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“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 dew-backs. 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 style.”

“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 Gunray’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 foot-rests 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