“Brother,” Seefor said, “under the Kamino Accords I am compelled to warn you that your suggestion is not to Code.”
Forry glared. “You don’t do this,” he said. “Besides—” He gave an ugly laugh. “—the old man’s a coward. Probably a liar, too.”
Against Code? Seefor’s accusation struck Jangotat like a physical blow, but he didn’t allow himself to cower. Even the idea filled him with physical nausea. No clone had ever broken Code or disobeyed an instruction of any kind. He felt an energy wall slam down in his mind, and his every muscle trembled as he even contemplated the forbidden. “I believe him,” he said, and had to grit his teeth for a moment to stop them from clattering. “Ask yourselves: if you’d lost your honor, wouldn’t you do anything to regain it? Wouldn’t you want someone to give you that chance?” He knew that he had scored with that one: a clone commando had nothing if not his reputation. Seefor flinched in sympathetic pain at the very concept.
And yet at the same moment that he mentioned such a thing, he realized that he had drawn a line between himself and the others. There was something different about him, and they could feel it, but had yet to comment. By mentioning the unmentionable, however, he had given a focus to their instincts.
He was no longer completely one of them. He was something else, and his brothers were on guard.
“It is not Code, Jangotat,” Seefor said, and stared at him. He knew he could take it no farther.
Jangotat returned to his bedroll. He knew what he contemplated, and why. He knew it was forbidden but he believed, believed with everything inside him, that if the generals knew what he knew, they would approve of his actions.
And yet…
He would be breaking Code.
His chest muscles constricted, and he felt a cold sweat dampen his armpits. What was right? What was truly Code? Was it the letter, or was it doing what he believed his commanders would do if they had his information?
Jangotat wrestled with that for hours before he made up his mind and slipped out of his bedroll. He had almost made it back out to the open when Forry caught up with him.
“Where are you going?”
“You know I have to do this,” Jangotat said.
Forry nodded. “And you know I can’t let you.”
“Then stop me if you can,” Jangotat replied. All things being equal, Jangotat and Forry should have been roughly equivalent fighters.
But things were no longer equal. Jangotat was fighting for everything Forry fought for, plus just a little bit more.
Sheeka. Tonoté. Mithail. Tarl.
The Guides.
It’s not what a man fights with. It’s what he fights for.
The two moved toward each other, paused for an instant just as they reached critical distance, judging. In the next instant there followed an eye-baffling flurry of punches and kicks. Forry was stronger and faster…
But it didn’t make a difference. Jangotat saw more clearly now, more than he ever had in his life, as if the entire moment were frozen in invisible ice. He saw Forry’s patterned responses, the programmed blows and chops. Jangotat felt outside this somehow, watching the motion without being involved in it. Forry might as well have sat down and detailed his every intended motion in advance. Moving slowly, with greater calm than he had ever experienced in combat, Jangotat simply slid between Forry’s movements. As he strove to keep the balance between them he contracted his stance, and Jangotat’s natural flinch response moved his elbow into perfect position to clip his brother’s jaw.
Forry slid to the ground, and was still. Jangotat stood there for a moment, shocked. Was that what it felt like to be a Jedi? Was that even a fraction of how it felt?
Or was this just how it felt to be free? He didn’t know what door had been opened in his head, what training and…and…
And love had done for him.
He felt a deep excitement. He might be heading into death, but he was more alive than he had ever been, than any of his kind had ever been.
He could, he would, succeed. There was no other option.
He met with Thak Val Zsing and Resta by the speeder bikes. It took them only a few minutes to sabotage the other speeders—it would take his brothers an hour to fix them, by which time he would be long gone.
For fifty minutes they rode to the northwest. The air riffled his hair, and the new sun flared to his left as dawn breached the darkness. He enjoyed the solitude, the sense of being beyond it all. Of knowing, for the first time in his life, that he had chosen his fate.
A new, precious day. Perhaps his last.
