Star Wars®: The Cestus Deception

by Steven Barnes

  “Whose words?”

  “G’Mai Duris. She warned me that this could turn into a no-win scenario, one where I might well fail to prevent the destruction of an entire, peaceful people.”

  Kit stirred the fire with his stick. Sparks circled up into the air. “Then we mustn’t fail. By the Thousand Tides, there must be a way.”

  “Yes,” Obi-Wan said, and managed a smile. “But knowing it, and saying it, is not the same as finding it.”

  71

  Anxious but loath to reveal the extent of his anxiety, Obi-Wan watched as Sirty struggled to repair their damaged equipment. After heroic exertions the trooper had managed to conceal a message on a tight-beamed commercial fertilizer order from Resta’s Kibo Lake farm, but he doubted they would be able to use that particular trick again. The forces arrayed against them were powerful, and clever indeed. The only safe thing to do was assume that no more than a single message could be sent or received in any single route.

  Sirty’s comlink squawked to life. “We have it, sir!”

  “Luck?” Obi-Wan asked.

  “Perseverance. I was able to tap into one of the backup circuits. Military equipment has built-in redundancy.”

  “Splendid.”

  Obi-Wan took his position as the communications equipment fired up. Within seconds he received an image of a male Falleen tech at a distant relay station.

  The high-collared, emerald-skinned hologram image raised an eyebrow. “I do not recognize your communications protocols.”

  “Automatic authentication has been damaged,” he said, and then provided a coded series of words, concluding with: “—This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, on Republic business. Provide a link and you will be rewarded.”

  “Very well.”

  After six minutes of static Obi-Wan learned that his first choice, Master Yoda, was unavailable, in the field supervising an operation. He made a swift decision, changed his access codes, and Palpatine himself appeared. “Chancellor?”

  The politician’s wise and weathered face creased with pleasure. “Master Kenobi. The Council and I had begun to worry.”

  “There is cause,” the Jedi admitted. “Not all has gone well.”

  “Explain, please.”

  Obi-Wan took a deep breath and then proceeded. “Cestus is not an obscure planet producing a dangerous machine. It seems to be at the center of an invisible game board. Count Dooku has infiltrated deeply, focusing unforeseen resources here.”

  “To what end?” The Chancellor’s deep, resonant voice was calming.

  “To the end that my mission was compromised, and that we are forced to hide. We strike at the infrastructure when possible.”

  The Chancellor brooded before answering. “Do you expect this tactic to be successful?”

  “I do not know. But I request more time to try.”

  The Chancellor shook his head. “We need results, General Kenobi. I intend to assign a supercruiser to assist you.”

  Obi-Wan’s heart sped up. “But sir, don’t you think—”

  “I think that a warship positioned in orbit around Cestus would make them a bit more mindful, don’t you?”

  “But the Confederacy will use it as an excuse to counterattack with their own ships, and claim that they were merely protecting an innocent planet against Republic aggression.”

  “Well then, you had better resolve the situation before those ships arrive, hadn’t you?”

  The Chancellor terminated the transmission.

  Obi-Wan seethed. There it was. First “a ship” and then “before the ships arrive.” The Chancellor was sending a notso-subtle message: if Count Dooku interfered, Palpatine would be happy to humble him. In fact, considering their problem in getting Confederacy forces to expose themselves, Obi-Wan wondered if this entire affair might not have been a feint, a mere drawing thrust, designed specifically to provoke an aggressive response.

  But no. If he thought that, the next thought, the very next thought was to wonder if Palpatine was capable of sacrificing all of their lives in exchange for victory…

  Despite his distrust of politicians, he did not, could not believe this.

  But if he did, what then?

  And if he could not resolve this, death could come in any of a dozen ways: slain by friendly fire, by security guards, by military bombardment…

  Or even at the unseen hands of their mysterious adversary.

  By sunrise the next day it was once again time to organize themselves into a cohesive unit. With Nate’s return, Obi-Wan sensed a chance to increase their efficiency.

