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 mere business significance.”
“Ah,” Snoil said. “I would expect some aspects of hive politics to survive. Expect complex, confusing social interactions, Master Jedi.”
Obi-Wan laughed. It was true: no longer was he a mere peacekeeper. Today he was an ambassador, an envoy from the central government. Like it or not, he would have to accept that role.
The guards were near-human Kiffar, who immediately snapped to attention as the door opened and the ramp touched down. “Master Kenobi, it is my pleasure to welcome you to ChikatLik,” the nearest guard said. “I’ve only just received word that the Regent is on parlay. Hive business. She returns tonight, and will meet with you tomorrow.”
Obi-Wan nodded sagely, and Snoil’s eyestalks bobbed with pleasure.
A band composed of assorted droid musicians blared a medley of melodic bleeps and hoots, doubtless the Cestian planetary anthem, as Obi-Wan, Snoil, and their astromech unit descended. The band next performed a passable rendition of the Republic’s official anthem, “All Stars Burn as One.” Once upon a time that song had quickened his blood, but for the last months Obi-Wan had begun to bristle whenever he heard it.
After their rendition was complete, the Kiffar guard saluted again. “Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, and Snoil’s eyestalks ceased waving in accompaniment to the music. In truth, it had been stirring.
“Welcome to Cestus. General Kenobi, Barrister Snoil.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant. I hope that all business can be completed quickly, that I might have an opportunity to appreciate the beauty of your world before I return home.”
The words flowed so smoothly that Obi-Wan laughed to himself. In truth, he might have made a passable politician. Peacemakers and power brokers had to meet to find common ground, and if he had chosen that path…
With that thought in his mind, and a resultant half smile curling his lips, Obi-Wan allowed himself and Snoil to be escorted to a railway running above the free-flying transport lanes.
“Few buildings on the planet’s surface,” Snoil asked. “Why?”
“The natural caverns were easy to exploit for prison space, and safer from dust storms and raiding aboriginals. That was long ago.”
“And now?” Obi-Wan asked.
“And now?” Their guide shrugged. “The plagues left a lot of hives empty. We just moved right in.”
As they followed the cart, a pair of droids carried their luggage from the ship and placed it in a separate cart, to follow them. Many of the buildings and structures were themselves imitations of stalactites and stalagmites, but there were flashes of different artistic or architectural movements as well, angular areas, evidence of a hundred different cultural influences.
They approached a particularly large and beautiful expanse of carved rock wall. Only on a second look did it resolve into a building. “Our destination,” the guard said.
“What is it?” Obi-Wan said. It was almost a kilometer across, one of the largest city constructs Obi-Wan had seen on a Rim world, so enormous that at first he had mistaken it for an organic part of the overall structure.
“The Grand ChikatLik was the first actual prison building built here,” their guide said. “It was converted fifty years ago, and now serves as our finest hotel.”
He could see it all more clearly now: a few hundred years of constant rebuilding, one apartment and cubicle grafted onto another had been smoothed into an overall design that was somewhere between a kind of insect hive and a gigantic office complex, something that transcended either artificial or organic design. Impressive.
Their cart zagged right, entered what appeared to be a lava tube, and emerged in the hotel lobby. The interior was quite literally cavernous, a lobby built around a luminous natural hot spring, lift tubes thrusting up through cascading shelves of frozen limestone.
The silvery protocol droid concierge approached them, fairly shivering with excitement. “Welcome! You are now guests of the most luxurious hotel on Ord Cestus.”
Snoil’s fleshy lips curled in appreciation. “After days on the shuttle, it’s good to have a room, not a cabin,” he squeaked.
Two X’Ting attendants materialized just as their luggage cart appeared behind them. The X’Ting were dull gold, with oval bodies and thin, apparently spindly legs. “Show these two very special guests to their accommodations,” the droid said. Perhaps fantasizing about generous tips from the distinguished guests, the attendants eagerly carried their luggage to droid carts, then guided the carts to the turbolifts. Obi-Wan noted that one of the X’Ting wore a name tag reading FIZZIK.
The lifts rose along the cave’s internal wall, rising rapidly but smoothly, then rotating so that the wall slid open to disclose a hallway.
The X’Ting attendants unloaded their luggage and carried it into the suite. The droid bowed. “I hope that these lodgings will prove satisfactory, sirs.”
Obi-Wan found himself answering more to the attendants than the protocol droid. “I’m certain that they’ll be fine.”
“You may wish to explore the city in the time before the lady arrives.”
“Very considerate. I’m certain we can entertain ourselves.”
The protocol droid left, motioning for Fizzik and the other X’Ting to leave with him, and they did.
Doolb Snoil began to speak, but the Jedi raised a single finger, bidding him to silence. Their astromech began a sweep of the room as Obi-Wan unpacked, every motion slow and controlled.
“Which room should I take?” Snoil asked.
“Whichever has the better view,” Obi-Wan said. “I remember you said you wanted to see the sights here…” He was prepared to continue in that vein, but fortunately their astromech unit beeped its “all clear” signal.
