The Cestus Deception

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by Steven Barnes


  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 Something withdrawn.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

  F.or 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 offers 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 . . .

  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 she had 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.

  "Then 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

  smel
l 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.

  "The answer is in your death meal," Obi-Wan had told her. The

  ritual death meal, designed to drain all emotion. Only a master, prepared

  to serve the death meal from birth, could have matched her actions

  in the apartment. Even though facing the end of her life,

  G'Mai Duris had been utterly calm.

  "This is what you do," Obi-Wan had said. "Close your eyes. Think that

  you are preparing your death meal, and be calm. When he stings you, the

  instant you feel his stinger, sting him. Do not try to survive. Go as one already

  dead."

  Quill approached her, and she merely waited.

  He turned this way and that, trying to frighten her. Nothing he

  tried worked.

  "There is a secret to the warrior arts," Obi-Wan had said. "One that

  has nothing to do with training. Nothing to do with fancy movements. It

  is the willingness to trade lives with your enemy. To never fight for anything

  you would not die for. Those who fight for glory, or gold, or power,

  stand on shifting sand, not the bedrock of true courage. Fight for your people.

  Fight for your mate. For you, dying means winning. The arena is not

  a circle of sand. The arena is your heart."

  Quill leapt and pranced and shook his stinger. He hissed and circled

  and made fearsome faces. And through it all, G'Mai Duris

  merely stood.

  Waiting to share death with him.

  At last Quill stopped, stupefied, for the first time his mask of confidence

  cracking. Beneath, was fear.

  G'Mai Duris stood, eyes closed. Waiting.

  Quill's mouth quivered, and he lowered his eyes to the sand. " I . . .

  I concede," he said, radiating hatred.

  The eldest X'Ting on the council stood and spoke. "G'Mai Duris

 

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