Arrant scowled. “How is it that whenever tragedy strikes, the first ones I hear from are the Neimoidians?”
“We are a compassionate species,” Monchar said, his heavily accented Basic elongating the words.
“Compassionate and Neimoidian don’t belong in the same sentence, Monchar. And just how did you come to hear of our ‘setback,’ as you call it? Or was it that the Trade Federation had a hand in the matter?”
The nictitating membranes of Monchar’s red eyes began to spasm. “The Trade Federation would never do anything to impair relations with a potential partner.” “Partner?” Arrant laughed ruefully. “At least have the decency to speak the truth, Monchar. You want our trade routes. I don’t know how much you had to pay the Galactic Senate to obtain a franchise to operate with impunity in the free trade zones, but you’re not going to buy your way into the Videnda sector.”
“But you could ship ten times as much lommite ore inside one of our freighters as you can in twenty of your largest barges.”
“Granted. But at what price? Before long it would cost us more to ship with you than we could possibly earn back. You wouldn’t be wearing those expensive robes, otherwise.”
Monchar took a moment to reply. “We would much prefer that our partnership begins on solid footing. We would hate to see Lommite Limited become ensnared in a situation that allows it no recourse but to join us.”
Arrant bristled and shot to his feet. “Is that a threat, Monchar? What do you intend to do, send your droids down here to invade us?” Monchar made a motion of dismissal. “We are merchants, not conquerors.”
“Then stop talking like a conqueror, or I’ll report this to the Trade Commission on Coruscant.”
“You’re upset,” Monchar said, nervously stroking his prominent muzzle. “Perhaps we should speak at some later date.”
“Don’t contact me, Monchar. I’ll contact you.”
Arrant deactivated the holoprojector and dropped back into his chair, forcing a long exhalation through pursed lips. “Scavengers,” he said after a moment. “I’d sooner see LL go under than sell out to the Trade Federation.” Into a brief succeeding silence came a persistent plopping sound from outside the office’s floor-to-ceiling viewpanes. “What now?” Arrant asked, swiveling his chair toward the sound.
“Rain,” Bruit muttered.
Despite its rich deposits of lommite, or the recurrent attention it received from the Trade Federation, Dorvalla was to most observers an inconsequential speck in the sweep of star systems that made up the Galactic Republic. But among the few who had been monitoring the events on Dorvalla, none had followed them as keenly as Darth Sidious, the Dark Lord of the Sith.
“This rivalry between Lommite Limited and InterGalactic Ore intrigues me,” Sidious was saying as he moved about the cavernous den that was both his sanctuary and repository. The hood of his cowl was raised over his lined face, and the hem of his robe trailed on the gleaming floor. His voice was a rasp, absent emotion but not without instances of intentional inflection. “I see a way that we might exploit this entanglement to our own gain,” he continued. “A push here, a shove there, and both mining companies will collapse. Thus, we will be able to deliver Dorvalla to the Trade Federationthe ore, the trade routes, Dorvalla’s vote in the senateand, in so doing, gain the further allegiance of Viceroy Gunray and his lackeys.”
Sidious removed his hands from the ample sleeves of his robe. “Viceroy Gunray claims to be persuaded of the worth of serving us, but I want him fully in our grasp, so that there can be no doubt of his heeding my commands. With Dorvalla secured, he will likely be promoted to a permanent position on the Trade Federation Directorate. We can then further our larger plan.”
Sidious cast his hooded gaze across the room to a deeply shadowed area in which Darth Maul sat silent as a statue, his tattooed face lowered, so that all Sidious could see was the crown of vestigial horns that sprouted from his hairless skull.
“Your thoughts betray you, my young apprentice,” he remarked. “You are puzzled by my steadfast interest in the Neimoidians.”
Darth Maul lifted his face, and what scant light there was seemed to recoil. Where his Master represented all that was concealed and mysterious in the Sith, Maul was the personification of all that was to be feared. “From you, Master, I cannot hide what I feel. The Neimoidians are greedy and weak-willed. I find them unworthy.”
“You left out duplicitous and sniveling,” Sidious said.
“Most of all, Master.”