Star Wars: Cloak of Deception Read online

  Cohl clamped his right hand on her shoulder. “Hold her steady! Fire repulsors and brace for impact.”

  Trailing black smoke as it swept past one of the tors, the shuttle clipped the top of the forest canopy, pruning huge branches from the tallest trees. Rella managed to keep them horizontal for a moment more, then they began to nosedive. The ship slammed into a massive tree and slued to starboard, spinning like a disk as it buzz-sawed through the upper reaches of the canopy.

  Birds flew screeching from the crowns, as wood splintered to all sides. Seat restraints snapped, and two of the crew were flung like dolls into the starboard bulkhead. Rolled over on its back, the shuttle rocketed toward the forest floor. The viewports cracked, spiderwebbed, then blew into the cabin.

  Contact with the ground was even harsher than any of them had anticipated. The starboard stabilizer plowed into the leaf-littered soil at an acute angle, causing the ship to flip like a tossed coin. Seats tore loose from the deck, and instrumentation ripped away from the bulkheads. The roll seemed to go on forever, punctuated by the deafening clamor of collisions. The hull caved in, and conduits burst, loosing noxious fluids and gases.

  All at once it was over.

  New sounds filled the air: the pinging of cooling metal, the hiss of punctured pipes, the boisterous calls of frightened birds, the tattoo of falling limbs, fruits, and whatever else, striking the hull. Coughs, whimpers, moans …

  Gravity told Cohl that they were still upside down. He unclipped his harness and allowed himself to drop to the ceiling of the shuttle. Rella and Boiny were already there, bruised and bleeding, but regaining consciousness even as Cohl went to them. He put an arm under Rella’s shoulders and took a quick look around.

  The rest of the crew were surely dead, or dying. Satisfied that Rella would be all right, Cohl sprang the portside hatch. Moisture-saturated heat rushed in on everyone, but blessed oxygen, as well. Cohl bellied outside and immediately consulted his comlink’s compass display. Unaccustomed to standard gravity, he felt twice his weight. Every motion was laborious.

  “Did Jalan make it?” Rella asked weakly.

  The human answered for himself. “Barely.”

  Cohl squirmed back inside. Jalan was hopelessly wedged beneath the console. He placed a hand on Jalan’s shoulder. “We can’t take you with us,” he said quietly.

  Jalan nodded. “Then let me take a few of them with me, Captain.”

  Rella crawled over to Jalan. “You don’t have to do this,” she started to say.

  “I’m most-wanted in three systems,” he cut her off. “If they find me alive, they’re only going to make me wish I was dead anyway.”

  Boiny looked at Cohl, who nodded.

  “Give him the destruct code. Rella, separate the ingots into four equal allotments. Put two allotments in my pack, one in yours, and one in Boiny’s.” He glanced back at Boiny. “Weapons and aurodium only. No need for food or water, because if we don’t make it to the base, Dorvalla Penal will be providing all of that for us. If that isn’t inspiration enough for you, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  Moments later the three of them exited the ship.

  Cohl shouldered his weighty pack, took a final compass reading, and set off toward a nearby tor at a resolute clip. Rella and Boiny kept up as best they could, climbing steadily under thick canopy for the first quarter hour while the picket ship made pass after pass in search of some sign of them. From the high ground, at the base of the lommite cliff, they could see the picket ship hovering over the treetops.

  Rella grimaced. “He found the shuttle.”

  “Unlucky for him,” Cohl said.

  No sooner had the words left Cohl’s mouth than an explosion ripped from the forest floor, catching the picket ship unawares. The pilot managed to evade the roiling fireball, but the damage had already been done. Engines slagged, the fighter listed to port and dropped like a stone.

  A second picket ship roared overhead, just as the first was exploding. A third followed, angling directly for the base of the tor where Cohl and the others were concealed.

  The picket poured fire at the tor, blowing boulder-size chunks of lommite from the cliff face. Cohl watched the ship complete its turn and set itself on course for a second run. As it approached, a deeper, more dangerous sound rolled through the humid air. Without warning, crimson energy lanced from the underbelly of the clouds, clipping the picket’s wings in midflight. Unable to maneuver, the fighter flew nose first into the cliff face and came apart.

