by Greg Bear
He could not forget the droids that had stood around like sticks on Naboo, slow to think, slow to fire, centrally controlled by their organic idiot counterparts. The droids that had essentially brought down the Trade Federation.
However much Sienar tried to muster enthusiasm for his tools, he could not stop that intellectual itch that told him he was being set up. He just could not figure out why he was being set up. Who would benefit from the failure of this mission?
The time was approaching-if time could be called any such thing on a ship hurtling above time-when he would have to meet with his appointed "assistant," the Blood Carver, Ke Daiv. Ke Daiv gave him the creeps, but at least he seemed intelligent and, despite his failure against the Jedi, competent enough. Strangely, as Sienar got up from his chair and paced his spacious and well-appointed cabin, he was not disturbed by the possibility that Ke Daiv was the one assigned to execute him should he fail.
He needed more armor, and he needed an ally whose motives he understood and could at least partially trust.
He drew himself up. It was time to probe Ke Daiv's armor. He would do it ahead of schedule, and while they were still incommunicado in hyperspace.
That would require some preparation.
He pulled a small box from his locked and coded luggage case and examined it in a bright light that descended from the ceiling at the touch of a button. A small table and set of tools rose from the floor before the closed forward- facing port that filled most of a wall in the commander's sitting room.
The tools on the table he had requisitioned from ship's stores the day before. His fingers were less than steady, but the work of preparing the box was not exceptionally delicate.
One of the reasons he had little faith in droids was that he had long ago created ways to subvert them. For reasons of his own-and because he had always been convinced battle droids would fail on their own-he had never marketed these items.
Inside the box was a custom droid verbobrain of his own design, carrying his own programs.
He fingered a communications button, and an image of Cap tain Kett flickered to low-resolution "life" before him. He could see Kett, but Kett could not see him.
"Send me a Baktoid model E-5, fully operational and armed, to my quarters." Baktoid Combat Automata had designed and manufactured these heavy, unwieldy droids as Trade Federation replacements after Naboo, before assimilation into the Republic. He would have preferred a lighter model, but the E-5s had more than enough power and their motivators were quite good. They were, in Sienar's opinion, the best of a mediocre lot, their greatest weakness being their lack of intelligence. Their verbobrains were as slow as any tank's. But then, that is what Baktoid specialized in: transports and tanks.
Sienar knew the chief designer well. The dunderhead just loved tanks.
He opened the box, removed the verbobrain, and inserted a new programming cylinder into a vacant slot. Immediately, the spinner within the unit began to whir and seek data from its radiance of inputs.
With this, Sienar believed he could make an E-5 dance like a female Twi'lek.
And with the modified E-5 a fixture in his quarters, he would meet with Ke Daiv, and tell him a thing or two about the people-the humans-he was working for.
Chapter 23
Thecrowd had parted in silence to let Obi-Wan and Anakin through.Theywalked across the courtyardalone.Sheekla Farrsheld back and watched them approach the massive stone andlamina door. The door swung wide. Beyond layagreat, openspherical chamber, like the inside of a ball withits topcut away. Late-morning sun moved in a brilliantoblong across the rear of the chamber, which crawled with thousands ofliving things: spike-covered balls a little smaller than a human head.
Obi-Wanobservedthis motion with some concern.Anakin, however, looked upon the thousands of thorny spheroidswith a smile.
"These will grow to become our ship," he whispered to Obi- Wan.
"We don't know that yet," Obi-Wan said.
"A Jedi can feel his destiny, can't he?" Anakin asked.
"AfullytrainedJedi may rely onsuchfeelings,but changes in the Force can deceive an apprentice."
Anakinran ahead, and Obi-Wan broke into a trottokeep up. The boy held out his arms as if in welcome.
Acrossthewidechamber, everythorn-coveredorganism stoppeditsrustling motion. Except for amorningbreeze lazing down from the opening to the sky, silence filledthe room.
"They're seed-partners!" Anakin shouted.
Thedoor behind them closed noiselessly. They werealone withthe seed-partners, if that was what they were. Obi-Wan felt it best to keep an open mind, but it was obvious Anakin had no doubts whatsoever.
"Whatareyou waiting for?" the boy shouted.Hisvoice didnotecho-the thick carpet of spikeballsabsorbedall sound.
"Weshould let them take the initiative," Obi-Wan advised softly.
Anakinscowled impatiently. Suddenly, hewasatwelve- year-oldboy, nothing more. He showed nothing of thethree years of training in the Temple. Obi-Wan placed his handon Anakin'sshoulders and felt the tension in theboy'sbody andlimbs,likea young animal, totallyimpenetrableto suggestion.
The dropping away from his Padawan of every aspect of Obi- Wan'steaching dismayed him for a moment. It was asifhe stoodbehind a totally different child than the one Qui-Gon had thought so special.
Anakin spoke, his words barely audible.
Then, louder, "I'm ready."
