rapidly up and down. Their lean, muscular flanks rippled under the invigorating water pressure.
Farther out in the stream, Anakin and Barriss were attempt ing to duplicate Obi-Wan's feat. Only, instead of directing jets of liquid at the wading suubatar, the two Padawans were squirting streams of Force-pressurized water at each other. Sitting up, her legs and hips still submerged, supporting herself on her hands, Luminara smiled to herself. If only Master Yoda could see to what use his earnest teachings were being put.
Sometimes, she thought, you can be a bit too serious yourself.
Lying back down in the water, she contemplated the single puffy white cloud that was presently scudding across an otherwise sapphire sky. Convinced her companions were occupied, and that no one was watching, she tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm, began trying to see how high she could fling water with her right foot.
With her great wealth, the president of the Commerce Guild could command entire legions of servants, thousands of workers, dozens of bodyguards. The multiple enterprises of her people spanned the civilized galaxy, reaching from one end of the Republic to another. She was universally acknowledged, even by her most fervent competitors, to be an individual of unusual intelligence and perspicacity. Usually, a few minutes was enough time to enable her to size up an opponent or a friend.
Take Senator Mousul. Talented but vain, loyal but self- centered, he had to be watched at all times. Not that Shu Mai thought him unreliable. The Senator was in too deep and had too much at stake to risk quitting now. Shu Mai had seen him at work in the Senate. Mousul could be a mesmerizing speaker. But outside the Senate, removed from his official position of power, he was just another Ansionian-and therefore had to be watched.
What was important was that they had the same view of the future, of where the diseased, tottering Republic was going. With the Senator's political acumen and alliances and the Commerce Guild's financial and commercial resources, there was nothing they could not accomplish. But not quite yet. The Republic was still powerful, its long-established institutions not quite weak enough to be ignored.
In matters of political policy she tended to defer to the Senator, though not always. Shu Mai respected her associate's opinions, just as Mousul believed the president of the Commerce Guild listened attentively to his advice. What the Senator sometimes failed to acknowledge was that he was by several orders of magnitude the junior partner in their mutual arrangement. Adept as he was at massaging the egos of fellow politicians, Mousul was content to let Shu Mai deal with the unseen one whose interests they represented.
The watercraft on which they were presently relaxing drifted freely on Sawam Lake, an exquisite body of water that, like everything else on Coruscant, was artificial in nature. It was a private playground of the very rich, lined with trees and genetically engineered flowers that bloomed year-round, filling the air with a hundred different scents. Other boats cruised sedately nearby, some larger than Shu Mai's, some smaller. She could have overawed them all, but preferred not to be conspicuous. The two were the only ones on the boat. Live servants had ears with which to listen. The pilot droids did not.
'Our supporters grow impatient.' Mousul let the sun bake
his chest, its rays carefully filtered through the inconspicuous polarized shield that hovered above the boat. 'Tarn Uliss in particular worries me. He would not be as easy to deal with as was the unfortunate Nemrileo.'
'Impatience is a potentially fatal disease.' Rolling to her left, Shu Mai picked up the spiral tumbler of refreshment and sipped contentedly at its contents. 'According to everything you tell me, events on Ansion are unfolding at a predictable and reasonable speed. The others must learn to contain their impulsiveness.'
'It isn't easy, you know, to restrain people caught up in the grip of a new idea.'
Raising her tumbler, Shu Mai gazed through the liquid-filled transparency. It colored the sunlight gold. 'That's your job, my friend. I handle the guild, you keep the local political and business interests in check. We'll move only when the time is right.'
Mousul bridled inwardly at what sounded like a directive. Outwardly, he smiled and nodded. For now, Shu Mai was in con trol. Let her dream her dreams of personal grandiosity. When Ansion seceded and Mousul was appointed sector governor, their positions would be reversed. Then it was Shu Mai and her guild that would come calling in search of favors. He met his smaller colleague's gaze evenly.
'These Jedi complicate matters. Whatever Uliss and the oth ers think, no legitimate vote can go forward until they have been dealt with. I have been in regular contact with our agent there, and I've been assured as recently as yesterday that the visitors will be neutralized.'
'They'd better be.' With a soft grunt, Shu Mai leaned back in her chair. 'If only the Jedi Knights could be brought around to our way of thinking. It would simplify everything greatly.'
'Won't happen.' Mousul stirred his drink with a finger,
activating a few more of the time-release narcotics swirling within. 'The Jedi can't be bent.'
The president of the Commerce Guild shrugged. 'It may be that some are not so staunch as you believe.'
Mousul blinked at his co-conspirator. 'What do you mean?'
'Time will reveal all. Meanwhile, events on Ansion will un fold at their own speed. While they do, you and I must wait, and persuade the others to do likewise.' She took a long swallow of her own, non-narcotic-infused drink.
Mousul grunted and went silent. Businessfolk like that brusque Tarn Uliss simply did not understand. While it was true that life was transitory and the window of opportunity to do great things fleeting, they could not be rushed. To move too soon would be to risk everything. If Uliss and the rest would only be patient, the future would be handed to them.
Beneath the two, who rested and plotted and warmed them selves in Coruscant's beneficent sun, thousands of lesser beings toiled in the great interlocked buildings two hundred stories high whose roof was the lake known as Savvam.
If not for the small matter of their mission, the travelers would have chosen to spend another day and night at the tran quil, bucolic campsite. Sadly, as always, time insisted and duty called.
Following the route proposed by the Yiwa brought them to a line of high hills that stretched unbroken across the northern horizon. Kyakhta and Bulgan did not know their names, but a few of the prominences were almost high enough to be called mountains. Gentle of slope, with only a few isolated cliff faces but many water-worn undercuts and overhangs, they presented no barrier to the wonderfully long- legged suubatars. Still, to save time