  “That’s another one we won’t have to worry about,” Cohl said, loud enough to be heard over the roar in the sky.

  Rella raised her head in time to see a large ship tear overhead.

  “The Hawk-Bat!” She glanced at Cohl in surprise. “You knew. You knew she would be down here.”

  He shook his head. “The contingency plan called for her to be here. But I didn’t know for sure.”

  She almost smiled. “You may get that pardon yet.”

  “Save it for when we’re safely aboard.”

  The three of them scampered to their feet and began a hurried descent of a scree field skirting the cliff face. Not far away, her weapons blazing, the Hawk-Bat was setting down at the center of a muddy and befouled catch basin.

  Thousands of sentient species had a home on Coruscant, though it might be only a kilometer-high block of nondescript building. And nearly all those species had a voice there, though it might be only that of a representative long corrupted by the diverse pleasures Coruscant offered.

  Those manifold voices had their say in the Galactic Senate, which sprouted like a squat mushroom from the heart of Coruscant’s governmental district. Surrounded by lesser domes and buttressed buildings whose summits disappeared into the busy sky, the senate was fronted by an expansive pedestrian plaza. The plaza itself lorded over a sprawl of spired skyscrapers and was studded with impressionistic statues thirty meters high, dedicated to the Core World founders. Angular and humani-form in design, the long-limbed and genderless sculptures stood on tall duracrete bases and held slender ceremonial staffs.

  The iconic motif was continued inside the senate, where many of the public corridors that encircled the rotunda featured statues of similar spindly design.

  Proceeding briskly along one of those corridors, Senator Palpatine marveled at the fact that the senate had yet to commission and display sculptures of nonhumanoid configuration. Where some delegates were willing to dismiss the lack of nonhuman representation as a simple oversight, others viewed it as an outright slight. To still others, the decor was a matter of small concern, either way. But with nonhumanoid species dominant in the Mid and Outer Rims, and their delegations fast overwhelming the senate—to the secret dismay of many a Core World human delegate—changes were certainly in order.

  With its multilevel walkways, corridors, and vertical and horizontal turbolifts, the hemispherical building was as labyrinthine as the inner workings of the senate itself. Courtesy of Supreme Chancellor Valorum’s announcement of a special session, the corridors were even more jammed than usual, but Palpatine was heartened to find that the delegates could still be motivated to set aside their personal affairs for matters of broader import.

  Flanked by his two aides, Doriana and Pestage, he smiled pleasantly as he threaded his way toward the rotunda, easing past the blue-robed Senate Guard stationed at the doorway and stepping down into Naboo’s balcony platform in the vast amphitheater.

  One of 1,024 identical balconies that lined the inner wall of the dome, the platform was circular and spacious enough to accommodate half a dozen or more humans. Each balcony was actually the apex of a wedge-shaped slice of the building—stretching from the rotunda clear to the outer rim of the hemisphere—in which the separate delegations were quartered, and where most of the senate’s mundane affairs and illicit business were transacted.

  Adjusting the fall of his elaborate cloak, Palpatine stepped to the podiumlike console at the front lip of the platform. Given Naboo’s
elevated position in the rotunda, the view to the floor was vertiginous.

  The amphitheater was purposely sealed off from natural light, as well as from Coruscant’s dubious atmosphere, to minimize the effects of nightfall on the delegates; that is, to encourage everyone to remain focused on the matters at hand, despite the possibility that the sessions might continue late into the evening. But more and more citizens had come to view the rotunda’s unnatural circumstances as symbolic of the senate’s insularity—its separation from reality. The senate was thought to exist apart, debating issues of minor or occult concern, save for those that touched directly on the illegal enrichment of its membership.

  Nevertheless, Palpatine sensed renewed intensity in the recycled air. Gossip had alerted everyone to the topics Valorum planned to discuss, but many were eager to hear for themselves and hungry to respond.

