The pilot, a newly wealthy Gensang spice thief whose forebears had smuggled for over a thousand generations with no great success, had picked up a curious sort of compact protocol droid in a gambling palace on Serpine.
That droid had been lost to the Gensang by a reckless and exceedingly wealthy young Rodian in a life-or- death, total- forfeit game. Life had not been the young Rodian's fate. Instead, he had rolled a fist-sized ruby joom-ball along the classic spiral chute, the joom-ball had fallen into the mouth of a cranky and venom-drooling old Passar, the Passar had blurted in its disgusting and bubbling voice a prophecy insulting to the extremely superstitious emperor-governor of Serpine, and the Rodian had been cut to pieces by outraged palace guards. Everything in his possession, including his spacecraft hold full of credit bonds, had been handed over to the Gensang, who had reveled in his run of luck.
The small droid that had come with this booty had told its new master a fantastic tale. The droid claimed it was fully qualified to take customers to a mysterious world that made the fastest starships etc. etc. etc., a journey that the Rodian had not lived long enough to make.
The Gensang had been intrigued. He had passed a puzzling social-psychological test conducted by the droid, showed the droid part of his cache of bonds, more than sufficient, and had been warned he would experience the adventure of a lifetime on an exotic world, some details of which he would soon after almost completely forget.
It had been the Gensang's misfortune to buy his Sekotan ship and run afoul of thieves. They had taken the Gensang and the droid and the disintegrating remains of the ship and sold them to Sienar's agents for a tidy sum. Sienar's agents had then killed the thieves.
Such was the endless roil of greed and money. Perhaps the Blood Carver's people were right to hold such disdain for wealth.
Sienar lay on his stomach by the long sitting room window, now open to the stars, with Zonama Sekot eternally in view. Before his communication with Kett, he had finished a light repast of biscuits and steamed Alderaan wine, one of the few tastes he shared with Tarkin.
Generally Sienar was unimpressed by food and drink, and almost never was he tempted by other fleshly pursuits. What got his blood going was power. The power to design and build extraordinary things. The power to make one's old friends sorry they had ever tried a clumsy double cross.
I, who have built ships for the galaxy's most powerful.. I, of all people, manipulated by a second-rate military student, deceiving himself that he sees more clearly.than his intellectual superior the shape of a new order!
The very thought made his lips curl and his eyes narrow to dark slashes.
Sienar had let the protocol droid perform its tests on the Blood Carver. As he had suspected, the Blood Carver had passed handily-elegance, education, good family, and the sight of so many credits piled on the floor of the commander's cabin had tripped all the droid's little circuits.
Foolish leaders on a lost world, trusting such judgments to a protocol droid!
Now the droid was flying with Ke Daiv in Sienar's personal starcraft to Zonama Sekot. If Ke Daiv brought back one of the planet's wondrous ships, Sienar was ready with all the surgical and mindwipe tools necessary to turn the Blood Carver into his own personal chauffeur. He would analyze the living Sekotan craft, learn its secrets, and reverse Tarkin's game with such stunning speed that his old friend would never recover.
And that could give Sienar the power and influence necessary to cut his own deals with any emerging political power.
Delicious. Absolutely delicious. Much better than even the choicest of Alderaan wines, warmed in the finest gold- flecked crystal over a muskwood fire.
Sienar gave another great sigh. The game was truly interesting now. Dear Captain Kett, he thought, my honor is no purer than your own. But I at least am not a hypocrite.
Chapter 32
Reaching the docking ramp, it turned out, was just the beginning of a new leg of their journey. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Jabitha, and Gann descended the carven steps of a steeply slanting volcanic tube to a low-ceilinged cavern set with dimly glowing lanterns.
They could hear the sound of rushing water.
'An underground river,' Anakin said. Jabitha nodded, reached up, and touched the top of his head. He flinched, and she smiled.
'It's just a way of saying how smart you are! But we have to go some distance before we reach the river.'
Obi-Wan had never enjoyed being deep underground. He much preferred the openness of space to the depths of a planet, though he had never admitted this to anyone.
After another twenty minutes, they emerged from the end of the tube into a wide round chamber carved out of the basalt. A stone slab jutted into swift water that flowed around the slab with a guttural rumble. Regular and frequent splashes darkened the rough surface of the rock. A slender boat floated in a calm spot in the slab's shadow. Ahead, they could dimly make out a mouth leading even deeper into the planet's crust.
They boarded the slender boat, and two male attendants pushed them away from the dock. Gann then poled the boat out of the calm, into the swift water. The river rushed them down the broad, dark channel.
The seed-partners were still. Anakin was concerned that they might be sick or even dead. Jabitha reassured them this was not the case. 'They know we're going to see the forgers and shapers. It's a serious moment for a seed.'
'How do they know?' Anakin asked.
'This river feeds the factory valley,' she said. 'It's carried seeds for millions of years. They just recognize it.' 'What are the Jentari?' Obi-Wan asked. 'Grandfather trained them first. Trained them, or made them, or both! They're very large shapers that work for us and with us. You'll see.' She sounded very proud.
