The car had been riding along the side of the vast cave, but then leapt into the maelstrom of ChikatLik. The complex was dizzying even to one who lived in the fabled Jedi Temple. The driver floated through the maze as only one born to a planet could do, and Obi-Wan thought that Anakin might well have appreciated the little X’Ting’s facility.
Five minutes’ travel brought them to a darker, grimmer section, one set off from the main business districts. This was a place where reputable citizens strayed on only the most disreputable of business. Where in other parts of the city he saw only a few X’Ting per hundred citizens, here, finally, the insectile beings were plentiful.
The driver handed him a triangular holochip. “Trigger this when you want ride,” he said, and the door opened. Obi-Wan tipped Gritt handsomely and exited. The tattered little taxi cruised off, leaving Obi-Wan alone.
Following memorized instructions, Obi-Wan approached the door guarded by the two massive X’Ting guards. Females, no doubt. The males were smaller and more lethal, but the females were more intimidating to offworlders, who often failed to realize that much of the bulky body was mere egg sac.
“You wish—?” the larger of them asked in a surprisingly cultured voice.
He spoke a code word, then said, “I have an appointment with Trillot.” Not exactly the truth, but he knew that their contacts had warned the X’Ting gang lord to expect him.
“A minute,” the smaller said, and slipped back through the entrance, emerging a moment later to hold the door open. “Enter.”
Eyes measured him, not all of them respectful. A few were curious, wondering if he was typical of his kind, wondering if the Jedi were as strong as their supporters said, or as weak as the Separatists claimed.
The den was dark, and alien eyes glimmered at him from the darkness. No one guided him, as if they expected him to find his own way.
He could tell by the body language of the beings he encountered, their posture and expressions, which way through the maze Trillot lay. If this was some kind of a test, he intended to pass it with flying colors.
On every side of him wafted the smells and sounds and sights of an utterly corrupt habitat. Clearly, these were social dregs, yet … to be so close to the inner circle of the powerful Trillot, they had to have resources, if nothing other than Trillot’s trust. So Obi-Wan might as well consider this the gangster’s hive, a place the X’Ting kept for his own comfort, something that reminded him of his own grubhood, even if it demanded the destruction of other beings.
He recoiled at the thought, but kept his thoughts and feelings to himself.
At the end of the corridor was another door, and before this one stood a second pair of X’Ting bodyguards braced at attention. Males this time, and genuinely lethal. They opened the door as he approached.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the interior. Trillot sat perched on a tall cushion, puffing contentedly on a pipe of some kind, long thin vapor curls spiraling from slits in the side of her neck. The swollen thorax, ready to be filled with fertilized eggs, told Obi-Wan that Trillot had completed the swing from male to female.
“Jedi,” Trillot said, her faceted eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. “Welcome to my abode.”
“Mistress Trillot,” Obi-Wan said, and then bowed slightly, reciting a complex series of sounds in X’Ting.
Trillot’s eyes glittered. “You are very cultured for a human. Please. Come sit by my side.”
Obi-Wan did so as Trillot took several more puffs. “I would not insult a Jedi,” she said, “by publicly offering the fruit of fantazi.” The implication was obvious.
Kenobi smiled. “We have business,” he said. “Fantazi clouds the mind.”
Trillot nodded. “But also sharpens the senses.”
“We both know why I am here,” Obi-Wan said. “War sweeps across the galaxy. Cestus is not immune to its touch.”
“War … or peace,” Trillot said with a deep and evidently satisfying puff. “Either way, I make my profit.”
Bluff.
“Not if that war destroys Cestus’s industrial capacity. Then there are no workers to exploit. Then you suffer as well.”
Trillot nodded slowly, as if Obi-Wan had indeed made an important point. “I wish to avoid travail if that is at all possible.”
“I believe it is.”
“Then I will listen. What is it that I can do for you?”
Good. Avarice was a useful lever. “My friends on Coruscant say you have a finger on everything that happens here,” he said.
Trillot tittered. “How perceptive.”
Obi-Wan lowered his voice slightly. “I wish to know the secret codicils between the Families and the Confederacy.”
At that, Trillot seemed to be taken a bit aback. “Indeed? Such information would be hard-won.”
“I have resources.”
“Do you? I have resources as well. I would be loath to endanger them on such a mission.”
“I was told that if anyone could reveal the industrial system’s weakness, it would be you.”
Trillot inhaled deeply. A long, thin stream of smoke escaped her shallow throat-slits. “And if—that is to say if I was to share that knowledge, how might it benefit me and mine?”
“In order to keep the peace and keep these devices off the market, the Republic is prepared to offer a generous contract for droids. Your information is valuable in … favorably resolving my negotiations. I will give you advance notice of the order’s size and specifications.”
“And why would that interest me?”
Obi-Wan knew that they were equally aware of the stakes involved. “Because it would give you time to buy and hoard certain components, equipment, raw materials. I’m certain an enterprising lady such as yourself can see the potential.”
Trillot exhaled, and her face took on an arrangement that Obi-Wan believed was a smile. “You think like a criminal,” she said.
“One of my many failings.”
