'Saw it with his own eyes, he did,' Yoda said, with a twinkle in his eye.
Qui-Gon compressed his lips. 'Cohl planned for every eventuality. He wouldn't have piloted his craft into an explosion just to evade pursuit.'
'Then why didn't you capture him as you hoped to do?' Rancisis asked.
Qui-Gon planted his hands on his hips, thumbs pointed behind him. 'As Master Gallia has said, Cohl is only the beginning. My Padawan and I attached a tracking device to Cohl's ship, in the hope of tracking it to the Nebula Front's current base, which could be on one of the Rimma worlds that support the terrorists. After the explosion, the tracker failed to return a signal.'
Gallia stared at him for a moment. 'You searched for Cohl, Qui-Gon?' 'Obi-Wan and I found no signs of his shuttle.
For all we know, he rode the leading edge of the explosion right down Dorvalla's gravity well.' 'You have informed the Judicial Department of your suspicions?' Rancisis asked.
'Some of Cohl's better-known haunts are under surveillance,' Gallia answered for Qui-Gon.
Koon left his chair to stand alongside Qui-Gon. 'Captain Cohl may be the best of his ilk, but there are many more like him, just as heartless, just as rapacious. The Nebula Front militants will have no trouble finding eager replacements.' Rancisis nodded gravely. 'This is something we need to watch closely.' Yoda crossed the room, shaking his head back and forth. 'Avoid a conflict with the Nebula Front, we must. Speak for many, they do. Compromise us, they will.' 'I agree,' Rancisis said. 'We can't afford to take sides.'
'But we have to take sides,' Qui-Gon blurted.
'I'm not an ally of the Trade Federation. But acts of terrorism by the Nebula Front won't be limited to freighters. Innocent beings will be endangered.' Everyone fell silent, except for Yoda.
'A true Knight, Qui-Gon is,' he said, with a note of gentle rebuke.
'Forever on his own quest.' small, humid world disdained by an aging sun, ationei — moidia was a place to be avoided-even by Neimoidians. Instead of profiting from its relative proximity to self-reliant Corellia and industrialized Kuat, Neimoidia had actually suffered for its placement, having been passed over, time and again, by the fraternity of Core worlds. That heritage of being shunned had informed Neimoidian society.
Scorn had imparted to the species a conviction that progress came to only those who proved themselves not merely capable but predatory. Reaching the top of the food chain required that the bodies of the weak be used as stepping- stones. Once the summit was attained, it was held by seizing whatever resources were available and preventing others from grabbing them.
Those tenets were frequently offered as explanation as to how and why the Neimoidians had risen so rapidly to the fore of the Trade Federation, whose signature was callousness.
Neimoidia's most able typically left home at an early age, opting for lives of itinerant trading aboard the vessels of the Trade Federation fleet.
As a result, Neimoidia was scarcely populated by the weakest of the species, who tended to the planet's vast insect hives, fungus farms, and beetle hatcheries.
Viceroy Nute Gunray shared with his fellow self-exiles a peculiar distaste for his homeworld.
But circumstance had demanded that he meet with the members of his Inner Circle in a location that guaranteed protection from the prying eyes of Coruscant. And in that sense, Neimoidia provided the best possible sanctuary.
The problem inherent in returning home was that one couldn't escape recalling-on some level of cellular memory- — the seven formative years Neimoidians spent as puny, pale, wriggling grubs, in competition with every other grub for survival and the chance to mature into red-eyed, noseless, fish-lipped, and decidedly distrustful adults.
Adults, like Gunray, at any rate, who swathed their bodies in the finest raiment credits could buy, and who rarely, if ever, looked back.
The viceroy gave himself over to momentary reflection on such matters while the mechno-chair carried him to the meeting place, through cavernous halls of finely cut stone that mimicked the early hives, and past row after row of protocol droids standing at attention on both sides.
His ultimate destination was a dark, dank grotto, the antithesis of the gleaming bridges of Trade Federation freighters. On display were several examples of exotic flora left to fend for themselves in capturing what moisture they could from the stuffy air. The arching walls were graced with the twin emblems of piety and power: the Spherical Flame and the garhai-the armored fish that symbolized obedience and dedication to enlightened leadership.
Gunray's key advisers were waiting: Deputy Viceroy Hath Monchar and legal counsel Rune Haako. Each affected a black headpiece appropriate to his status.
Monchar's was a triple — crested crown, similar to but smaller than the one Gunray wore; Haako's was an elaborate cowl, with two horns in front, and a tall, rounded back.
The two advisers made deferential gestures to Gunray as the mechno-chair eased him onto his feet.
'Welcome, Viceroy,' Haako said, approaching him stooped and limping, his left arm crooked by his side. 'We hope you have not come in vain.' Hollow- cheeked and somewhat spidery, he had a deeply lined face, bags under his eyes, and puckered flesh on his chin and thin neck.
Gunray made a harsh gesture of dismissal.
'He said he would come. That is enough for me.' 'For you,' Monchar muttered.
Gunray glared at his deputy. 'Events transpired just as he promised they would. Cohl's mercenaries attacked, and the Revenue was destroyed.' 'And this is a reason to rejoice?' Haako asked, his prominent voice box bobbing. 'This plan of yours has cost the Trade Federation a class-I freighter and billions in aurodium.' Gunray's nictitating membranes betrayed his seeming self — possession. He blinked repeatedly, then quickly regained his composure.
