Star Wars: Rogue Planet (5 page)

T
he opportunities are endless,” Raith Sienar said as he walked along the factory parapet. Beside him strolled Commander Tarkin of the Republic Outland Regions Security Force. They might have been brothers. Both were in their early thirties. Both were thin and wiry, with high-arching bony brows, piercing blue eyes, aristocratic faces, and attitudes to match. And both wore robes of senatorial favor, showing extraordinary service to the senate over the past decade.

“You’re speaking of the Republic?” Tarkin asked with more than a hint of disdain. His training—he came from an old and well-established military family—gave his voice a particular edge, both world-weary and amused.

“Not at all,” Sienar said, smiling at his old friend. Beyond and below the parapet, four Advanced Project ships approached completion, black, sleek, smaller than previous models, and very fast indeed. “I haven’t received an interesting contract from the Republic for seven years.”

“What about these?” Tarkin asked.

“Private contracts with the Trade Federation, several
mining firms, others. Very lucrative, so long as I don’t sell my very best weapons to the wrong buyers. Every ship I make, I equip with weapons, as you doubtless know. Much more profitable that way, but tricky at times. So I keep the best in reserve … for my most generous customers.”

Tarkin smiled at this answer. “Then I may have useful news for you,” he said. “I’ve just come from a secret meeting. Chancellor Palpatine has finally forced a stand-down over the Naboo incident. The Trade Federation security forces will soon be disbanded. In the next few months, they are to be assimilated into Republic forces and placed at the disposal of the senate. All will comply—even Outland Mining—or face a centralized and much more powerful military response.” Tarkin used a small hand scope to look over the details on the new ships. Each was twenty meters wide, with broad, flat cooling vanes terminating their wings. The compartments were compact, spherical, hardly luxurious. “If they are your main source of income, your position now is, shall we say, compromised?”

Sienar tipped his head to one side. He had already caught wind of Chancellor Palpatine’s decree. “The Trade Federation had large reserves of money, and granted, they gave me many more interesting contracts than the Republic did, but I’ve kept my friends in the senate. I will miss Trade Federation patronage, but I don’t see a complete collapse of Trade Federation influence for some time. As far as the Republic is concerned … their specifications are neither inspired nor inspiring. And when I do take a Republic contract, I’m forced to work with aging engineers the senators trust. I hope that changes.”

“I’ve heard they do not look favorably upon you. You criticize them too freely, Raith. When your present customers
pass into history, have you considered subcontracting?” Tarkin asked with a slightly taunting air.

Sienar gestured with his spidery fingers. “I hope you recognize I am versatile. After all, we’ve known each other for ten years.”

Tarkin gave him an
oh, please
! glance. “I’m still a young man, Raith. Don’t make me feel old.” They advanced to the end of the parapet and along a suspended walkway leading to an octagonal, transparisteel-walled room suspended thirty meters above the center of the factory floor. “These, pardon me, look like advanced
fighters
to me. Very pretty they are, too.”

Sienar nodded. “Experimental models for protecting freight haulers on the fringe. The Republic no longer polices some of the most lucrative routes. I presume with the Trade Federation forces integrated, they will once more. At any rate, these ships have already been paid for.”

“They are storable?”

“Of course. Multistack in spare holds. All to spec. A true surprise for raiders. Now. Enough about my business worries. About
our
relationship—”

Tarkin rested his hands on the rail. “I’ve made new contacts,” he said. “Very useful contacts. I can tell you very little more.”

“You know I’m an ambitious man,” Sienar said with a look he hoped seemed both hungry and dignified. Tarkin would not be easy to fool. “I have plans, Tarkin, extraordinary plans, which will impress anyone with imagination.”

“I know plenty of people with
imagination
,” Tarkin said. “Perhaps too much imagination at times …” They continued walking. Assembly droids bustled beneath them, and a suspended crane hauled three fuselages in a nested carrier just meters away. “In truth, I’ve come to pick your brains, tell you a remarkable fairy tale, and
enlist you in my cause, old friend. But not out here, not out in the open.”

Inside the transparisteel-walled design room, closed to all but Sienar and his special guests, Tarkin sat in a comfortable chair of inflatable plastic, one of Sienar’s design. Next to him a large dark gray holographic table hummed faintly.

Sienar dropped black security curtains all around the lighted center. The men were absorbed by an eerie silence.

Tarkin tried to speak, but no sound could be heard. Sienar handed him a small, nut-sized silver vocoder connected by a flexible wire to a beautifully machined plasteel mouthpiece. He showed Tarkin how to insert the button into his ear and allow the mouthpiece to float just in front of his lips.

Now they could hear each other.

“I do small favors for certain people,” Tarkin said. “I once balanced these favors between opposing sides. Lately, my efforts have become a bit more lopsided. Balance is no longer necessary.”

Sienar stood before his old friend and listened intently. His tall, cleanly muscled body seemed to reject repose.

“Some of these people have an appreciation for fingers—not tentacles, my friend, not palps, but human fingers—reaching into a great many stellar soup bowls, testing the temperature to see if they are ready for the eating.”

“Why the concern that they be human?”

“Humans are the future, Raith.”

“Some of my best designers are not even remotely human.”

“Yes, and we employ nonhumans wherever they are useful, for now. But mark my words, Raith.
Humans are the future
.”

Raith noted the tension in Tarkin’s voice. “So marked.”

“Now listen closely. I’m going to tell you a tale of intrigue, wonderfully ornate, yet at its heart very simple. It involves a kind of spacecraft rare and little-seen, very expensive, of unknown manufacture, supposedly a toy for the wealthy. It may ultimately lead to a lost planet covered by a peculiar kind of forest, very mysterious. And it may soon involve the Jedi.”

