The Cestus Deception

by Steven Barnes

  under Master Yoda's tutelage. As they grew more accustomed to each

  other's rhythms, they progressed into a flowing web of spontaneous

  engagement. Slowly, minute by minute, they increased pace, stuttered

  the rhythm, increasing the acuteness of attack angles and beginning

  to utilize feints and distractions, binds, rapid changes in

  level, and to introduce random environmental elements into the interaction:

  furniture, walls, slippery floors. To an observer it would

  have seemed that the two were trying to slaughter each other, but the

  two knew that they were engaged in the most profound and enjoyable

  aspect of Jedi play, lightsaber flow.

  At a crucial instant Kit hissed, more to himself than Obi-Wan,

  then stepped back, disengaged, and switched his lightsaber off.

  Obi-Wan switched his off as well. "What is it, my friend?" he

  asked.

  "The bio-droid," Kit said, anger heating his voice. "I should have

  performed better."

  "You were brilliant. What more could you have done?"

  Kit sat heavily, his smooth green forearms resting on his knees,

  sensor tendrils curling and questing like a nest of angry sand vipers.

  "I should have gone closer to the edge," he said, the irises within the

  unblinking eyes expanding until they appeared to glow. "Released

  myself into the Force, become more unpredictable. More . . . random."

  Obi-Wan heard the concern in the Nautolan's voice. Form I was

  wild, raw... and deadly. It also required too much emotional heat for

  Obi-Wan's taste. "That would have been dangerous," he said, choosing

  his words carefully. "Not to your body, perhaps, but to your

  spirit."

  Kit looked up at him, irises contracting again. "It is the way of

  Form One."

  And here Obi-Wan knew he needed to tread softly. Combat style

  was an exceedingly personal choice. "Agreed," Obi-Wan replied, "but

  Form One represents greater risk to you as well, my friend."

  Kit said nothing for a time, and then slowly, almost imperceptibly,

  nodded. "We all take risks."

  That simple truth momentarily silenced Obi-Wan. There it was:

  Kit knew that Form I placed him in greater jeopardy, but his sense of

  duty made it worthwhile. In that moment Obi-Wan's respect for the

  Nautolan rose to the highest levels.

  For now, the best thing that he could do was help get Kit's mind

  off the subject. He stood, briskly slapping his palms together. "But

  come!" he said. "If our ruse is to succeed we must practice a while

  longer. Then I need to get back to work on the lightwhip."

  That seemed to lift Kit's spirits. "When will it be ready to test?"

  Obi-Wan sighed. "I've never actually built one, but saw a bounty

  hunter wield one once, in the Koornacht Cluster. The theory is clear

  enough, and I found a diagram in the archives. Just remember: if

  covert action becomes necessary, all suspicion must fall on Count

  Dooku. If you are seen wielding a lightsaber, you'll be identified as a

  Jedi."

  "Less conversation." Kit grinned. "More practice."

  They returned to their dance, each sensitive to his differences but

  comfortable in them as well. On and on they went, until exertion

  drove all thought from their conscious minds, until all discussions

  were forgotten, and all that remained was a pure joy of moving, separately

  and together, in the way of the Force.

  12

  C,oncluding his practice session, Obi-Wan freshened himself and

  donned a new robe. He then went out to the lower deck lounge.

  There, in a more comfortable environment than the formal dining

  room just fore of them, he found Barrister Snoil studying at two

  computer workstations, each of his eyestalks engaged with a different

  holographic display.

  "A useful skill," Obi-Wan said, just behind the barrister's right ear.

  "You comprehend both simultaneously?"

  Snoil turned, startled. "Master Kenobi! I didn't realize you were

  there. As to your question . . . yes, my people can split attention between

  sides of their brain," he said. "The full reintegration will not

  take place until sleep tonight." Genuine concern creased Snoil's glistening

  face. "Actually, I am glad you are here. I was hoping we might

  confer."

  "On what matter?"

  "These treaties!" His falsetto rose to a squeak. "A nightmare! Ord

  Cestus was never supposed to be a major industrial power. When it

  was initially set up, Coruscant granted it quite favorable trade terms.

  The point was for the prison to be self-sufficient, and not a burden to

  the Republic."

  "And now?"

  "And now the prison exists as a legal fiction only, a definition expanded

  to include the entire planet. Cestus markets goods under a

  corrections license."

  Snoil paused, eye stalks wavering almost hypnotically. He canted

  his head slightly to the side, as if considering a new thought. When

  he spoke next, his voice sparked with renewed enthusiasm. "Delicate.

  Delicate. If we threaten a suspension of activity while their status is

  reevaluated, that should panic them."

  "Right into Dooku's arms," Obi-Wan said, and shook his head.

  "Hardly a desirable outcome."

  "True," the Vippit replied, then lowered his voice. "I was actually

  more concerned about another subject."

  "That being?"

  "Well... it is my Time," he said, emphasizing the last word.

  "For children?"

