The Cestus Deception

by Steven Barnes

seemed their planet was trapped between the Republic and the Confederacy,

  and they hoped to ride it out, survival temporarily transformed

  into a more urgent motivation than profit.

  To the Five Families, a game was being played out that could end

  with their power broken, or raised to the highest levels. Palpatine

  might win. Count Dooku might win. No matter which, they intended

  to survive.

  True, a storm had been unleashed upon Cestus, but as long as they

  survived, Confederacy contracts might yet be honored. After all, the

  entire galaxy was watching, and this would be a perfect time for

  Count Dooku to provide an objective example of the advantages to

  be found in trading the Separatists.

  There were other factors, of course, factors discussed only among

  the Families, or by those who had reviewed very private evaluations

  distributed solely to the top families. But those factors, and their implications,

  would be meaningless if they did not survive the next few

  days . . .

  "This will end in . . . perhaps twenty hours." Ventress glanced at

  the two Jedi, still trapped within the energy shield. "I regret that I

  will not have the opportunity to match lightsabers with you again,

  Obi-Wan Kenobi. Count Dooku wants you alive," she said, prowling

  at the edge of the shield. So intense was her hunger that the tips of

  her twin sabers trembled. "But mightn't he forgive me if I simply slew

  you in single combat?"

  "Please." Obi-Wan locked eyes with her. "Try me."

  "I'd rather that honor be mine," Kit said.

  "Ohhh," she breathed. "Oh, yes, you and I. It will happen, Obi-

  Wan Kenobi. But I must remember that the operation is more important

  than my individual satisfaction or advancement. Surely you

  can understand this."

  She looked up at the craggy ceiling above him. "The Supreme

  Chancellor will humble Cestus as an example to other breakaway

  planets. The fate of this one small planet will push hundreds of star

  systems into the Confederacy's arms. Mission accomplished."

  "What of the biodroids? Don't you want them?"

  She smiled. "It would be good, but volume production will require

  cloning, and our efforts to clone the dashta tissue will require another

  year, at least. For the time being, that is a dead end. A bluff."

  She smiled and came closer, so close that her face almost touched

  the wall of shimmering energy. "Those beacons you planted in Clandes.

  Very nice. You could not enter the actual plant, so you triangulated

  three external signals. A good plan. But one easily countered.

  What a shame that the coordinates have been recalibrated," she said.

  "What are you talking about?" Obi-Wan said, fearing that he

  understood her meaning precisely.

  "You planned to destroy the filtration and power plants with minimal

  loss of life." She tsked. I'm afraid that that won't do. Our plans

  require a more . . . dramatic event."

  "What have you done?" he whispered.

  "No . . . better you should ask what is it you have done," she said.

  "And why would you have a cruiser deliberately strike a cave fault,

  destroying the entire industrial complex and its millions? Yes, I think

  that a slaughter like that will polarize the galaxy, don't you?"

  His head spun. And Count Dooku had no way of cloning or massproducing

  dashta tissue for at least a year? "Then your droid order

  was a sham?"

  "Intended to frighten Palpatine and your precious Jedi Council

  into an overreaction. I would say our plan worked, wouldn't you?"

  Her laughter was as warm as dry ice. "The resulting slaughter will tip

  the galaxy in our favor. Then once we do clone the tissues, who needs

  Cestus?"

  "You're a monster," Kit said, voice calm as a dead sea.

  At that moment the vast energies within Obi-Wan swirled and

  stilled. As hopeless as the situation seemed, he believed to his core

  that this was not over. Somewhere, Ventress had made a mistake.

  And when that single mistake manifested, he would be ready to take

  advantage . . .

  75

  s,'till under direct order, the four surviving clone troopers remained

  confined to base. They were fully aware of the forces struggling around

  them, and also of the nightmare about to descend on Ord Cestus.

  Jangotat's mind swam with visions and possibilities. He more than

  anyone knew the ARC mission mandate. It was engraved on his

  brain like his own number. Stop the production of JKs. Preserve the social

  order.