“I like that in a man,” Trillot said, leaning close enough for Obi-Wan to catch a whiff of pheromones. Possibly a seductive move among the X’Ting, but to Obi-Wan, Trillot smelled like a tannery.
“So?”
Trillot sighed. “So. Well, then. Yes, it is true. There is a weakness in the system, but only because it would kill those who tried to exploit it.”
Interesting. “Explain.”
“Radiation,” Trillot said. “It is said that beneath the industrial city of Clandes lies a juncture box where the landlines cross. Not all communications are wireless—not since the uprisings a century ago. These landlines can directly access the main terminal, with only minor safeguards. After reconfiguration, that entire area was designated unfit for habitation, and the workers moved out. With the safety regulations no longer so … stringent, they saved money on shielding. It would kill you in a few minutes … unless you had a class six Baktoid radiation suit.”
“Which I assume you have?”
“Let’s just say that a lady of my peculiar resources knows how to acquire such things.”
“And what might the price of such a wonder be?”
“Such suits are rare, now that the Baktoid factories are shut down,” Trillot said mildly. “What you wish done is singular. If and when you commit such an act, any who know of the suit’s sale would know to come looking for Trillot.”
“What price?”
“It will never happen … but let’s say half a million credits.”
Half a million. More than he planned to pay, but possible. Still, if he gave in too quickly, this gangster would lose respect for him. Future negotiations would be strained. “Absurd.”
Trillot might have been reading his mind. “Yes. Isn’t it?”
The two bantered and sparred for a few more minutes, and then Obi-Wan softened his stance. “So … through this terminal, assuming that the agent did not die of radiation poisoning, the production line could be shut down … or crashed?”
“It could happen, yes.” Trillot seemed de
lighted with herself.
“Even if I had half a million credits, I am not yet prepared to engage in sabotage against the Clandes factory,” he said. “Let us discuss other alternatives.”
“A question,” Trillot asked. “If that central computer were shut down, the entire economy goes … pfft. Not good for business, eh?”
“No,” Obi-Wan said, certain of his ground. “The luxury droids would stop. Low-end droids could continue manufacture under license.”
“Ah. Then Cestus would fall neatly into the Republic’s arms, and business can continue as before.”
“So,” Obi-Wan said, extending both hands palm forward in the manner of agreeable X’Tings. “We have a deal?”
“Details on the trade agreement?”
“That’s all for now. And inquiries concerning that suit.”
“It will be done.”
He touched palms with Trillot, and then, bowing, he turned and left.
Trillot waited a few moments, puffing again from the pipe. Smoke drifted from the flaps in her neck.
As if on cue, Ventress appeared. Her tattooed scalp seemed almost to glow in the dim light. She seemed thoughtful but not disturbed. “So,” she said. “Kenobi wants the notes of Count Dooku’s negotiations with the Five Families, as well as secret codicils between Cestus Cybernetics and the hive.”
Trillot blinked. “Does this disturb you?”
“No. It excites me.” She closed her eyes and smiled, lost in her own speculations. “Obi-Wan and I have an appointment.”
Trillot ceased to take pleasure from her draws, and coughed a bit, furious to have revealed her inner mood in such a gauche fashion. Her broodmates would have been ashamed. “What shall I do? If it is that important, then surely I should refuse to supply him.”
Ventress’s eyes rolled up and lost focus, as if seeking a distant vista. “No.”
“I can give him false information—” she tried again.
“No.” Ventress had focused again, and was even more certain this time. “He may have other sources. This may be nothing more than a test. If you fail it, he will never trust you again.” She paused a moment, and her eyes shivered side to side in their internal search for truth or clarity. “And,” she continued, “I think that before this is through, it will prove to be good that he trusts you.” She considered, and then the first smile creased those thin, pale lips. “Yes, I believe that that is true.”
29
Obi-Wan Kenobi slipped out of Trillot’s den. With every step it seemed as if layers of a toxic curtain were lifting from his mind.
Gritt Chippie was waiting for him even before he triggered the little chip he had been given. The taxi driver seemed a bit off-put.
“Sir Jedi,” he said. “I got a flash. Asked me to link you to another taxi.”
Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
“Don’t know who. Link you?”
This was interesting. Who would attempt such an unusual contact? “By all means.”
The X’Ting driver dithered over a fingerboard, and an indistinct face appeared. Not male or female—it was deliberately obscured for gender and species. The voice was masked as well. “I respectfully request the honored guest meet me at the Cleft Head for a cup of wake-tea and a bit of discussion. I believe he will find it to his benefit.” A map appeared.
“Where would this take us?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Im’grant section. Not bad, not good. Strange.” Chippie shrugged. “I know not say, sir.”
Obi-Wan checked over his recent actions. He didn’t recall anything unusually suspicious. So if it was a trap, why not stay their hand until something actually occurred? “Let’s go,” he said. But as they rose and flew away, Obi-Wan felt comforted by the weight and heft of the lightsaber at his side.
* * *
Obi-Wan entered the Cleft Head through a door that resembled a quartet of X’Ting hive cubicles. As he crossed the threshold, Obi-Wan heard a raucous scream. The mob of X’Ting and offworlders backed away, giving two combatants room.
