  " Cohl shook his head. "Not a chance." "Half the Rim is talking about what

  happened at Dorvalla. We really weren't expecting you to obliterate the

  Revenue." "I don't like to waste time--especially when I'm dealing with

  Neimoidians," Cohl said. "They'd sooner sacrifice themselves than their cargo.

  Fortunately, the Revenue's commander was more cowardly than most of them.

  As for destroying the freighter, you can consider that a gift." The four of

  them entered the main forward cabin and seated themselves around a circular

  table. Cindar placed the carrycase at the center of the table.

  "I have to hand it to you, Captain," Havac said, "you've got the Trade

  Federation running scared.

  They've even solicited help from Coruscant." Cohl shrugged. "No harm in

  trying." Havac leaned forward with a certain eagerness. "You have the

  aurodium?" Cohl glanced at Rella, who unclipped a remote from her belt and

  keyed a short code. A small repulsor sled bearing a lockbox lifted off the

  deck nearby and floated toward the table.

  Rella entered another code and the lid of the box opened, its contents of

  ingots spilling rainbow light into the cabin.

  Havac's and Cindar's eyes widened.

  "I can't tell you what this will mean to us," Havac said.

  But a hint of suspicion had crept into his partner's gaze. "It's all

  here?" Cindar asked.

  Cohl's neutral look became a glare. "What are you asking me?" The

  humanoid shrugged. "Just wondering if any of it happened to get misplaced

  along the way." Abruptly, Cohl reached across the table, grabbing Cindar by

  the front of his caftan and yanking him forward. "That treasure is bloodied.

  Good people died bringing it to you." He pushed Cindar back into his seat.

  "You'd better put it to good use." "Stop this, please," Havac said.

  Cohl glowered. "You don't like violence--except on your orders, is that

  it?" Havac studied his hands, then lifted his eyes. "Rest assured that the

  aurodium will be put to good use, Captain." Cindar smoothed the front of his

  garment, but was otherwise unruffled by Cohl's fury. He slid the carrycase

  forward. Cohl removed it from the tabletop and set it down on the deck.

  Cindar watched him for a moment, then said, "Aren't you going to ask if

  it's all there?" Cohl stared at him. "Let me put it this way.

  For every credit it's short, I'll take a kilo of meat from you." "So, I'd

  be a fool," Cindar said with a grin.

  Cohl nodded. "You'd be a fool." Rella handed the remote to Havac, and

  Cindar closed the lid on the lockbox.

  "Where's the aurodium going?" Cohl asked mildly.

  Havac looked surprised. "Captain, did I ask what you're planning to do

  with your payment?" Cohl smiled. "Fair enough." Following the exchange, Rella

  turned to Cohl.

  "I'm sure he plans to donate it to his favorite charity." Havac laughed.

  "You're not far off the mark." "Here's another bonus for you, Havac," Cohl

  said. "We had some unexpected trouble at Dorvalla. Someone infiltrated the

  Revenue using the same technique we used. They hid a ship inside a cargo pod,

  just like we did. They tracked us when we left the freighter and came close to

  ruining what I thought was a secure plan.

  Their ship turned out to be a Judicial Department Lancet." Havac and

  Cindar traded surprised looks.

  "Judicials?" Havac said. "At Dorvalla, of all places?" Cohl watched them

  carefully. "Actually, I think they were Jedi." Havac's incredulity increased.

  "Why do you think that?" "Call it a hunch. The point is, no one was supposed

  to know about that opera tion." Havac sat back in his seat, perplexed. "Now

  it's my turn to wonder, Captain. What are you asking me?" "Who else in the

  Nebula Front knew about the operation?" Cindar snorted in derision. "Think it

  through, Cohl. Why would any of us sabotage our own campaign?" "That's what

  I'm asking," Cohl said. "It could be that not everyone down below agrees with

  your methods--your hiring us, for example. Someone could have been trying to

  sabotage you, not me." Havac nodded. "Thank you, Captain. I'll bear that in

  mind." He paused briefly, then said, "What's next for you two?" "We thought

  we'd retire from mayhem," Rella said, taking hold of Cohl's left hand at the

  same time. "Maybe take up moisture farming." Havac grinned. "I can see that.

  The two of you on Tatooine or somewhere, living among banthas and dewbacks.

  It's just your style." "Why the curiosity?" Cohl said.

  Havac's grin straightened. "We may have something big in the works.

