The Cestus Deception: Star Wars (Clone Wars): A Clone Wars Novel

by Steven Barnes

  “Then we are just two new friends sharing a quiet hour, and a bit of H’Kak.”

  She took a deep breath. “Thank you. You and I walk through a hall of mirrors, Obi-Wan. Count Dooku’s order will force my people to choose between economic collapse and military defeat. I believe those who placed the orders knew it … and perhaps even hoped for such a situation.”

  Reasonable. “For what purpose?”

  “I do not know. I fear Cestus is a pawn in a larger, more dangerous game.”

  Obi-Wan hunched closer. “What manner of game?”

  “I do not know. I say only that I sense the hand of a master games player, but do not know the end.”

  He considered what she had said so far, and realized that there was nothing there that he could not have learned on his own. Was she attempting to manipulate him, or could he trust his Jedi intuition? The Clone Wars had raged for some time now. Wouldn’t G’Mai know more than this? She would have an idea what the larger game was.

  A game that Obi-Wan, for all of his experience and power, was ill prepared to play.

  “It is almost as if a stalemate is actually desired,” she said. “I cannot make more sense of it all than that.”

  “Why are you telling me these things?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. Perhaps because it is a lonely knowledge. In sharing it, I become a bit less isolated.”

  If she spoke the truth, then part of her reason for speaking to him was that, being from offplanet, she knew she could trust him as she could no one enmeshed in Cestus’s power structure. If she could not see any means out of the current dilemma, then this was a plea for him to unravel a knot centuries in the making. He was not here for this! He was here for one reason and one reason only, to keep Cestus from producing and exporting more JK droids.

  The Cleft Head cantina was filled wall-to-wall with stimulant-seeking customers, and it was not difficult for Ventress to blend in, again using a portion of her Force energy to shield herself from Obi-Wan’s keen senses. He was one of the most powerful Jedi she had ever met. She believed herself stronger, but was not so certain as she had once been.

  Nevertheless, his strength made the taste of her inevitable victory all the sweeter.

  Ventress blended seamlessly into Cleft Head’s multispecies milieu, observing without being observed. She enjoyed this risky game, shielding herself from Obi-Wan, gliding close until she could feel his awareness flutter, then backing away again, playing with the edge of his perceptions.

  The moment was so dangerous that it filled her senses, was more potent than any fleshly pleasure or drug could ever be. This was danger, in its rawest sense. To play with the senses of a master opponent tested the limits of her emotions, emotions that she kept under tight control. It was … intoxicating, yes, that was the word.

  There. She came closer for a moment, allowed a bit more of her attention to flirt with the exterior shell of his aura, which flickered in her sight like a field of soft small lights.

  In one sense, there was little risk: she could watch him, would know if he was beginning to focus his attention on the exterior and away from his conversation, and had every confidence in her ability to withdraw before he became aware.

  Delicious.

  “Shhh,” she whispered, so softly that she could not actually hear her own words. “So close. So easy. He doesn’t even know you exist.” A sharp uptake of breath. “No. No, there—he almost sensed something, but you were gone before he noticed. He will scan. He will see nothing. You are nothing.”

  She could see that there was some thread of communication growing between Obi-Wan and Duris. Well, it didn’t matter.

  Whatever he tried, Ventress stood ready. Whatever his plan, she was prepared to counter it. In fact, whatever it was the two of them had in mind, she would use it to lure him into her trap. This time, there would be no escape.

  She had yet to meet with the Five Families, but could still use them. Bait, that was the approach. She would have tracking and listening devices attached to their vehicles and persons. They would be followed, their actions and words recorded.

  And somewhere in the process, she would trap Kenobi. She could feel it. This was the planet, this was the time.

  Obi-Wan Kenobi would be hers.

  Delicious.