“I believe it’s safe. This room is free of any devices or eavesdropping scans. Our mech will tell us if this changes.”
“Thank the Broodmaster,” Snoil said, wiping one of his brows. “I tell you honestly, Master Obi-Wan. I find this spying-about most uncomfortable.”
“You needn’t worry about any of that,” Obi-Wan said. “Just do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
“And how do you see things proceeding?”
“As we said before—” He sat near Snoil, putting his own thoughts in order as he tried to incorporate what he had seen and heard since landing. “—we go to court, and see what there is to be seen.”
“And if our entreaties are ignored?”
“Then,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “then things get tricky.”
15
Kit Fisto, Nate, and his three brothers had arrived stealthily, making their initial surveillance of the Dashta Mountain region specified by their mysterious contact, Sheeka Tull. Tull had designated a cave hidden beneath an overhanging rock shelf, opening onto a broad, flat stone theater that could be used as an emergency landing zone, although for security, the main staging area was located hundreds of meters downhill from the cave entrance.
On first glance the cave looked ideal, but Kit entered gingerly, sensor tendrils tingling. The shaggy desiccated body of some four-legged mammal half the size of a speeder bike lay just inside the cave. There were no immediately apparent wounds…had it simply crawled into the cave to die? He nudged the body aside and took another step forward. Nothing living to be seen. Side tunnels stretched off in multiple directions. Cave birds and some membranous reptilians flitted about overhead. Moss and old dusty webbing clotted some of the corners, but he found nothing alarming.
“There might be something here,” Nate said,
coming up behind him.
“Perhaps we should find another cave,” CT-12/74 said. His nickname was Seefor.
“Not until we make contact with Tull,” Kit said.
Here in the shelter of a craggy valley almost completely devoid of all but the simplest vegetation, they spent the first hours building their base camp and sleeping quarters, assembling sections of modular housing. They were so engrossed in their work that they barely noticed when the first of the cave spiders appeared.
Kit cursed himself for not recognizing the webs or the ragged, furry, desiccated corpse for what they were, but when the first eight-legged monstrosity bounced out of the shadows to leap onto Sirty, the Nautolan moved instantly. The spider screamed as his lightsaber seared through a leg, then the trooper bucked it off, putting three shots into the beast before the body hit the ground.
They hardly had time to congratulate themselves: six cave spiders of equal size crawled from the darkness.
Kit ordered the troopers into perfect square formation, shoulder blasters at the ready as their eight-legged attackers emerged. Somewhere back in the caves was a nest, pure and simple, and they had responded to the challenge for their territory. No time to regret. This was action.
A cascade of cave spider silk jetted toward the trooper diagonal from Kit. Nate. The trooper shoulder-rolled and came up to firing position, blasted the rocks above the spider’s hiding place. As stones rained down on the unfortunate creature Nate rolled again and ran to one of the speeder bikes.
Fleeing? Absurd. In the GAR’s short, spectacular history, no trooper had ever shirked duty, fled a battle, or even disobeyed a superior’s order. But—
Immediately behind him a great shaggy eight-legged beast hissed and leapt. Kit pivoted, lightsaber singing. The spider bounded out of the way, landing in a crouch. It bounded again, spitting venom. Kit dodged to the side, lightsaber swatting one of the caustic greenish gobs, and the fluid erupted into searing steam. The rocks before them rustled, and a swarm of young spiders, no higher than Kit’s knee, crawled out, their shining eyes hungry, envenomed fangs dripping.
He glimpsed movement and turned to see a gigantic red female, half the size of a bantha, crouching in the shadows, watching, her glowing eyes fixed on him. A general, directing her troops.
This Kit could understand. Well, as of the commencement of the Clone Wars Kit Fisto was a general as well, and he had his own troops. Come on! he snarled silently, irises expanding. He set his feet in a wider stance for balance, and waited.
Nate’s speeder bike started instantly. Under his expert hands it leapt off the cave floor and ran in a tight circle, buzzing the shadows, turning tight corners, drawing out the spiders. They spit silk and venom at him, and every time they did, his brothers below got a better fix. Incandescent laser bolts and the howling of Kit Fisto’s lightsaber filled the cave as the spiders fought back, casting bizarre, distorted shadows against the walls. The arachnids jumped, leapt, and crept. They spit venom that burned through armor, and sticky silk that threatened to bind arms and legs together. But nothing they did broke the Geonosis Square, a tactic that maximized the impact of both aggressive and defensive fire.
The trooper wove, using the speeder bike’s maneuverability to confuse the spiders. Their eight-legged adversaries were quicker on the ground, but seemed baffled by this high-flying tactic. General Fisto gave a whistle so loud and high that it rattled Nate’s ears at twenty meters. The other troopers broke for their speeders, and within moments the cave was filled with screaming, dipping, blasting speeder bikes.
Nate laughed aloud, loving this moment. It was like being back with the selenome: You didn’t know what you were messing with, did you?