  Something perfectly suited to your talents." He glanced at Rella, then back at

  Cohl. "It would pay enough to guarantee your retirement." Rella shot Cohl a

  warning look. "Don't listen to him, Cohl. Let someone else hire out to the

  Nebula Front." She cut her eyes to Havac. "Besides, we plan to retire in high

  sty
le." "You want to retire rich?" Cindar said. "Buy a Neimoidian for what

  he's worth, then sell him for what he thinks he's worth." "The job I have in

  mind would allow you to retire in high style," Havac baited.

  "Cohl," Rella said, "are you going to tell these guys to take a hike back

  to their own ship, or do I have to do it?" Cohl let go of her hand and tugged

  at his beard.

  "It can't hurt to hear them out." "Yes, it can, Cohl, yes, it can." He

  looked at her, then laughed shortly.

  "Rella's right," he told Havac. "We're not interested." Havac heaved his

  shoulders and stood up, extending his hand to Cohl. "Come and see us if you

  have a change of heart." Much closer to the Core, the Acquisitor had returned

  home. Sullen Neimoidia rotated slowly beneath the ring-shaped freighter. As

  was the case in the far-off Senex system, meetings of a sinister sort were

  under way; discussions centered around weapons and strategy, destruction and

  death. But the ships that had brought the Acquisitor' "s guests had had no

  need to sidle up to airlocks. Not when the hangar arms themselves were

  commodious enough to conceal an invasion army.

  In zone two of the port arm, balanced atop his claw-footed mechno-chair,

  sat Viceroy Nute Gunray, in rich burgundy robes and triple-crested tiara. Off

  to Gunray's right stood legal counsel Rune Haako and Deputy Viceroy Hath

  Monchar; and to Gun - ray's left, the Acquisitor's new commander, smallish

  Daultay Dofine, fresh from the debacle at Dorvalla and still bewildered by his

  unexpected promotion.

  In the center of the hangar floor hunkered a double-winged behemoth,

  which bore a vague resemblance to Neimoidia's gauzy - winged needle fliers.

  Ponderously exiting the wide-open jaws of the behemoth's foot ramp rode

  thickly armored, russet-colored vehicles that might have been modeled on

  charging banthas- - backs humped in anger, huffing clouds of hot exhaust,

  laser cannons extended like tusks. And behind those came droid-operated

  repulsorlift tanks, with shovel-shaped prows and top-mounted gun turrets.

  Prototype war machines, the gargantuan landing craft, the monstrous

  multitroop transports, and the sleekly styled tanks had been designed and

  built by Haor Chall Engineering and Baktoid Armor, whose alien representatives

  were standing in full view of Gunray and beaming with pride.

  To Haor Chall, especially, design perfection amounted to a religious

  edict.

  "Behold, Viceroy," Haor Chall's insectoid representative said, gesturing

  with all four arms to the closest transport, whose circular deployment hatch,

  hinged at the top, was just swinging open.

  Gunray watched in amazement as a rack telescoped from the hatch and

  dozens of battle droids unfolded themselves before his eyes.

  "And this, Viceroy," Baktoid's winged representative added.

  Gunray's red eyes moved back to the landing craft in time to see a dozen

  airhooks soar toward the upper reaches of the hangar arm. Blade-thin vehicles

  with twin footrests and top-mounted blasters, all were piloted by droids,

  whose backward leaning postures made them appear to be hanging on to the

  slender handlebars for dear life.

  Gunray was speechless.

  While he had never seen their like, in each of the prototypes he

  recognized elements of the very machines the Trade Federation had employed for

  centuries in transporting natural resources and other commodities. In the

  fuselage of the double-winged landing craft, for example, he recognized the

  Federation's narrow ore barge. But Haor Chall had set the fuselage on a

  pedestal and capped it with two enormous wings, presumably kept from sagging

  by powerful tensor fields.

  Despite the animistic look Baktoid had imparted to the troop transports,

  Gunray recognized the Trade Federation's own repulsorlift cargo pod, built on

  an even more gargantuan scale. As for the folding battle droids and the Single

  Trooper Aerial Platforms, they were simply variations of Baktoid's security

  droids, and Longspur and Alloi's Bespin airhooks.

  But one thing was clear everything he was being shown spoke less to

  spaceborne defense than to groundside deployment. The realization was more

  than Gunray could absorb; more than he wished to absorb.

  "As you have probably observed, Viceroy," Haor ChalPs representative was

  saying, "the Trade Federation already has most of the raw materials needed to

  create your army." He motioned to the representative from Baktoid. "In

  partnership with Baktoid, we can convert your security and worker droids to

  battle models, and your barges and cargo pods to landing craft." "More units,

  less money," the Baktoid representative added.