  In an effort to take a measure of senatorial opinion regarding taxation of the outlying trade routes, Palpatine had spent the past few days meeting with as many senators as possible. Gently, he had attempted to persuade the undecided into backing Valorum, so that the Supreme Chancellor might carry the day without the support of Naboo and its neighboring worlds. At the same time, Palpatine had devised alternative plans, sufficient for dealing with a host of eventualities.

  His own sense of urgency took him by surprise; the buzz in the rotunda was that infectious. But just as he had done at the opera, Valorum delayed his arrival. By the time the Supreme Chancellor finally showed himself, the atmosphere was agitated.

  Valorum’s perch was a thirty-meter-tall dais that rose from the center of the floor like the stalk of a flower. Conveyed to the bud of the flower by turbolift, Valorum stood alone, with the senate’s sergeant-at-arms, parlimentarian, journal clerk, and official reporter seated below him in a round dish that cradled the bud. Echoing the predominant color scheme of the amphitheater, he wore a lavender brocade cloak, with voluminous sleeves and matching cummerbund.

  It occurred to Palpatine as he applauded that the Supreme Chancellor’s lofty position made him as much a center of attention as target of opportunity.

  When the clapping and the occasional verbal accolades had gone on long enough, Valorum held up his hands in a gesture that begged silence. His first words brought a faint smile to Palpatine’s lips.

  “Delegates of the Galactic Senate, we find ourselves beset by a confluence of sobering challenges. Frayed at its far-flung borders by internecine skirmishes and hollowed at its very heart by corruption, the Republic is in grave danger of unraveling. Recent events in the Mid and Outer Rim demand that we stem the rising tide of strife by restoring order and balance. So dire is our plight, that even extreme measures should not be dismissed out of hand.”

  Valorum paused briefly to allow his words to sink in.

  “The free trade zones were originally created to foster exchange between the Core Worlds and the outlying systems of the Mid and Outer Rims. At the time, it was thought that free and open trade would prove a benefit to all concerned. But those zones have since become a haven not only for smugglers and pirates, but also for shipping and trading cartels that have availed themselves of the liberties we ensured, by setting themselves up as entities of political and military leverage.”

  Murmurs of concurrence and discord stirred the already impassioned air.

  “The Trade Federation comes before us with a request that we do something to safeguard commerce in the outlying sectors. They are within their rights to request this, and we are obliged by our covenant to respond. But in a very real sense it is the questionable practices of the Trade Federation that have made it a target for thieves and terrorists.”

  Valorum raised his voice to be heard over hundreds of separate conversations, in as many tongues.

  “In the same way, we must accept some of the blame for this, since it was this body that granted the Trade Federation such latitude, and it is this body that has chosen to turn a deaf ear time and again to what transpires in the outlying systems. This practice cannot be allowed to continue. The Trade Federation has become a bloated creature, ingesting lesser concerns and refusing to do business with worlds that seek to ship with its few remaining competitors. It would not be overstatement to say that these trade zones are no longer free.

  “And yet the Trade Federation comes before us to solicit our help in putting an end to the disorder it has fashioned.

  “The Federation asks for protection—as if this body can blithely deploy a military force against the pirates and terrorists who prey on the Federation’s freighters. As if this body could provide starfighters and Dreadnaughts and, in so doing, turn the free trade zones into contested space—a battleground.

  “There is, however, a solution to all this. If the Trade Federation wants us to ensure that the outlying systems be made safe for commerce—a task that will require action from this body, as well as from the many systems that lie within the free trade zones—then those planetary systems must be brought into the Republic as member worlds. Those worlds that the Trade Federation currently represents in the senate must abjure their affiliation with the Federation and bring their individual voices to this hall, to be heard as autonomous systems once more.”

  Valorum allowed the grumbling to go on for several moments before he gestured again for silence.

  “We urge that the worlds of the free trade zones move quickly and decisively. Terrorist groups like the Nebula Front are merely the tip of a more deep-seated discontent. By working in accordance, the volunteer militaries and space corps of the affected systems can quell local insurrections before they swell to widespread revolution.