His laughter died as another row of arachnids crawled out of the top cavern. What in space—? They must have stumbled into the largest breeding ground in the entire mountains. This was the worst, what troopers called 10 percent, but it was too late to curse fate. Little to do now but fight.
At least six of the large spiders, and dozens of the smaller ones, had perished in blasts, lightsaber strokes, and showers of falling rock before they retreated shrieking into the caves. The largest, the enormous red-furred female, protected the others as they fled.
The troopers started to pursue, but the general raised his hands. “No!” he called. “They’re broken. Let the brood go.”
The female locked eyes with the general. Surprisingly, she lowered her head as if making obeisance, then backed into the shadows and disappeared.
The troopers landed their craft, peering into the darkness to be certain no mistake had been made before holstering their weapons.
“Perimeter sensors up immediately,” General Fisto said.
“So we’re staying here, sir?” Nate asked.
General Fisto’s answering smile was not pretty. “Might as well assume all these caves are spider-infested. At least we know this one is clear.”
“Besides that,” Sirty whispered to Nate when General Fisto turned away, “we fought for it. It’s ours.”
As the others set up in the cave, Kit Fisto carried his broadcasting unit a kilometer out to a completely desolate area with no line of sight to their new camp. There he triggered his beacon and sat in wait.
After five seconds he turned it off. He waited five minutes, then broadcast for another five seconds, and set the automatic monitor to continue in like sequence: five minutes off, five seconds on.
After an hour he heard an answering squeal in proper coded series. He turned off the monitor and waited.
The sun was nearing the western horizon when a battered cargo ship appeared from the south. It flew in a slow, groaning circle and then settled toward the ground, frying the underbrush as it did. That thermal inefficiency implied an older model, and in merely adequate repair.
The panel door opened and a ramp descended. Kit heard a bleeping sound, and then a human female appeared at the top.
Kit had few standards by which to assess human beauty. Based on her movements and posture, however, this female was in excellent physical condition, her unblemished black skin and lustrous short hair suggested a healthy immune system, and she seemed quite aware and alert. Good. They would need these qualities to successfully implement their plans.
The woman studied Kit, her expression one of exasperation. “A Nautolan. Pretty far from an ocean, aren’t you?”
The Jedi was unamused. “I’m waiting,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “No sense of humor. All right: ‘Alderaan has three moons.’ ”
“ ‘Demos Four but two,’ ” Kit replied without hesitation.
She nodded as if he had confirmed more than identity. “Name’s Sheeka Tull. I was told to expect you.”
“What precisely were you told?”
She scuffed her toe across a line in the ground, raising a tiny plug of fine, dry dust. “They said if I helped you, certain things in my past would be forgotten. That right?” She looked back up at him, defiance sparkling in her eyes. He nodded, and she seemed relieved. “So. What do you need?”
“What I need is a reliable contact. There were cave spiders.”
She shook her head. “There are spiders all through these mountains, but I didn’t see any when I checked out that cave. Sorry.”
Kit locked eyes with her, a test of wills. Was she telling the truth? She was his contact, given by the Chancellor’s most trusted tacticians. Trust was his only option. “Very well. I must speak to the anarchists known as Desert Wind,” he said.
“They took quite a beating last year,” Sheeka Tull said. “What do you want with them?”
“You have no need to know that,” he replied.
“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “That is exactly what I need to know. If you won’t tell me, I can’t help you. I wouldn’t dare.”
Kit watched her. If he had known her longer, he might have determined if she was telling the truth, or bluffing. A useful ability, but again, calibration was everything. He had to make a field decision,
one that was tough no matter how he looked at it. “We need to create an effective force capable of sabotage and deception, in case the government needs to be overthrown.”
He knew that his words rocked her, but she hid her flinch very well. “Well. Thanks for the honesty.”
“You can take us to Desert Wind?”
“No. But I can take you to the people who know them.”
“Fair enough.”
“After you’re finished here, you never heard of me.” She stood with her small fists balled against her waist.
“Fair enough.”
She nodded, and drew a little circle in the dust with the point of her toe. “All right, then,” she said. “Time for you to meet Spindragon.”
16
The insectile Cestian’s name was Fizzik, and at the moment he was at his most aggressively ambitious, in the peak of his species’ three-year cycle between male and female genders. In his current state, the coursing of masculine hormones was a nerve-dulling intoxicant, and made him willing to take almost any risk to obtain the medicine that would balance the hormones more smoothly. The plant capable of easing, or even accelerating, the transition was called viptiel, native to a world called Nal Hutta. Far too expensive for a mere hotel attendant.
And that was why Fizzik decided to sell his soul to his distant brother Trillot. He waddled his bright gold oval through the crowd until he found a certain alley, disguised as a minor lava tube. Everywhere, the walls were slathered with promotions for various exhibits and attractions, and both flat and holographic commercials attempted to lure stray credits from unwary pockets.
Fizzik had not been here for a year and a half. If there were a few who might have recognized him, they probably failed due to the fact that he had been female the last time he had passed this way.
Star Wars®: The Cestus Deception Page 8