  Twice since landing on this planet, Obi-Wan had felt … something. Not quite enough to fully bring him to attention. Certainly not enough to clearly identify. Comprehension eluded him, as if he were groping for an object just out of reach. But although none of his senses could touch such a phantom object directly, the mere withdrawal left ripples in water … or in the air. And now there was a ripple in the Force. A not-presence. Something withdrawn. Something missing.

  He did not feel it consciously. In fact, the more consciously he searched, the more it slipped away, as if he had imagined the entire thing. So he concentrated on the conversation with G’Mai, leaving only the slightest sliver of attention, a merest mote, to scan the surroundings, searching not for a presence, but another … lack of presence. Yes. Another sense of withdrawal.

  It was too small to integrate itself into his consciousness at the moment. Not until later, in the depth of his Jedi meditations, might this small trap bear fruit. But he could wait.

  30

  For a dozen generations the leaders of the Five Families had ruled as if by divine privilege. So long as ore flowed to the foundries, and those foundries fed the factories creating droids and armor, channeling credits to Cestus coffers, that power might last for generations more.

  The trappings of royalty provided what the actuality did not: a lavish wealth of art, fine subtle scents, and furnishings that might have done credit to any office in the Republic. If Cestus could not come to civilization, civilization had indeed come to Cestus.

  At the moment, however, some of the conversation in the throne room was far from polite. For hours now the arguments had raged, and although on the surface the words used were polite, there was no mistaking the fierceness beneath them.

  “Every event can have multiple meanings as well as consequences,” said Llitishi, whose family had sprung from the daughter of an ore miner and the son of a murderer.

  “I am aware of this,” Duris said.

  Quill, the room’s only other X’Ting, stood. “The hive is upset that the Republic Senate has declared planets have no right of secession.”

  The Five Family leaders were arrayed in a semicircle about Duris’s throne. In theory, the forces they represented were no more powerful than hers. In practice, of course, Duris was almost completely under their control.

  “They are not fools,” Duris said. “If Palpatine interferes with our right to commerce, it will drive more planets away.”

  Quill bore in. “If the Republic offers violence as a means of persuasion, the situation worsens.”

  Duris sighed, and remained silent as her esteemed guest spoke. It had been a week now, and as Obi-Wan presented his case to yet another group of the Five Families’ representatives and barristers, she began to despair that a true consensus would ever be reached.

  “I stand before you with a fair and just offer,” Obi-Wan said. “We can stop the Gabonna crystal blockade and advance funds to purchase two thousand units of your class JL and JK droids.”

  G’Mai paused. This offer was new. She knew, of course, that Obi-Wan had been communicating with his Coruscant masters. In fact, some of those communications had already been intercepted and decrypted.

  The X’Ting was similarly taken aback. “That might …,” he said, then emphasized, “might be enough to secure our market position.”

  Debbikin nodded. “I am willing to believe that this Jedi speaks honorably.”

  Obi-Wan inclined his head. “A fact noted and appreciated.”

  Lady Por’Ten’s nephew raised his skeletal hand, as if warding off expectations of easy settlement. “But even this offer is risky. The cost of the war mounts. Taxes soar. The central government offe
rs payment in credit bonds, to be redeemed at a later time. Such bonds can be traded for goods, but usually at a lower rate than face value …”

  Obi-Wan had kept his voice and manner even, but he found the entire discussion dreadful, dull, and exasperating. Time was short, and there was a limit to the tricks he could pull, a limit to the negotiating room extended him by the Supreme Chancellor.

  And if he ran out of maneuvering room … he shuddered to think of the cost. Perhaps sensing his mood, Snoil bent down and whispered to him. “Time is running out. This is more and more troubling: if the Republic wins, the rebellious planets will face a heavy punishment for their attempt to leave. But if the Republic loses, then planets belonging to the Republic will carry the tax burden.”

  Obi-Wan felt the patch of cold behind his left ear expand. The stress level was climbing intolerably. “My cephalopodan friend, you are giving me a headache. You, and the sense that Duris may be correct.”