  Preserve the order? But the order was corrupt! The Five Families

  were willing to murder countless civilians to make a profit. If that was

  not the very definition of betrayal, what was? Even worse, only a fool

  couldn't see that they had already allied themselves with the Separatists,

  and the Jedi were no fools, that much was certain.

  They, then, were caught in events, controlled by their programming.

  Just like a clone, he thought.

  The Nexu hovered in orbit above them. Any minute now a message

  might come from General Kenobi to begin bombing. If not, within a

  few hours the ship would take out the beacon-marked targets without

  additional authorization.

  These people were going to die. Ordinary citizens with roots

  couldn't just throw their homes in a rucksack and ship off when

  danger came. They railed against the darkness, they fought on for

  their loved ones, they prayed in silence.

  The troopers waited, but the longed-for communication with the

  generals did not come. Dead? Captured? Time was running out. In a

  few hours the bombardment would begin, and that was all to the

  good, wasn't it?

  Jangotat stalked the camp's perimeters, chewing on a nervestick

  while acid boiled his gut. Something is wrong.

  When he circled back around to the others, Seefor was talking.

  "What do we do now?"

  Forry shrugged. "If he doesn't come back, it didn't work. Then the

  bombardment begins, we call in transport, and we go home. Nothing

  to do but wait."

  Jangotat wandered away, mind racing, hoping against hope that

  their Jedi commanders would call in, that the word would come that

  the line was shut down without the vast damage of an orbiting strike.

  He was a bit surprised when old Thak Val Zsing and the X'Ting

  woman Resta approached him. Val Zsing had seemed broken, but

  now there was something alive and almost aflame about him. "I know

  things," he said. "Please. Listen to me."

  Jangotat, remembering what he had learned in the cave, opened

  his senses. He saw the man's wounds as well as his strength. He believed

  that this miserable wretch needed, deserved, one chance to redeem

  himself.

  We are more than our actions. More than our deeds, or programming.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "No one talk to Resta. No one talk to Thak Val Zsing," she said.

  "So we two talk. Talk about the old days. What Gramps say 'bout the

  prisons, how Resta's hive forced to dig in them. I remember things

  about them." She tapped her finger against her temple. "I see I know

  thi
ngs about 'Secutive 'resort.'" She snorted. "You know, the one

  they rip away power away to build? The one that kill my man?"

  The X'Ting leaned closer, her thick red eyebrows arched and erect.

  "I look at 'puter map."

  "Our computers?"

  Thak Val Zsing nodded. The old man's eyes were piercingly hot.

  "Same routing map you used to get through the tunnels, when the

  Jedi put on their little show, remember, star-boy?"

  Jangotat agreed that he did, still not seeing the point.

  "That program charts energy usage, utilty bills, all kindsa real-time

  routing information on the major systems." Val Zsing's voice hushed

  to an excited whisper. "And we saw something. Oh, brother, did I

  ever see something."

  "In last five hours, since big ship pull into orbit, 'resort' light glow."

  Resta leaned forward, so excited she could barely contain herself.

  "That where Five Families hide!"

  "I want to discuss a possibility with you," Jangotat said to his

  brothers. He struggled to conceal his excitement.

  "Possibility?" Seefor asked. "What kind of possibility?"

  "The Families may have made a critical mistake. If this intel is

  good, for the first time we know where they are. They've powered up

  their resort facilty, which we believe to be a shelter. Considering the

  present emergency, I'd say there's a high level of confidence that

  they'll be there. If we grab them, we can force them to make a deal. If

  they capitulate, we can end this and stop the bombing."

  For a long moment no one spoke. Sirty was the first to break the

  silence, and was shocked. "But you'd be countermanding direct orders!"

  Jangotat slammed his fist on the table. "We could win the day!"

  "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 Forty 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. Tonote. 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 twelv." 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