  “The direct consequence of this will be the abolition of the free trade zones. The trade routes to those outlying systems that join the Republic would henceforth be subject to the same taxation that applies to routes in the Core, the Colonies, and the Inner Rim. I urge you to consider that such action is long overdue. For free trade is no longer that when all trade is controlled by one cartel.”

  Clamorous cheers and boos punctuated the air, but reaction was not as mixed as Palpatine had feared it might be. Still, he was disappointed. Valorum had made a case for taxation without addressing any of the consequences or the possible compromises that might be made.

  Before such a motion could be enacted as legislation, special interest groups—on the payroll of the Trade Federation or similar concerns—would register their protests. Then the motion would move to committee, where it would be further weakened. After that, it would be burdened with ancillary legislation, aimed at appeasing the special interest groups and lobbyists. Finally, it would be endlessly debated, in the hope of continued deferral.

  But there were ways to cut through the bureaucratic tangle. Exasperated, Palpatine glanced around the amphitheater, wondering who would make the first move—figuratively and literally.

  It was the Neimoidians who acted, loosing their balcony from the inner wall and directing it to the center of the rotunda. Detached, the platforms resembled sleeker versions of the repulsorlift air taxis that filled Coruscant’s skies. Word had it that some of the platforms moved more rapidly than others—even on autopilot—which was crucial, since delegates frequently raced to be recognized by the Supreme Chancellor.

  “We recognize Delegate Lott Dod,” Valorum said, “representing the Trade Federation.”

  Lott Dod wore rich robes and a tall, black miter. A saucer-shaped hovercam with a single antenna rushed in to broadcast his flat-faced likeness to the screens built into the display consoles of the balconies.

  “We submit that the senate does not have the right or the authority to enact taxation of the outlying trade zones. This is nothing more than a ploy to break up our consortium.

  “It was the Trade Federation who opened the hyperlanes to the outlying systems, who risked the lives of its space-faring captains to bring formerly primitive worlds into the Republic, and new resources into the Core.

  “Now we learn that we are expected to defend
ourselves against the mercenaries and pirates who masquerade as freedom fighters, merely to enrich themselves at our expense. We come before you asking for aid, and instead become the victim of an indirect attack.”

  From delegations representing the Commerce Guild and the Techno Union came loud shouts of encouragement.

  “If the senate does not wish to intercede with the Nebula Front—or, indeed, if it is incapable of doing so,” Dod continued, “then it must at least grant us what we need to defend ourselves. As it is, we are defenseless in the face of far superior fighters.”

  Where some cheered and some booed, Valorum merely nodded. “Commissions can be appointed to determine if additional defense capabilities are warranted at this time,” he said sternly.

  Another balcony dropped from the curved wall.

  “We recognize Ainlee Teem, delegate of Malastare,” Valorum said.

  A Gran, Teem had a trio of eyestalks that were thick and closely set.

  “Since the Trade Federation is willing to defend itself, at its own expense, there is no justification for taxing the trade routes.” Teem’s voice was deep and abrasive. “We have precedent in the Corporate Alliance. Otherwise, it appears that the Republic is interested in nothing more than skimming profits from those who endangered themselves to blaze the hyperspace routes now used by one and all.”

  Half the amphitheater applauded. But even in the midst of it, a third platform was floating to the center.

  “We recognize Bail Antilles of Alderaan.”

  “Supreme Chancellor,” the human said with great emotion, “under no circumstances should the senate allow the Trade Federation to augment its droid defenses. If the Nebula Front has succeeded in making certain sectors dangerous, then the Federation should avoid those trouble spots until such time as the involved sectors find a way to counter terrorism. By sanctioning increases to the Trade Federation’s defenses, we imperil the balance of power throughout the Outer Rim.”

  “And what becomes of the worlds in those contested sectors?” Senator Orn Free Taa of Ryloth asked, his blue head-tails draped over the bodice of an exorbitant cloak. “How do we trade with the Core? With whom do we ship?”