He grinned ferociously. Best not waste a moment of it.
Fifteen kilometers north of Resta’s farm a lava tube gaped in the middle of a mud plain. That is where they entered, carrying with them knapsacks filled with ordnance. For ninety minutes they crawled through darkness, bruising and slicing their knees on the glassy surface. Thak Val Zsing led the way, and from time to time he called back to them. “The prison was to the east now, and we’re in one of the escape tunnels.” He laughed with self-mockery. “Escape tunnels. What a joke: the whole planet was a prison—there was nowhere to escape to. But the central computers say that the Five Family resort was built in one of the wings of the old prison after it was abandoned.”
They reached a larger section, crawling out into a cave tall enough for them to stand. More than tall enough: this was part of an old mine, with smaller shafts twisting off in all directions.
“This is as far as I know,” the old man said. “This is where my grandfather escaped.” Cestus Penitentiary’s deepest pits were now bunkers for the Five Families. A savage irony, that.
“Let’s go,” Resta said, and tried to shoulder her way ahead.
Jangotat stood in her path. “You must live,” he said.
“Got nothing live for. Lost mate. Lost farm.”
Jangotat shook his head. “What happened here, to your people, shouldn’t have happened. What you have done here will not go unnoticed. When this is over, file a report using the phrase A-Nine-Eight tac code twelve.” He held her eyes. “That means that you performed extraordinary service for me during official business. You are a friend of the Republic, and the Republic looks after its own.”
She glared at him, unwilling to believe. To trust that there was any way for her save revenge and death. “No. Go with you.”
“Someone must sing your hive’s song,” Jangotat said. “Find a new mate. Make strong children. Never stop fighting.”
She was so astonished that she didn’t react when Jangotat spun her and placed her in a sleeper hold. Resta struggled to free herself, and she was strong—stronger than most human males. But he had the right angle and position. No matter how she struggled, he hung on. She ran him back against a wall, but he hung on. A hundred different alien physiologies flashed through his mind, then he remembered the Geonosians. They were also insectile, and air strangles were considered worthless. But there were nerve clusters—
There, at the base of the skull. He disengaged one of his arms and leaned in with his elbow, pressing from both sides, gambling everything. Impact could prove fatal, but pressure alone…
Resta went limp and rolled over, unconscious.
Jangotat stared down at her, panting. What a fighter! What had it taken to sap the will of these people? “What are their men like?” he whispered to Thak Val Zsing.
“You don’t want to know,” Val Zsing replied.
Jangotat took a few moments to calm himself. Then Thak Val Zsing pointed out the last tunnel, and together they descended into darkness.
76
Another hour’s crawling brought him to the wall of the outer chamber. A swift scan revealed that the wall was only one-centimeter durasteel, and Jangotat knew that he could handle it. The armor-piercing mines were designed for use against battle droids, but they would work here as well. Pulling out two of the round, flat disks, Jangotat attached them to the wall with their adhesive bands and set the timer. He and Thak Val Zsi
ng had barely had time to retreat back around the bend when the sharply focused blast detonated with a clap that knocked both men onto their backs.
Dazed, Jangotat grabbed his rifle and rushed into the next room as red and yellow lights flashed warning. Through the smoke he glimpsed a bank of communications equipment and stacks of food supplies. He swiveled in time to glimpse a human and a Wroonian rushing into a dome-shaped durasteel bunker, slamming the door.
He got there too late, banging against the door with the butt of his rifle. The door was at least five centimeters thick. Nothing in his sack would get them through that.
The shelter hummed, vibrated, then settled down as the doors sealed shut.
“What now, star-boy?” Thak Val Zsing asked, coming up behind him.
“Let’s check the room out,” Jangotat said. “There might be something.”
The room was an atrium, a hothouse designed to fit in with the rest of the shelter. It was as dense as a rain forest, unlike any terrain Jangotat had seen on Cestus. They moved through it slowly, watching for any movement.