  “In what way?” Snoil asked.

  The Five Family executives were so busy arguing with each other that for the moment, no one seemed focused on them. “This may all be misdirection,” he said. “I fear that lack of clarity will haunt me yet.”

  Duris raised both primary and secondary hands, requesting quiet. “We have an obligation to conduct these negotiations with good faith. I believe my honored associates hold the financial welfare of Cestus Cybernetics closely to heart, as they should. I represent the planet of Cestus, with all its citizens, and the hive, and its interests. Cestus Cybernetics could conceivably move to another planet, whereas this is our only home. Save the squabbling for another time. Our survival is at stake.”

  There was stunned silence for a moment, and then the discussion began anew, this time with a less argumentative tone.

  After the hours of negotiation were past, the Jedi and the barrister returned to their lodgings. The other members of the Five Families packed their docufiles and left, but Quill approached Duris.

  “You have blocked me for the last time,” he said, seething. “I have spent a lifetime arranging a deal just such as this, and I will not tolerate your interference. Appear before the council tonight. You may end your own life, or you can go to the sand. Those are your only choices.”

  He leaned closer. “Personally, I hope you choose to fight. It would be good to kill you, as I did your mate. He died begging. I would like to hear those same words from you, smell your surrender.”

  Quill paused. “Then, of course, I will kill you.”

  31

  In the dead of night, Trillot’s people delivered the documents Obi-Wan had requested. Between those and the official records, Snoil had access to enough information to keep a research staff busy for years.

  They didn’t have years.

  He absorbed, scanned, noted, summoned up abstracts, and worked well into the night. As far as Obi-Wan could determine, the Vippit hadn’t slept since they arrived. Because he was uncertain of Vippit physiology, he wasn’t sure whether this was exceptional. Still, he had grown more and more concerned until the hour when an exhausted Snoil informed Obi-Wan that he was ready for sleep.

  Snoil crawled into his bedroom and was not seen again for ten hours, when he appeared in the doorway with an enormous smile splitting his face.

  “Doolb?” Obi-Wan asked.

  Snoil was radiant. “Obi-Wan!” he called. “Obi-Wan! While I slept, the two halves of my brain talked to each other. I’ve found it!”

  “Found what?” he asked.

  “Look here,” he said, feverish with excitement. “In this document, executives of the Cestus Cybernetics boast about the fact that the land was purchased with synthstones. They actually laugh at the ignorant aboriginals.”

  Venality. Offensive in all its forms. “And?”

  “Technically, synthstones represent counterfeit money.” Snoil’s eyes gleamed. “Follow me here, Obi-Wan. Cestus Cybernetics was a licensed subsidiary of the prison. The prison was constructed and operated under a Republic contract.”

  “Yes? And?” He still couldn’t see where this was leading.

  “Obi-Wan,” Snoil said in exasperation, “Cestus Cybernetics was at that point a representative of the Republic, held to the same standards as any ambassador. A purchase made with counterfeit currency is no purchase at all. This nullifies the original sale. The land beneath every factory on Cestus still belongs to the hive!”

  Obi-Wan’s head spun. If this information got out, the Five Families were finished. Coruscant would take control of the situation, and only the hive would profit. Great for X’Ting, but if the economy crashed, the water and food shortages might kill millions. So it was a dreadful, last-minute leverage, barely better than an all-out bombardment.

  But it was better …

  32

  There was a knock on the door. Chippie the driver stood in the entrance, his secondary hands extending a datadisk. “Client say play this.”

  Obi-Wan inserted the disk in his astromech, and waited a moment as the image field was generated.

  G’Mai Duris appeared in the air before them. “Things have come to a head,” she said, “and my leadership of the hive council is under attack. There is no one else I can trust, and I ask that you come to my quarters, where we can speak in greater privacy. My condition is dire.”

  Duris kept an apartment in the penthouse section of ChikatLik. A servant admitted Obi-Wan to the luxurious accommodations.

