Star Wars_ Cloak of Deception - James Luceno [40]
Valorum had no choice but to comply.
“I will confer with all relevant parties and set a date for the summit,” he said when the furor had abated. “With regard to taxation of the outlying trade routes, there will be a moratorium on the voting process until the summit concludes and all viewpoints have been expressed. Furthermore, as a sign of the senate’s commitment to foster peace and stability, I shall attend the summit personally.”
Many in the rotunda rose and applauded.
Valorum’s gaze found Palpatine and lingered on him for a moment. Palpatine smiled and nodded conspiratorially.
Sporting jagged wounds it hadn’t had when it had first appeared over Dorvalla, or later, when it had settled down to retrieve Cohl and what was left of his team, the Hawk-Bat floated in space, gravitationally anchored to a buff-colored world of arid mountain ranges and ice-blue seas. Five CloakShape starfighters surrounded her, with a sixth nuzzled up to the gunship’s starboard airlock. Far beyond the ships spread a band of space mines, made to resemble asteroids.
On the Hawk-Bat’s side of the airlock, Cohl waited vigilantly for his visitors to board. His bare arms were lacerated from the razor ferns he had been forced to forge through on Dorvalla, and his dark face, with its eye mask of diamond-shaped tattoos, was bruised black and blue beneath his beard. Adding severity to features many thought ferocious to begin with, his coiled hair framed his countenance like the hood of a serpent.
The airlock’s indicator light flashed.
“Do you want me to disappear?” Rella asked from behind him.
She was in even worse shape than Cohl. Her left eye was concealed by a bacta patch and her left forearm wore a plascast. Boiny remained in a bacta tank.
Cohl shook his head without taking his gaze from the airlock. “Stick around. Keep your blaster handy.”
Rella drew the weapon from the holster on 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