He turned to see the Jedi Killer coming for them. He did not think, he acted.
He remembered the JKs all too well. Their speed, power, and versatility were beyond intimidating. There was no time to think, little even to move. He managed to step backward as its tentacles reached for him, and barely heard Thak Val Zsing scream “Look out!” as the floor beneath him rippled. A disguised tentacle, reaching, changing colors for camouflage as it did!
Amazing. One of the tentacles touched him, and he felt the shock for but an instant as he leapt back. One instant was long enough to send the hair exploding away from his scalp, but he was able to trigger a rifle blast at close range, severing the tentacle.
Thak Val Zsing was firing from the side, but the energy bolts glanced harmlessly off the JK’s golden casing.
Val Zsing scrambled back screaming, just in time to avoid another tentacle. Jangotat threw himself to the rear, firing as he did, riding it out and rolling backward, coming to his feet in a single smooth motion, turning in the same motion, switching his rifle to maximal energy pulses.
Too fast!
The JK was a marvel, zigging this way and that, its narrow treads blurring far too quickly to track. Three shots, four. The rifle’s barrel pulsed white as its blasts furrowed walls and floor, always missing the skittering machine. The rifle’s power core was overheating, about to shut down. Jangotat gave ground, leaping back the way they had come.
Thak Val Zsing was already crouching there in the shadows, trembling and silent. The JK moved a meter toward them, then stopped and floated backward. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be lured out of position.
“We can’t stop it!” Thak Val Zsing said, shaking.
Jangotat grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him hard. “Get yourself together, man! Thousands will die if that cruiser fires.”
But whatever emotional bones Thak Val Zsing had fractured back in the caves were still unable to carry the weight of his fear. Thak Val Zsing retreated.
Jangotat cursed and made a decision. Perhaps he couldn’t stop the thing with gun blasts. Let’s see what bringing down the ceiling on it will do.
He jumped through the hole, rolling and blasting at the ceiling as he did. Chunks of rock fell massively, glancing off the duracrete shelter dome and burying the JK, almost killing Jangotat at the same time. He lay gasping, leg shattered, as the rock began to roll away and the JK emerged.
“Thak Val Zsing!” he screamed as the thing came toward him. “Blast you, Val Zsing! Coward!” His frustration was complete, as was his failure.
The JK pulled him close, until he was almost touching it. It shone a beam of light into his eyes, perhaps attempting to match a retinal scan to its data bank. Then, unable to identify, it sent a jolt out along its tentacles.
Jangotat fell onto his side. Crackling blue flames danced up and down his body. He could see them. Feel them. Hear them.
What he couldn’t do was move. At all.
“Thak Val Zsing! Coward!”
The former leader of Desert Wind was beyond fear, beyond shame. There are moments that define a human being, and once those moments occur it is impossible to undo them.
But sometimes, one could create a new fate.
Val Zsing peeled the adhesive off the mounting strip and slapped one of the armor-piercing mines to his chest. He had observed Jangotat, and was familiar enough with explosives to figure out the directions.
He entered the shelter and went straight at the droid. Its arms grabbed him so swiftly that he barely had time to trigger the timer.
The JK hesitated for a moment, as if trying to figure out why Thak Val Zsing hadn’t attempted to escape. Come on. A little closer…It drew him in, to within a meter, and a tentacle rose to face level and flashed a light in his eyes.
Now, he thought. Let it be now.
Thak Val Zsing heard a last sound. Ding. Light flared, dwindled swiftly to black, and then there was nothing at all.
The detonation sent a wave of energy through the room, jolting Jangotat’s nervous system. The little blue crackles rippling over his body died out, shaking him out of paralysis. Groggily, he checked his leg: broken, punctuated with shrapnel. A few bits of cloth told him what had happened to his companion.
So. No coward after all, Thak Val Zsing.
