bar Nute Gunray's red eyes meandered over the line of delegates waiting to be scanned by Eriadu's primitive scanning devices. His gaze fell on two human senators-one rotund and plebeian; the other, straight-backed and refined-engaged in what appeared to be a spirited exchange. He looked down from his mechno — chair at Senator Lott Dod.

"Who is the human in the blue cloak-there, speaking with the pudgy one?"

Dod followed the viceroy's raised forefinger.

"Senator Palpatine of Naboo." "A friend of ours?" Dod shook his head dubiously. "He gives all indication of holding to a middle course, Viceroy.

Although I heard that he encouraged Valorum to send judicials to the Senex sector." "A potential friend, then," Gunray said.

"Soon enough, we will know where everyone stands." Behind them, squatting on the duracrete, was the shuttle that had carried them to the surface, an organic-looking ship, with a quartet of clawed and segmented landing gear, a pair of generator vents that resembled eyespots, and a rear deflector shield assembly that rose from the ship's flat body like a raised tail.

Gunray and Dod wore robes, mantles, and headdresses- — crimson and cordovan for the viceroy; deep purple and lavender for the senator.

Fore and aft and to both sides of them marched security droids, their blaster rifles mounted behind their right shoulders. The droids constituted the Neimoidians' reply to Eriadu's offer to provide protection. In addition, the Trade Federation Directorate had insisted that a small shield generator be installed in that section of the summit hall assigned to them.

A mere glance at the protestors who stood five-deep along the perimeter of the spaceport facilities told Gunray that the members of the directorate had made a prudent decision- despite the ridicule to which they had been subjected by their peers in the Galactic Senate.

The directorate's other six, shielded by Eriadu security agents, led the Trade Federation cortege as they neared the terminal. At the head of the line walked the Federation's four human directors — comtwo from Kuat, one from Balmorra, and the other from Filve. And behind them came the directorate's Gran and Sullustan members, all wearing costly tunics and caplets, though a far cry from the extravagant ones affected by Gunray and Dod.

"Can we take this Asmeru business as a sign that Valorum is secretly in our camp?" the Sullustan was asking the Gran.

"Not unless Valorum surprises everyone here by withdrawing his taxation proposal," the Gran replied.

"My attorneys assure me that the Republic has no legal right to tax the free trade zones," Gunray said in Basic, from atop his ambulatory throne.

One of the humans from Kuat looked over his shoulder at the Neimoidian and laughed. "The Republic will do as it wishes, Viceroy. You're a fool to believe otherwise. Valorum is as much our adversary as ever." Gunray suffered the humiliation in silence. What, he wondered, would the Kuati have made of Darth Sidious's assertion that Valorum was the Trade Federation's strongest ally in the senate? Would the Kuati have been so quick to taunt and scoff?

Gunray doubted it.

The arrogant human and the others knew nothing of the covert deal Gunray had struck with the Sith Lord.

They viewed the Neimoidians' continuing purchases of upgraded droid weaponry as wasteful, and symptomatic of the Neimoidians' increasing sense of paranoia. But they rarely contested the expenditures, since the weapons afforded the fleet an added measure of protection. Similarly, they knew nothing of Sidious's plan for the Trade Federation to extend its reach beyond the outlying systems to the galactic rim itself.

And yet, Gunray was anxious.

The Sith Lord had communicated with him only once since arranging the meeting between the Neimoidians and the Baktoid and Haor Chall arms merchants.

The communication had been brief and one-sided, with Sidious stressing the importance of Gunray's attending the trade summit, and assuring him, as ever, that everything was going according to plan.

"The way to defeat Valorum," the other Kuati was saying, "is to persuade our signatory members that they gain nothing by decamping and seeking individual representation in the senate." "Even if that requires offering them lucrative trade incentives," the Sullustan added.

"But our profits," Gunray blurted, despite his best efforts to control himself.

"The Republic taxes will have to be absorbed by the outlying systems,"

the directorate officer from Balmorra said. "There is simply no other way."

"And if the taxes are too exorbitant for the outlying systems to absorb?" the Gran asked.

"Our share of the market will be lost. This could very well cripple us."

This time Gunray managed to stifle himself.

It is all a charade, Sidious had said.

Taxation is but a minor obstacle in our path to greater glory. Allow your counterparts in the directorate to say and do as they wish. But refrain from offering any response-especially at the summit itself.

Our path, Gunray thought.

But had he entered into a true partnership, or one in which Sidious would emerge as the Neimoidians' overlord? How long could a Sith Lord content himself with mere economic power? And what was likely to become of Viceroy Nute Gunray once Darth Sidious set his sights on a target more worthy of his dark expertise?

Already Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar and Commander Dofine had aired their separate misgivings about the alliance- — scarcely realizing that the partnership had as much been forced on Gunray as offered to him.

The Sith Lord had promised that he would communicate with Gunray once more before the summit began. Perhaps, the viceroy hoped, all would then be revealed.

Havac and his cohort returned to the main room of the customs warehouse, and the distant rumble of spacecraft launches. The five mercenaries Cohl had assembled were sitting on the edges of the repulsorsleds that had borne them to the warehouse.

From the jittery way Havac moved, Lope knew that something unexpected had taken place. He jumped off the hovering sled to gaze down the corridor that led to the rear of the building.

"Where's Captain Cohl?" he asked Havac.

Above the scarf that swathed his face, Havac's eyes narrowed as he swung to face him. "Cohl went out the back way. But he sends his luck." Before anyone else could raise questions, he asked Lope, "What's your preferred weapon?" Lope took a second look down the corridor, then returned to the sleds. "Blades-of any length." Havac turned to one of the other humans.