Onlynowdid Obi-Wan catch on, and the hair on hisneck bristledinawayit had not foryears,sincehehad encounteredand defeated, though just barely,thestrange red-and-blackSith with the double-bladedredlightsaber, Darth Maul, the Sith who had mortally wounded Qui-Gon.
The boyhadtotallydampedallextraneouspersonal vibrations. He had become quiet in the Force in awayObi- Wan still foundexceptionallydifficult,though not impossible,andthe boy had done this infractionsofa second.
Withtheswift and native genius of a child, Anakinhad made himself into a quiet antenna listening to the creatures within the sphere.
Andthespikeballs, in turn, equally quiet, listenedto both of these potential new clients with all the openness of a different variety of childhood.
"They want something from us," Obi-Wan suggested.
Anakinshookhishead. The apprenticewasdisagreeing withthemaster,notfor thefirsttimeand,Obi-Wan suspected, not by a long shot for the last.
"We're not what they expected," Obi-Wan said.
Anakin nodded.
Twoofthebristling spheres disengaged midwayupthe wallofthechamber and clambered overtheircompanions untiltheycame to the clearing on the bowl of thefloor, theemptyspace surrounding the two humans. The spikeballs rolledslowly,in a wavering path, untiltheywerejust centimeters from the boy's feet.
More spikeballsdisengagedandfollowed.Ina few moments,Anakin and Obi-Wan were surrounded by tenofthe milling seed-partners, each making small clicking noises and producing a rich, flowery smell.
"Theyapprove,"Anakinsaid, glancingathismaster. "Theysensewe'renotafraid." Withintheboy'seyes, enthusiasm had been tempered by a new caution. "But…if they approve, it means a real commitment, doesn't it?"
"I presume," Obi-Wan said.
"For them, it's got to be serious."
"Perhaps."
Thetenspikeballs drew back and stopped theirrestless motion.The air was rich with their scent, now tangy,like breeze from a salty sea.
"Iwish Sheekla had told us more," Anakin said, hiseyes darting around the chamber.
Theatmospherewas thick and damp, as ifastormwere near.
Thespikeballsbegan to vibrate onthefloor.Obi-Wan lookedup to the rim of the chamber wall and saw manymore descending.Thepurposefuldescentquicklyturnedinto frenzied dropping. The carpet of seed-partners unraveledas dozens,then hundreds of the thorny spheres broke freeand fellto collide with their companions in the bottom ofthe bowl. Thespikeballsbounced,whistled,clicked, and released a nose-cloying cloud of electric-flowery scent.
"They'reall going to drop!" Anakin shouted, andturned, buttherewasnowhereto run. Hestoodstrai
ght,then crouched and reached for Obi-Wan. "This is going to bebad! But whatever you do, don't be afraid!"
Obi-Waninstinctivelyreached forhislightsaber,but thatwould have been useless. All they could dowasstand back-to-back and cover their faces as every spikeball in the chamberpoured down onto the floor in a thorny cascade.In seconds, Anakin and Obi-Wan were awash in the deluge, bumped andbattered mercilessly. They pushed out with theirhands tokeep their faces clear. But the torrent pressed from all sides,rising over their heads and slammingthebacksof theirhandsagainsttheir lips andnoses.Fragmentsof spikeball shells flew into the air, and a cloud of dust rose from the churning heap.
They could not move.
In seconds, they could not even breathe.
Chapter 24
I have great respect for the culture of the Blood Carvers," Raith Sienar told the tall, quiet, golden figure that stood in the anteroom to the commander's quarters. He could hear Ke Daiv's slow, soft breathing and the steady click-click of his long black nails on one hand, knocking together like wooden chimes in a breeze.
"Why did you bring me here?" Ke Daiv asked after a mo ment. "It is early in the mission."
"So insolent!"
"It is my way. I serve and obey, also in my way."
"I see. Please, make yourself comfortable." Raith stood back and gestured toward the sitting room.
Ke Daiv moved half a step, then hesitated and bowed slightly. "I am not worthy."
"If I say you are worthy, then you are worthy," Sienar told the young Blood Carver, with just the right measure of sternness.
Ke Daiv bowed again and walked into the viewing room. The port hatches were still closed. The navigator droid had predicted another four or five hours in hyperspace before they emerged into realspace.
"Please, sit" Sienar urged again. He wished to hold his command voice in reserve. He sensed Ke Daiv would be more susceptible in due time, after he learned a few things about his situation-and about Raith Sienar.
Ke Daiv gentry bent his triple joints and knelt by the crystal-top table, rather than sit on the divan.
"Have you been treated well aboard the Admiral Korvin?" Sienar asked.
Ke Daiv said nothing.
"I am concerned with your well-being," Sienar said.
"I am fed and left alone in small quarters reserved for me. As I am not part of the crew, they stay away, and that is good."
"I see. Something of a wall there, hm?"
"No more so than on Coruscant. My people are few in that part of the galaxy. We have yet to make our mark."