  The inside of her apartment was a blend of technology and traditional X’Ting “chewed duracrete” architecture.

  Obi-Wan followed Duris into her kitchen. There, a variety of glowing lights were illuminating a beautiful little garden of various mushrooms and fungi. It took his breath away. This was master-level skill, a lifetime’s education in creating a miniature fungus forest.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “It is our medicine and cuisine, our meditation and entertainment,” Duris said. “Each family has its own mushroom forest, a balance of different species that has been passed through the line for thousands of years.”

  G’Mai Duris took a twist here, a pinch there, and as Obi-Wan watched put the finishing touches on a meal that seemed created of a hundred different dishes using fungi of varying texture in various ways. Her private forest provided the spice and garnish. Larger amounts of a heavier, meatier fungus were added from a special locker. The aromas were growing almost intoxicatingly delicious when she said, “I am being forced to fight Quill tonight. I’ve heard of the Jedi—you are said to be the greatest fighters in the galaxy. Can you teach me to fight?”

  Obi-Wan bowed his head. “I am sorry. There is no time.” He considered.

  She kept preparing, but her primary and secondary hands were starting to shake.

  “Is it possible that you might have a second?” he asked. “A champion?”

  “It is not done,” she said sadly. “I had hoped this day would never arrive. So. I knew it was a foolish hope,” she added. “Still, I had to try. Would you stay, please, and dine with me? Please?”

  She was shaking so piteously that he couldn’t deny her.

  She served him what she called her “death meal.” A last ritual act. As with every official motion and word, her actions were perfect. Her motions were precise, elegant, controlled.

  He asked her questions about the hive, and the rituals.

  She kept glancing at the chrono, and he knew her time was drawing near.

  “I cannot face Quill in the arena, just to be slaughtered publicly. I am afraid of what I might do. I might beg and disgrace my lineage. Better for me to die tonight. In my fungus forest are the plants I need to end my life.” She smiled wanly. “There is a saying among my people: Death is darkness. The children are safe. It means to have courage.”

  So things had gone that far. He was appalled that her conversation could have taken such a lethally casual tone.

  A thought occurred to him. “What happens if both you and Quill die?” he asked.

  “Th
en the council would be free to make its own decisions. Without Quill, I believe they would be more reasonable.”

  “Then I have the answer for you,” Obi-Wan said. “The answer is in your death meal.”

  “What?”

  “Listen to me,” he said, and bent close. “I have the answer, if you have the courage.”

  Together they took a turbolift down into the depths of the city, below the sections where offworlders lived and worked and thought themselves the owners of a captive world. Down into the oldest sections they went. There, some thousands of X’Ting still lived in something approximating a community.

  The caves had been formed by water seepage, not volcanic activity. The walls had been textured with the familiar creases of hive-style chewed duracrete. Here, below, they did things in the old ways.

  At the hive council table sat twelve ancient X’Ting, one for each of the planet’s hives. How powerful and regal they must have seemed once. Now, their hives broken and scattered, they clung to mere fragments of their former glory. Despite their daily humiliations, the twelve faced their Regent and her offworlder companion with dignity.

  Quill doffed his robe, baring his powerful thorax. “So you decided not to take your life,” he grinned. “Good. I want the entire council to smell the stench as you die.”

  Duris trembled so badly she could barely remove her cloak, and almost dropped it as she handed it to Obi-Wan. “Courage,” he said softly. “Death is darkness. The children will be safe.”

  “I have no children,” she whispered. It was almost a whimper.

  “Every soul on this planet is in your hands,” he said. “They are all your children.”

  G’Mai Duris nodded.

  Their arena was a circle of groomed sand twenty meters in diameter. Radiating contempt, Quill began as Duris expected, strutting and boasting. He made short, lightning stinger thrusts, and instead of responding with parry or flight, Duris closed her eyes, folding together the fingers of her primary and secondary hands.