"Don't be concerned," the Jedi Master intoned, his voice resonating with power and authority. "So certain parties believe that they know best what is right and just for Barlok, do they? That killing us will bring them their desire? That the influence of violence supersedes the authority of justice?"
The thrusters gave a final sputter and fell silent, and still the missile hung in midair. "Thank you, Master C'baoth-" Obi-Wan said, starting toward the missile.
"Stand fast, Master Kenobi," C'baoth ordered sharply. "Thatis what our attackers believe, Magistrate Argente; Guild-master Gilfrome," he said, sending a hard look at each end of the table. "Doyou believe it, as well?"
Argente found his voice first. "No, of course not," he said, his voice quavering, his eyes locked on the missile that had nearly brought a sudden and violent death to them all.
"Then why do you persist in eroding the legitimate rights of the people of Barlok?" C'baoth demanded. "Andyou," he added, turning back to Gilfrome's end of the table. "Why doyou persist in denying the time and expense the Corporate Alliance has spent in developing resources that would otherwise have forever lain uselessly beneath the soil of your world?"
Gilfrome bristled. "Now, see here, Master C'baoth-"
"No, you see," C'baoth cut in, looking again at Argente. "Bothof you see. I have listened to your arguments and your positions and your selfish pettiness. It ends here."
Deliberately, he closed his outstretched hand. With a raucous crackling of stressed metal, the body of the missile crumpled in on itself. "The people of Barlok demand a fair and just decision," he said, more quietly now as he gestured Obi-Wan forward. "I will tell you what that decision is going to be."
The room was silent as Obi-Wan stepped to the mutilated weapon, stretching out his hand to take its weight from C'baoth. Holding it in a Force grip in front of him, he turned and headed back toward the archway. Lorana looked a question at C'baoth, got a microscopic nod in return, and turned to go with Obi-Wan.
It was only then that she noticed Anakin standing beneath the archway, his eyes filled with admiration as he gazed across the room at C'baoth. "That's telling them," he murmured as she and Obi-Wan reached him.
"Come on," Obi-Wan said, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he looked at the boy. "Let's get this thing to the police disposal team."
"Report," the gravelly voice of Darth Sidious ordered, his hooded face hovering above the holoprojector.
"The Barlok operation has been a complete success, my lord," Doriana told him. "Both sides of the negotiations were so shaken by the attack that C'baoth was able to force them into an agreement."
"And is of course taking full credit for it?"
"Knowing C'baoth, there was never any doubt on that score," Doriana said. "Fortunately, the whole planet seems quite happy to let him have it. Another day or two, and he'll be the hero of the entire sector. Give him a week, and he'll probably be organizing his own victory parade through midlevel Coruscant."
"You have done well," Sidious said. "And what of the unanticipated interference from Kenobi and Skywalker?"
"Negligible," Doriana said, wondering again at the speed and breadth of the Sith Lord's knowledge. He hadn't even mentioned Kenobi's unwelcome arrival on Barlok, yet Sidious apparently knew all about it. Clearly, he had excellent sources of information. "All I had to do was add a shroud-liquid sprayer to the missile to make sure they wouldn't be able to stop it until it reached the conference chamber where C'baoth could make his dramatic grandstand play."
"And neither he nor Kenobi suspect your manipulation of the events?"
"Not at all, my lord," Doriana said. "My sources tell me the police analysts could tell the sprayer was a last-minute add-on, but they've concluded that it was added in response to C'baoth's appearance on the scene, not Kenobi's."
"I don't want Kenobi taking any of the credit," Sidious warned. "He cannot be permitted to blunt C'baoth's triumph and prestige."
"He won't," Doriana assured him. "Kenobi isn't the type to seek public recognition. C'baoth certainly isn't the type to offer him a share."
"Then all continues to go according to my plan," Sidious concluded with satisfaction. "Opposition in the Senate and the Jedi Council to C'baoth's pet project will melt away now before the fire of his newly enhanced stature."
"And if not, I have other contingency plans for raising it even higher," Doriana said. "The right word in Palpatine's ear is all it will take."
"Yes," Sidious said. "Speaking of Palpatine, you'd best leave Barlok and return to your official business. I also want you to find a way to make yourself the Supreme Chancellor's personal liaison to Outbound Flight's final preparations."
"Easily done, my lord," Doriana assured him. "Palpatine is so tied up with other matters that he'll welcome the chance to pass this one onto my shoulders."
"Excellent," Sidious said. "You have done well, my friend. Contact me when you return to Coruscant, and we'll discuss the final details."
The image vanished, and Doriana keyed off the connection. A simpler man, he reflected, even a master of the Dark Side like Lord Tyranus, might have tried to eliminate C'baoth directly through a genuine assassination, utilizing a more potent attack from more competent conspirators.
But as Sidious himself had pointed out, Doriana was more subtle than that. After all, why simply dispose of a powerful troublemaker like Jorus C'baoth when you could dispose of himand as many other Jedi as he could talk into accompanying him on Outbound Flight?
Smiling to himself, Doriana began to disassemble his holo-projector. Jorus C'baoth, Jedi Master and potential threat to Darth Sidious's plan for the Republic, was dead.
He just didn't know it yet.
It had been a long, frustrating day at the Preparation Center, one more of an endless series of them stretching back to the beginning of time, and as Chas Uliar keyed open his apartment door he wondered yet again if all of this was ever going to be worth it.
He'd been fresh out of school when he'd been approached by Outbound Flight's recruiters, and in the excitement and optimism of youth had instantly signed up to go along. But now, after two years of ever-slowing preparations and ever-lengthening delays, the shine had begun to fade. The latest rumor was that the Senate Appropriations Committee had decided to scratch all the families off the voyage, which would essentially turn Outbound Flight into little more than an extended military reconnaissance mission.
Which would, of course, take away the one thing which had made this whole project unique. But then, what did the corrupt bureaucrats of Coruscant care about anything as trivial as history or glory or even a vision for the Republic's future?