The JK was spattered with blood and dust, sooty, but began to right itself, its case undented. The thing was indestructible. A mixed curse: its case had shielded him from the blast.
Jangotat groaned. It was over. There was no hope after all…
But then the JK began to thrash about. As Jangotat watched in stunned amazement, it pushed itself upright, then fell over, then spun in a circle, stood, and shook, making an ear-grating keening sound.
And suddenly Jangotat guessed the truth. What a great joke! The best ever. He could only hope that he could tell it to someone, that his companions might one day laugh at the big freaking joke the whole business on Cestus had become. Jangotat laughed hysterically as he took a painful glance over at the bunker door. Nothing. The Five Family executives were sealed safely inside.
No one is safe, he snarled. Time for a little lesson.
Would this be right? Wrong? These people had sentenced an entire planet to death, and there was no one to stop them.
The JK ignored him, running back and forth and then banging itself into a corner, shuddering and bumping back and forth.
Jangotat thought that that was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
He managed to drag himself over to the shelter door, wedging it shut with the blaster rifle. There. The weapon was good for something after all.
Now he couldn’t get in, but neither could they escape.
Pain fogged his mind. What were the coordinates? He couldn’t remember. What a joke. What an enormous joke. Then he remembered: why, the coordinates were him. He was the coordinate.
He fished for his comlink and pulled it out…smashed and useless.
Then he began laughing at himself again. This was a fully stocked shelter, from which the Five Families had evidently thought to ride out any revolt or attack. Their own communications gear would work just fine.
On board the Nexu, the communications tech, a veteran named CT-9/85, detected a signal. “Sir,” he said to the officer in charge. “We have an ARC targeting code coming in over the radio, priority frequency.”
Commander Baraka crossed to the comm station, face suddenly intent. “And the message?”
“To change initial bombardment coordinates to…somewhere a little east of Kibo Lake. Then to stand by for further instructions.”
“Does this look legitimate?”
“One hundred percent. Trooper’s calling the load in right on top of himself. Can’t get more serious than that.”
Baraka snorted his discomfort. What kind of brainless machines were these creatures? “What is that location?”
“We show it as a blip on the power grid. Mi
ght be some kind of secret base.”
“Then let’s get on with it,” Baraka said, and gave the order.
Jangotat lay half across one of the chairs in the atrium, his shattered leg splaying out to the side. He busied himself with another message for ten minutes, and hit the transmission button just seconds before the bunker began to hum and shake.
The entire time Jangotat waited, he was surprised to find himself humming a tune.
One, one, chitliks basking in the sun.
Two, two, chitlik kista in the stew.
Three, three, leave a little bit for me…
What was the name of that tune? When had he learned it? Oh, yes: he remembered that he had heard Tarl and Mithail and sweet little Tonoté singing it, in the Zantay Hills. He hoped they would be safe.
The next explosion was shattering, and very close.
“From water we’re born, in fire we die,” he whispered. “We seed the stars.”
77
Moments after the Nexu released the full fury of her primary energy weapons, the dome above the mysterious target had become a flame-scarred concavity. The groundquake fault that should have destroyed Clandes instead sent a minor tremor throughout the Kibo Plateau. There were no fatalities and few injuries, although the shock was measured as far south as Barrens. In Clandes a few walls cracked and alarms sounded citywide. To the north, toward ChikatLik, there was another, more immediate effect.
The underground lake’s surface reflected flashes of red and yellow lightning as the energy field confining Obi-Wan and Kit Fisto lessened for an instant. Kit felt pain and fire as he lunged through, his lightsaber absorbing enough of the energy to keep the shield from frying him. It snapped back on swiftly enough to singe Kit’s left heel as the Nautolan jumped free.
The protocol droid barked an order, and all of Ventress’s allies laid their weapons down.
“Surely they’re not surrendering,” Kit said.
Ventress laughed. “By no means. I told them they don’t stand a chance against you with blasters.”
Star Wars®: The Cestus Deception Page 34