  Snoil nodded emphatically. "Oh yes. Master Obi-Wan, I am so

  happy you called me. For years I've owed you a great debt."

  Obi-Wan laughed. "We're friends. You owe me nothing."

  "You saved my life," he said fervently, and his twin eyestalks bobbled.

  "I was under contract on Rijel-Twelve when the clans revolted.

  If you hadn't evacuated Republic staff, my empty shell would lie there

  still."

  Well, yes, Obi-Wan had handled a bad bit of business there,

  b u t . . .

  Snoil would not be denied. "Until I repay the favor, I cannot marry."

  Obi-Wan couldn't wait to hear the explanation. The galaxy's wonders

  never ceased to amuse and amaze him. "No? Why not?"

  Genuine anguish filled Snoil's voice. "Because you can call upon

  me for a service whenever you wish. No well-born female would

  bond with me until I have cleared this debt, because I cannot negotiate

  wholly with her."

  "This is your people's way?"

  Snoil nodded.

  Obi-Wan laughed heartily. "Well, my friend, my confidence in our

  mission just soared. It seems you have more reason to see this job

  through than I."

  13

  0ver the three hundred years since initial entry into the Republic,

  Cestus s native population had decreased by 90 percent, while the

  immigrant population had increased to several million. Their needs

  were so different from those of the original inhabitants that, without

  interstellar commerce, that population would starve or be forced into

  migration and poverty.

  Hundreds of years earlier, Cestus had been a world of amber sands

  and coppery-brown hills, mostly rock with a few blue pools of surfac
e

  water and the scaled ridges of continental mountain ranges. Its poor

  soil was home to a thousand varieties of hardy plants whose root

  acids constantly struggled to break down rock into absorbable nutrients.

  Most notable among its vegetation were some eight hundred

  varieties of edible and medicinal mushrooms, none of which had ever

  been exported.

  However poor it might once have been, with the rigorous filtering

  of Cestus's water and addition of various nutrients, the planets soil

  offered up two dozen vegetables suitable for consumption. After fifteen

  generations of cultivation, significant patches of green now

  stretched across the brown expanse, some few of them visible even

  from space.

  From high orbit, it would have been difficult to see the industrial

  areas that produced the Baktoid armor or dreaded bio-droids, or see

  any reason at all to think that this secluded planet might become a

  crucial balance point in a drama playing out across the galaxy. However

  difficult to believe, it was a sobering truth.

  Their transport cruiser made its initial descent to a section of the

  Dashta plain selected for the tiny amount of electromagnetic activity

  in the area: evidence that there was little or no entrenched population.

  The offworlders wished to avoid prying eyes. Ahead lay work

  best done in privacy.

  For an hour the troopers humped crates and rucksacks full of gear

  out of the ship. Kit insisted on carrying his own equipment, and the

  troopers were happy to let him do it: the Jedi was as strong as any two

  of them. For half the trip Obi-Wan had labored on the weapon now

  coiled at Kit's side. Kit had a reputation for improvisation, and

  within hours he handled the lightwhip as if he had been spawned

  with it.

  Obi-Wan turned to Kit and extended his hand. "Well," he said,

  "this is where we part."

  "For now," Kit said. "We'll set up base camp in the caves south of

  here, and should be ready for operations in a day. After that, we'll be

  ready for whatever comes."

  "I'm sure you will," Obi-Wan said. "Communication on astromech

  remote maintenance channels shouldn't alert their security. We'll disguise

  our conversation as modulations of the basic carrier frequency."

  Kit nodded, but the smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes. "A good

  idea. May the Force be with you."

  There was little left to do save play out their hand as dealt. Obi-

  Wan stood, looking out at the horizon, at the dust devils spinning

  and churning. Beyond those, a rust-colored cloud crept across the

  ground, peaceful and lovely at this distance, one of the sandstorms

  that made surface living on Cestus such a hazard. Obi-Wan understood

  perfectly why Cestus had been chosen as a prison.

  The four remaining clone troopers stayed behind with Kit. Obi-

  Wan walked back up into the ship, and the door sealed behind him.

  He strapped himself into the empty chair next to CT-X270,

  checked to make sure Doolb Snoil was safe, and then nodded. "Let's

  go, Xutoo," he said.

  Kit checked the instrumentation on his Aratech 74-Z speeder

  bike, modified military hardware as maneuverable as a hawk-bat and

  capable of speeds up to 550 kilometers per hour. Riding one reminded

  the Nautolan of storm-swimming, one of his favorite sports.

  The four directional steering vanes were well adjusted and responsive

  to a touch. The repulsorlift engines purred like demicots and had

  no problem handling the heavy cargo bags strapped to the sides. All

  fuel cells were full, all diagnostics live. Good. He raised his hand, and

  the clone troopers mounted their own speeders as if they had practiced

  that single maneuver for a month. He breathed deeply. Fire

  burned his veins as his twin hearts went slightly out of rhythm with

  each other, preparing him for action. This was the moment that he

  lived for, the calm before the storm. Like swimming the surface during

  one of Glee Anselm's mammoth hurricanes, or the practice of

  Form I, it was the storm itself that was the test, the challenge to see

  if he could maintain his balance in the whirlwind. Never had he

  fallen. One day he would, as all mortals did. But not today, he grinned

  fiercely. Not today.

