Star Wars®: The Cestus Deception

by Steven Barnes

  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 delighted 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 Chipple 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.” Chipple 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 unaffect
ed 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.”

  “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.

  “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.”