Sienar smiled in delight. “I adore stories about the Jedi. I’m quite the fan, you know.”

“I myself am intrigued by them,” Tarkin said with a smile. “One of my assignments—I will not tell you who does the assigning and how much they pay—is to keep track of all the Jedi on Coruscant. Keep track of them—and discourage any increase in their power.”

Sienar lifted an eyebrow. “The Jedi support the senate, Tarkin.”

Tarkin dismissed this with a wave. “There is a youngster among the Jedi with a curiosity for droids and all sorts of machinery, a junk collector, though with some talent, I understand. I have placed a small, very expensive, very broken droid in the way of this youngster, and he has taken it into the Jedi Temple and made it mobile again, as I suspected he would. And it has been listening to some curious private conferences.”

Sienar listened with growing interest, but also growing puzzlement. The Jedi had not once, in his lifetime of designing and constructing fine ships and machines, ever shown an interest in contracting for spacecraft. They had always seemed content to hitch rides. As far as Sienar was concerned, for all their gallantry and discipline, the Jedi were technological ignoramuses—but for their light-sabers, of course. Yes, those were of interest …

“Please pay attention, Raith.” Tarkin jerked him out of his reverie. “I’m getting to the good part.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Sienar replaced the security vocoders in their box and lifted the curtains. He was pale, and his hands shook slightly. He tried to hide his anger.

Tarkin’s moving in on what could have been mine
!

But he quelled his chagrin. The secret was out. The rules had changed.

Absently, and to create a distraction from his reaction to Tarkin’s story, he switched on the hologram display, and millions of tiny curves and lines assembled in the air over the dark gray table. They formed a slowly rotating sphere with a wide slice removed from the side. Two smaller spheres appeared above and below the poles, linked by thick necks bristling with spiky details.

With a contentedly prim expression, Tarkin turned to the hologram. His thin, cruel lips pressed tightly together, revealing thousands of years of aristocratic breeding. He bent over to examine the scale bars, and his eyebrow lifted.

Sienar was pleased by his reaction.

“Impossibly huge,” Tarkin commented dryly. “A schoolboy fancy?”

“Not at all,” Sienar said. “Quite doable, though expensive.”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Tarkin said. “What is it?”

“One of my show projects, to impress those few contractors with a taste for the grandiose,” Sienar said. “Tarkin, why have these … people … chosen me?”

“You haven’t forgotten you’re human?”

“That couldn’t be their main criteria.”

“You’d be surprised, Raith. But no, likely at this stage it is not crucial. It’s your position and your intelligence. It’s your engineering expertise, far greater than my own, though, dear friend, I do exceed you in military
skills. And, of course, I do have
some
influence. Stick with me, and you’ll go places. Fascinating places.”

Tarkin could not take his eyes off the slowly rotating sphere, with its massive core-powered turbolaser now revealed. “Ah.” He smiled. “Always a weapon. Have you shown this to anybody?”

Sienar shook his head sadly. He could see the enticement was working. “The Trade Federation knows precisely what it needs and shows no interest in anything else. A deplorable lack of imagination.”

“Explain it to me.”

“It’s a dream, but an achievable dream, given certain advances in hypermatter technology. An implosion core with a plasma about a kilometer in diameter could power an artificial construct the size of a small moon. A couple of large ice asteroids for fuel … common enough still in the outer fringe systems …”

“A small crew could police an entire system with one vessel,” Tarkin mused.

“Well, not so small a crew, but one vessel, certainly.” Sienar walked around the display and made large, vaguely designing sweeps of his hands. “I’m considering removing the extraneous spheres, sticking with one large ball, ninety or a hundred kilometers in diameter. A more wieldy design for transport.”

Tarkin smiled proudly. “I
knew
I picked the right man for this job, Raith.” He admired the design with brows tightly knit. “What a sense of scale! What unutterable
power
!”

“I’m not sure I have any free time,” Sienar said with a frown. “Despite my lack of connections, I still manage to keep very busy.”

Tarkin waved his hand dismissively. “Forget these shadows of a past life and focus on the future. What a future it will be, Raith, if you satisfy the right people!”

T
he Jedi Temple was a massive structure, centuries old, well and beautifully made, but like much on Coruscant, the exterior had of late suffered from neglect. Below the five spotless and gleaming minarets, at the level of the dormitories and the staff entrances, paint flaked and bronze gutters dripped long green streaks down broad curved roofs. Molded metal sheets had lost their buffers of insulation and were beginning to electrically corrode, creating fantastic rainbow patterns on their surfaces where they touched.

Within the Temple, the domain of the Jedi Knights and their Padawans, the chambers were cool, with lighting at a minimum, except in the private quarters, which were spare enough, but provided with glow lamps for reading the texts taken from the huge library. Each cubicle was also equipped with a computer and holoprojector for accessing the later works of science and history and philosophy.

The overall effect, to an outsider, might have been one
of studious gloom, but to a Jedi, the Temple was a center of learning, chivalry, and tradition unparalleled in the known universe.

It was meant to be a place of peace and reflection, commingled with periods of rigorous training. Increasingly, however, the Jedi Council devoted its time to troublesome matters of politics and the large-scale repercussions of a decades-long economic collapse.

The Republic could not afford too much reflection, however, nor too much study. This was soon to be an age of action and counteraction, with many forces arrayed against freedom and the principles that had guided the Jedi in their zealous guardianship of the senate and the Republic.

That explained why so many of the Masters were away from the Temple, scattered around the crumbling fringes of the Republic.

It did not explain why Mace Windu maintained a bemused smile even as he presided over the distressing case of Anakin Skywalker.