Two young X’Ting males circled each other, and then one lunged. The other danced away, and both curled their abdomens: quarter-meter-long stingers emerged. Both male and female X’Ting had stingers, but those of the males were slightly longer, the poison more deadly. Their increased strength-to-weight ratios as they dumped their egg sacs made them far faster.
Their stingers stabbed at each other. Finally, one made a mistake, and the stinger plunged deep. The stricken X’Ting seemed paralyzed with fear even before the toxin took effect. Then he foamed, shuddered and collapsed, shaking. And then was still …
The bar’s patrons turned back to their drinks, as if this was a nightly occurance.
The Cleft Head wake-up house served a thousand stimulants from a hundred worlds, designed to help office workers burn the midnight wick without collapse. It was all legal, although Obi-Wan was certain that within its confines access to slightly less legal substances was easily arranged.
He chose a table that allowed him to watch the door and ordered a cup of Tatooine H’Kak bean tea. The fragrant orange-colored extract had hardly been delivered to his table before a bulky figure in an enveloping cloak slipped into the chair opposite him.
“G’Mai Duris,” he said, sipping. H’Kak beans were positively wizard at brushing away the heavy, noxious strands remaining from Trillot’s den. “I’d hoped it might be one of your emissaries, but dared not hope you’d come yourself.” He kept his voice low. Her face was hidden within the folds of her cowl, but he recognized her faceted eyes at once. If Duris wished to travel incognito among her constituents, he had to assume that she had good reason. Besides, another question needed answering. “How did you find me?”
“I have my own sources, my own spies,” she said. “And some report directly to me rather than to the council. Some in low places have found me trustworthy in the past. It was sheer chance that they picked you up entering Trillot’s lair.”
She cocked her head sideways, and although he could barely see her eyes, he knew they would be hooded with challenge. “I assume you did not go to Trillot in search of intoxication. May I ask your business?”
“Perhaps when we know each other a bit better,” he said, buying himself time.
“Perhaps.”
She laughed, and he thought its sound more genuine and unaffected than any she had made in her public mode. “This is ChikatLik’s immigrant section. They came during our boom days, and now many of them are trapped onplanet, without enough credits to get home. They’re more concerned with finding jobs or transport than listening to conversations. They don’t pay attention, Master Kenobi. At times, the best hiding place is in plain sight.”
“So, then. The Cleft Head bar, indeed.”
“I was hoping that you might sneak out. And that if you did, I might be able to meet with you.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Now that I understand your method, perhaps you can enlighten me as to your intent.”
“For the first time I can speak freely—” She paused. “Or almost freely, at any rate.”
He chuckled. “You have my attention.”
“Regardless of what you may think, Cestus’s Regency is a sham—governments come and go, but the Five Families who controlled the early droid and armor works—mining, fabrication, sales and distribution, research, and energy—actually control everything. I believe they favor the Confederacy.”
“You believe?”
She sighed. “I have no real proof. I am related to the hive’s royal house. My cousin Quill is royalty as well, but since he killed my mate, and stole hive council leadership”—she cast her faceted eyes downward—“I am no longer privy to the inner workings of the Five Families or the hive council. I no longer know if their decisions are made by vote, or if some one or two of them have taken power. No one knows who holds the ultimate power. No one can pierce the melded corporate veil.”
“Corporate veil?” Obi-Wan mused. “More of a family veil.”
&nb
sp; “True. No outsiders know the business of those meetings.”
“What of the planet’s other original inhabitants?”
“Its aboriginals?” She shrugged. “Most are dead and gone, or pushed to the Badlands. The spider folk were once strong, but I doubt there is a single intact clan left on the surface.”
The buzz of the Cleft Head rose, and then ebbed again, a current that washed over them in waves. “I am afraid. Master Jedi. I see no good way out of this.”
“Might they replace you as Regent?”
“No,” she said flatly. “I am Regent for life.” She lowered her head. “He would take the Regency himself, if that would not so baldly proclaim a conflict of interests. He controls the hive council, and is in turn controlled by the Five Families.”
“And what does this mean?”
“It means that the checks and balances that should protect the indigenous peoples are nonexistent. It means that the original contracts with the hive can be manipulated in any way profitable to the Families.”
This was ghastly. “And you cannot stand against him?”
“If I go against Quill, he will just challenge me, kill me, and replace me.” She paused. “As he did my mate Filian.”
“And you are afraid of him?”
“He is one of the hive’s most lethal fighters.” She shivered at the very thought.
“Why are you meeting with me?”
Her eyes flashed. “When I took office, I found a datapad left by one of my predecessors, a hundred fifty years ago. It spoke of another Jedi, named Yoda, I believe.”
Obi-Wan couldn’t resist a smile. Yoda? He didn’t recall hearing about the great Jedi Master on a planet named Cestus.
“… he was marooned here while escorting a prisoner, and did great service to the hive. My predecessor trusted the Jedi, so I trust you. I believe I can speak to you honestly, and receive honesty in return.”
“I will do what I can, so long as it does not compromise my mission.”
“It does not,” she assured him.
The Cestus Deception: Star Wars (Clone Wars): A Clone Wars Novel Page 16