Джеймс Лучено - Cloak Of Deception

Around his neck hung a pectoral of elongated teardrops of electrum, and a black tiara-triple-crested, with a pair of dangling tails-sat atop his regal head.

"What is so urgent, Commander Dofine?" Gunray asked.

"Viceroy, it is my sad duty to report that the Revenue has been seized by members of the Nebula Front.

The cargo of lom — mite ore floats in space, and, even as we speak, an explosive device counts down the moments to the ship's destruction." Realizing that he had forgotten to peel the timer from the back of his hand, Dofine retracted his hand into the loose sleeve of his robe.

"So Captain Cohl strikes again," Gunray said.

"Yes, Viceroy. But I bring news of an even more distressing nature."

Dofine glanced around him, in the hope that Lagard was out of earshot, but, of course, he wasn't. "The cache of au — rodium ingots," he said at last. "Cohl somehow knew about it. I had no recourse but to turn it over to him."

Expecting rebuke or worse, Dofine hung his head in shame as he trailed the mechno-chair. But the viceroy surprised him.

"The lives of you and your crew were at stake." "Just so, Excellency."

"Then stand tall, Commander Dofine," Gunray said.

"For what has happened today may well prove a boon for the Trade Federation, and a blessing for all Neimoidians." "A boon, Viceroy?" Gunray nodded. "I order you to assume command of the Acquisitor.

Recall the starfighters and withdraw the freighter from combat." "Cohl is headed back to the freighter," Obi-Wan said from the controls of the Judicial Department starfighter. "Could he have tricked the freighter into abandoning its cargo, even though it wasn't in jeopardy?" "I doubt it," Qui-Gon said. He pressed his face close to the Lancet's transparisteel canopy. "All of Gobi's support ships- — even the corvette-are distancing themselves from the Revenue.His""" "It's true, Master. Even the Aequisitor is under way." "Then we're safe in concluding that the freighter is marked for destruction. And yet, Captain Cohl is speeding toward it." "As we are, Master," Obi-Wan thought to point out.

"What could Cohl have in mind?" Qui-Gon asked himself aloud. "He's not a man to undertake desperate acts, Obi-Wan, let alone suicidal ones." "The shuttle isn't decelerating or changing course. Cohl is shooting straight for the starboard hangar arm." "Just where we started." Obi-Wan's brow began to furrow in concern.

"Master, we're getting awfully close. If the freighter is truly marked for destruction…" "I realize that, Padawan. Perhaps Captain Cohl is merely testing us." Obi-Wan waited a long moment before he allowed concern to show in his voice. "Master?" Qui-Gon watched the shuttle angle down toward the center of the circle that was the Revenue.

Stretching out with his feelings, he did not like what he found.

"Abort the pursuit, Obi-Wan," he said suddenly. "Quickly!" Obi-Wan fed full power to the Lancet's drives and pulled the yoke sharply toward him. At full boost, the ship climbed in a long loop away from the freighter.

Suddenly, the Revenue exploded. In the Lancet's cockpit, it was as if someone had draped a bright white curtain over the canopy. The small craft received a punch in the tail that sent it rocking forward, riding the crest of the detonation wave. Great hunks of molten durasteel streaked like comets to all sides. The Lancet shook to the breaking point, systems shorting out with showers of sparks, and displays showing nothing but noise before they darkened.

Glancing over his shoulder, Obi-Wan watched the Revenue burst into sections, the massive hangar arms making brief, fist — first contact, then rolling off to opposite sides, as two loosed crescents.

The centersphere and bridge tower spun away from the destroyed acceleration compensator stalk and what was left of the ship's trio of gaping exhaust ports.

Some distance away the Acquisitor was moving for the safety of Dorvalla's dark side.

Cohl's corvette and two of the support starfighters streaked away from the planet and made the jump to hyperspace.

"Dorvalla is either about to gain a moonlet or fall victim to a devastating meteor," Obi-Wan said when he could.

"I fear the latter," Qui-Gon said. "Contact Coruscant. Inform the Reconciliation Council that Dorvalla needs immediate emergency relief." "I'll try, Master." Obi-Wan began to flip switches on the console, hoping that at least some of the communications systems had survived the electronic storm that had accompanied the explosion.

"Is there any sign of Cohl's shuttle?" Obi-Wan glanced at the display screen. "No signal from the tracking device." Qui-Gon didn't reply.

"Master, I know Cohl hated the Trade Federation. But could he have cared so little about his own life?" Qui-Gon took a long moment to respond.

"What are the sixth and seventh Rules of Engagement, Padawan?" Obi-Wan tried to recall them. "The sixth is, Understand the dark and light in all things." "That is the fifth rule." Obi-Wan thought again. "Exercise caution, even in trivial matters." "That is the eighth." "Learn to see accurately."

"Yes," Qui-Gon said, "that is the sixth. And the seventh?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "I'm sorry, Master. I cannot recall it." "Open your eyes to what is not evident." Obi-Wan considered it. "Then this isn't the end of it." "Hardly, young Padawan. I sense instead a menacing beginning." CORUSCANT r The four walls of Finis Valorum's office, at the summit of the governmental district's stateliest if not most statuesque edifice, were made of transparisteel, paneled by structural members into a continuous band of regular and inverted triangles.

The city-planet that was Coruscant-was Scintillant Orb," "Jewel of the Core," choked heart of the Galactic Republic-spread to all sides in a welter of lustrous domes, knife-edged spires, and terraced superstructures that climbed to the sky. The taller buildings resembled outsize rocketships that had never left their launch pads, or the wind-eroded lava tors of long-dead volcanoes. Some of the domes were flattened hemispheres perched on cylindrical bases, while others had the look of shallow, hand-thrown ceramic bowls with finialed lids.

Striations of magnetically guided sky traffic moved swiftly above the cityscape-streams of transports, air buses, taxis, and limousines, coursing between the tall spires and over the measureless chasms like schools of exotic fish.

Instead of feeding, however, they were the feeders, distributing the galaxy's wealth among the greedy trillion to whom Coruscant was home.

As often as Valorum had beheld the view-which was to say, nearly every day of his now seven years as Supreme Chancellor of the Republic-he had yet to grow indifferent to the spectacle of Coruscant. As worlds went, it was neither large nor especially rugged, but history had transformed it into a uniquely vertical place, a vertical experience more common to ocean than atmospheric life.

Valorum's principal office was located in the lower level of the Galactic Senate dome, but he was generally so swamped by requests and business there that he reserved this lofty perch for meetings of a more private nature.

Pale hands clasped at his back, he stood at the bank of transparisteel windows that faced the dawn, though daybreak was hours behind him. He wore a magenta tunic that was high — collared and double-breasted, with matching trousers and a wide cummerbund. Southern light, polarized by the transparisteel panels, flooded the room. But Valorum's sole guest had taken a seat well out of the light's reach.

"I fear, Supreme Chancellor, that we face a monumental challenge,"

Senator Palpatine was saying from the shadows. "Frayed at its far-flung borders and hollowed at its very heart by corruption, the Republic is in grave danger of unraveling.

Order is needed, directives that will restore balance. Even the most desperate remedies should not be overlooked." Although such opinions had become the common sentiment, Palpatine's words pierced Valorum like a sword.