"Of course. I, personally, admire your people, and I hope we can exchange information useful to both of us," Sienar said.
Ke Daiv turned his head, and his face formed that disconcerting blade shape as his wide nose flaps came together. He turned slowly to look at the E-5 droid hulking in one corner. The droid rotated its wide, flat head in their direction, jewel-red eyes glowing like coals, and adjusted its stance to face the Blood Carver directly.
"Do you believe all that you've been told about this mission?" Sienar said.
Ke Daiv shifted one eye toward him, but kept the other on the E-5. "I have been told little. I know that you do not trust me."
"We're equal in that regard," Sienar said. "And in no other. I am still commander. I am your leader."
"Why remind me if you are so certain?" Ke Daiv asked bluntly.
Sienar smiled and held out his hands in admiration. "Perhaps we are equal in other ways. You have doubts, and I have doubts. You know little or nothing about me, or what I hold in reserve."
Ke Daiv's joints cracked softly, and he looked away from the E-5. The droid did not frighten him. "What do you wish to know?"
"I understand you have a contract with Tarkin." "You cannot understand what you do not know, and you cannot know this."
"A little respect," Sienar suggested in a soft rumble. "Commander," Ke Daiv added with another cracking of his arm joints.
"Tell me about your arrangement."
"I do not mind dying. I am in disgrace with my family, and death is not feared."
"I have no intention of killing you, or of letting you die," Sienar said. "The droid is here in case you have instructions to kill me. It's completely under my control."
"Why would anybody wish to kill you? You are commander." "Such insolence!" Sienar said with a tsk-tsk. "Almost ad mirable. Please, I'll ask, and you'll answer." "You show weakness in your phrases." "No, I show politeness, and that is my culture and my upbringing, and you show ignorance about me, and that is a true weakness, Ke Daiv."
Ke Daiv fell silent again and faced the closed port.
"You have other weaknesses. Your contract with Tarkin is all you deserve, because you failed to kill a Jedi."
"Two Jedi," Ke Daiv corrected.
"An understandable lapse, but still, a disgrace to your superiors and, I presume, your clan. Do you hope to make up for this disgrace by succeeding in this mission?"
"I always hope for success."
Sienar nodded. "Killing Jedi is a mug's game, Ke Daiv. They are strong and they have honor, and they respect all peoples and their ways. Why would you want to kill them?"
"I have no honor in my family, and that is all I may say," Ke Daiv told him.
"I did some research before I left, and discovered, in the Blood Carver genealogical registry on Coruscant, that you are listed as 'extended,' which means, I believe, a kind of extreme probation. Is this true?"
"It is true."
"Tell me how this happened. That is an order."
"I am constrained," Ke Daiv said.
"If you disobey my order, I can have you executed. . under the Trade Federation rules these officers still believe in and follow. That would remove you from any chance of redeeming yourself and put you on the list of permanent exclusion from the Art Beyond Dying. That is the finale of life within the Blood Carver belief system, a glorious conception of the afterlife, with which I, personally, would hate to interfere."
Ke Daiv's head bowed slightly, as if under some weight.
"You have contacted my clan," he said. "You bring me shame beyond my ability to erase."
"No, I haven't contacted your clan," Sienar said. "And I intend you no shame. I respect the Blood Carvers and their ways, and you are in enough trouble already. But I ask you listen closely to what I have to tell you."
Ke Daiv lifted his head and brought his nose flaps submissively back against his cheeks.
"You followed your quarry to the bottom of the Wicko refuse pit, and remarkably, you survived the garbage worms there. You climbed back against all the odds and reported your failure. That is bravery befitting any clan warrior, and a commitment to duty beyond anything I've heard about on Coruscant for decades. Yet there is a rumor going around that. ."
Sienar hesitated for effect and shook his head incredulously. "There is a rumor going around that in the future of the Republic, there may be no room for your people. No room for any race but humans. I, personally, will not support such a scheme. Will you?"
Ke Daiv glared at Raith Sienar. "This is true?"
"It is what I have been told, by an old friend and classmate who seems to know."
"Tarkin?"
Sienar nodded and, using his most persuasive voice, trained by years of speaking with armament and ship agents and fleet buyers, said, "Examine your memory of Tarkin and disagree with me if you must."
Ke Daiv closed his eyes, opened them, said nothing.
"Let us talk some more," Sienar said, "and see if there are plans on which we can agree."
Sienar, of course, did most of the talking.
Chapter 25
The great stone and lamina doors swung open again, as quietly as the little hush of current that crept down the open bowl of the room beyond. The celebratory crowd had pulled back to the periphery of the great room, leaving only Sheekla Farrs near the door. She was now joined by Gann.
They peered curiously into the big round chamber. The spikeballs once more covering
the walls were as still as the stone to which they clung. At the bottom of the bowl, a slight descent from the big doors, a pile of debris rose two meters above the stone floor.