  He triggered the speeder. The purr became a growl as it lifted.

  In perfect formation the five sailed through the gullies and along

  rivers through a tumble of low brown scrub brush.

  Although most nearby objects whipped past in a blur, those more

  distant remained clear. Kit drank in the scenery, noting the far-off

  line of a caravan out along the scrub rock. The speeder bikes traveled

  too low to be seen, low enough for the speeders behind him to be

  swallowed in the storm of dust particles, baffling scanners.

  At one moment they passed a small knot of nomadic X'Ting, the

  insectile people who had once dominated the planet. While still

  holding some political power, they now numbered but a few tens of

  thousands. The nomads raised their crimson arms and pointed at the

  line of speeder bikes as they raced past.

  Again, nothing to really worry about. He convinced himself that

  this wasn't an omen. Encountering the Cestians in the midst of such

  a desolate area was just happenstance. Nomadic native Cestians

  tended to be nontechnological, used no devices that emitted radiation

  anywhere in the electromagnetic spectrum. Nothing to worry

  about...

  Cestus called to Kit. In this landscape he sensed the struggle of life

  against an unsparing nature. It reminded him of his homeworld's

  surface territory, a land of great harshness, but one that bred a people

  of tremendous courage. Except for a lack of vast and roiling oceans,

  he might have been born here.

  On the next speeder bike behind him, Nate traversed the same

  landscape, occupied by his own thoughts. The ARC captain scanned

  everything, searching for ambush spots, possible strongholds, lines of

  sight... everything he saw, everything he thought was connected to

  his duty. There was room in his mind for nothing else. Nor was anything

  else needed.

  Kilometer by kilometer, they progressed toward their goal, the

  Dashta Mountains far to the west.

  14

  A,fter assuming a trajectory plausible for a ship approaching from

  Coruscant, CT-X270, "Xutoo," re-entered Cestus's atmosphere. The

  cruiser's communications array fired, automated docking signal receivers

  decoding instructions for landing.

  They headed straight for Cestus's capital city, ChikatLik, an

  X'Ting word meaning "the center." Xutoo handled the controls with

  supreme confidence, as if he had been born piloting ships.

  Then again, for all practical purposes, he had.

  They descended through the umber heart of a swirling kilometerswide

  dust cloud that obscured most of the surface beneath them. The

  guidance computer projected wire-frame animations of their target,

  and revealed more of the surface detail than Obi-Wan's naked

  eyes. One of Cestus's primary features was the vast network of tunnels,

  cr
eated by volcanic activity, water erosion, and millennia of

  digging by the once vast X'Ting hives. It was these caves that had

  made it such a perfect choice for a prison planet, and it was into one

  of the larger lava tubes that their ship descended.

  As they entered its mouth, the air cleared, and for the first time

  during their descent visual cues revealed valuable information. After

  a few seconds the sides became pleasantly painted and sculpted.

  Obi-Wan caught a few briefly snatched glimpses of graffiti, and then

  networks of pipe and steel, mazes of rigging clearly the product of

  endless generations of workers.

  He noticed also that the laborers seemed to have done everything

  in their power to keep a sense of the original beauty, and he admired

  that. As much as the works of mortals could be, and often were, quite

  beautiful, there was always something about the natural world that

  touched Obi-Wan even more deeply, as if a testament to the truth

  and depth of the Force that conscious efforts could never approach.

  They zoomed down another tunnel and turned left. Artificial light

  reflected around the corner. For a moment he was blinded.

  ChikatLik's offices and apartments blended with the volcanic

  structures so perfectly that it was difficult to see where they ended

  and mortal workings began. He saw a thousand elevated roads and

  pedestrian paths, but little aerial travel. Many of the curved, apparently

  stone paths streamed with slidewalks, a local transport system

  that seemed to have grown organically over the years until the entire

  city bustled like a close-up, impossibly intimate view of a living body's

  interior.

  Their ship spiraled down through the towers and roadways, heading

  to a central landing pad at the outskirts of their destination, some

  kind of major living complex. Where volcanic rock was obscured the

  walls had the texture of rough gray or black duracrete, perhaps some

  compound produced by the digestive systems of hive builders.

  As the ship came softly to rest, one of the side screens showed a

  line of uniformed human males standing at attention. Obi-Wan

  knew that Xutoo had already killed the main engines so that no stray

  heat or radiation would spoil the approach.

  Doolb Snoil's emerald eyestalks quivered with excitement. "Look

  at the honor guard!"

  "Yes," Obi-Wan replied. "It must be rare to see representatives

  from Coruscant out here on the Rim. I fear that this has more than