  "Best of all, since the components of the landing crafts can be stored in

  various places--wings, fuselages, and pedestals- - they can be assembled at a

  moment's notice. You could place one landing craft in each of a hundred

  freighters, or a hundred landing craft in but one of your freighters--for

  singularly thorny circumstances. Either way, none who come aboard to inspect

  your freighters will comprehend what they are seeing. As our mutual friend

  says, you will have an army without giving the appearance of having an army."

  "Mutual friend," Rune Haako muttered, just loudly enough for Gunray to hear.

  "When Darth Sidious says do this, it is performed." "We enjoy dealing with

  Neimoidians," Baktoid's representative stepped forward to say, "because of the

  enthusiasm and awe you demonstrate for our creations. Therefore, we have other

  weapons in mind for you starfighters that will no longer have to rely on

  droid pilots, but will themselves answer to a central control computer.

  "You may even wish to contact the Colicoids of Colla IV, who are rumored

  to have developed a combat droid capable of rolling to its destinations." The

  alien gestured broadly to the immense hangar. "Perfect for covering the vast

  distances inside your freighters, and defending against boarding parties."

  Gunray heard Dofine swallow audibly, but, once more, it was Haako who spoke.

  "This is madness," he said, lowering his voice and limping closer to the

  mechno-chair. "Are we merchants, or are we would - be conquerors?" "You heard

  Darth Sidious," Gunray hissed. "These weapons will ensure that we remain

  merchants. They are our guarantee that groups like the Nebula Front or

  mercenaries like Captain Cohl will never again risk going against us. Ask

  Commander Dofine. He'll tell you." "Darth Sidious keeps us in servile

  tearfulness," Haako said, blinking repeatedly.

  "What can we do, otherwise? Instead of honoring our request for

  additional defenses, the senate threatens us with taxation. We need to take

  matters into our own hands if we are to protect our cargos. Or would you have

  us continue to lose ships to terrorists, in addition to losing profits to

  taxation?" "But the other members of the directorate--his" "For the time

  being, they are to not to know anything of this. We will apprise them of these

  things gradually." "And only if necessary." "Yes," Gunray said. "Only if

  necessary." w ith its countless dark canyons, precipitous ledges, hidden

  recesses, and jutting parapets--its
surfeit of places to hide in plain sight--

  Coruscant invited corruption. Its very geography inspired secrecy.

  Palpatine had been on Coruscant for several years, and he felt that he

  knew the place better than many lifelong residents did. He knew it the way a

  jungle cat knew its territory. He had an instinctual understanding of its

  shirting moods, and an instinctual feel for its power spots and dangerous

  zones. It was almost as if he could see the coiling blackness that inhabited

  the senate, and the refulgent light that poured from the spires of the Jedi

  Temple.

  It was a wonderful place to be for someone who had long been a scholar, a

  historian, a lover of art, and a collector of rare objects; someone with a

  passion for exploring life's manifold heights and depths.

  Frequently he would shrug off his elaborate cloak and take up the simple

  dress of a trader or a recluse. He would throw a hood over his head and wander

  the lightless abysses, the dark paths and neglected plazas, the tunnels and

  alleyways, the seedy underworld. Anonymous, he would make trips to the

  equa tor, the poles, and other remote places. Beneath his ambitions--for

  himself, for Naboo, for the Republic at large--he had always been unassuming,

  and that apparent lack of guile allowed him to pass without being recognized;

  to all but disappear in a crowd, as only a person of solitude might--as one

  who had kept his own company for so many years.

  And yet, others sought him out. Perhaps for the very reason that he

  revealed so little about himself. Initially he assumed that others found his

  reclusiveness intriguing, as if he led a secret life. But he quickly learned

  that what they really wanted to do was talk about themselves; to solicit not

  his counsel but his ear, trusting that he would guard the secrets of their

  lives as closely as he guarded his own.

  That had been the case with Valorum, who had forged a relationship with

  Palpatine at the start of the Supreme Chancellor's second four-year term of

  office.

  What Palpatine lacked in charisma, he made up for in candor, and it was

  that directness that had led to his widespread appeal in the senate. Here was

  Palpatine, with his ready smile; above corruption, above deception or

  duplicity, a kind of confessor, willing to hear the most banal confessions or

  the basest of misdeeds without passing judgment--aloud, at any rate. For in