  Plus…Obi-Wan sensed that something had happened to the soldier. While he had certainly healed his flesh and bone, even more interesting were the apparent changes in his psyche.

  “Jangotat, where exactly were you?” he asked the prodigal trooper when he first gave his abbreviated report.

  “I don’t know the exact location, sir, and I’d rather not convey that data.” A pause, followed by a swiftly added, “Unless the general insists, of course. Are you insisting, sir?”

  “No,” Obi-Wan said, after thinking carefully. “I assume you would relate anything of interest or concern to this operation.”

  “Affirmative, sir,” Jangotat answered, and returned to cleaning his weapons.

  That had been almost twenty hours earlier. Now Obi-Wan watched the troopers practicing unarmed combat among themselves, throws and holds and short, chopping blows with the side of the fist. Nothing fancy, but all with professional form and intensity, combined with an adequate knowledge of the interior targets. This was not merely demonstration, although recruits were watching. Nor was it merely exercise, although by the time they were finished all were sopping with sweat.

  No, he intuited that this was a diagnostic activity, a way for the troopers to assure themselves that every member of their ranks was up to Code in every conceivable manner.

  And he detected something else, as well—a sense of fluidity and grace in motion a little surprising to see from a mass-produced warrior. If he was not mistaken…

  Yes. There was a hip feint flowing into a heel kick, a storing of elastic energy in the muscles and tendons that bespoke some small amount of more advanced training. In fact, he guessed that he knew exactly where they had obtained such knowledge.

  “Excuse me,” he said when they had finished an intense engagement. “I seem to recognize some elements of Jedi Flow drills. Has Master Fisto been instructing you?”

  They looked both pleased and embarrassed, and Obi-Wan realized they had been showing off for him.

  “Yes. A little. Just some basics, of course,” Forry added hurriedly, as if worried Obi-Wan might be offended.

  He laughed. “No, please. That’s fine. But…with your permission, might I join for a few falls?”

  Sputtering their delight, the troopers spread out as Obi-Wan stepped into the ring and faced off with Jangotat.

  He knew that the man would be strong, quick, and well trained. The additional flow was a beautiful thing to feel, and Obi-Wan allowed the engagement to continue for several minutes. It was just a game, of course, with the intent to shift and adjust dynamic balance, not merely overwhelm the opponent. What he hadn’t anticipated was the clone’s capacity for subtlety and improvisation. And his sensitivity to slight changes in pressure and speed was excellent.

  Obi-Wan tested his theory, playing with the other commandos, one after another. They were skilled, and fluid, but…Jangotat had something else. Emotional empathy. Insight. More of an ability to imagine what his opponent might have been thinking or feeling. It was hard to believe that the man had been wounded only a few days before. Where had he gone? What had he done?

  Obi-Wan faced Jangotat. “Let’s take this up a notch. First fall?”

  Jangotat nodded, setting himself.

  The two engaged, with Jangotat making the first aggressive move. Obi-Wan balanced the incoming force with a finely judged sidestep and pivot. When the dust cleared the captain was on the ground, neat
ly confined in a Juzzian armlock, nerve-pincered at wrist and elbow. Obi-Wan stood with one foot on Jangotat’s shoulder, twisting and stimulating the nerves until Jangotat slapped the ground in surrender.

  He thanked them for the exercise, and had turned to walk away when the trooper hailed him. “Master Kenobi!”

  Obi-Wan stopped and waited for the soldier to catch up with him. “Yes?”

  “I—” He was about to say something, but then withheld it at the last moment. “We are greatly inferior to you.”

  That wasn’t what he had been about to say. Nonetheless, Obi-Wan responded to it. The last minutes of combat had taught him valuable things about the ARC trooper, all of them positive. “No! No! You are courageous, coordinated, tenacious…qualities anyone would admire.” He smiled. “Qualities I admire.” Obi-Wan sighed in exasperation. Something had awakened within the ARC trooper. Where ordinarily Obi-Wan would have celebrated that awakening of individual spirit, however, if the trooper sensed that Obi-Wan might be an ally in finding his individual truth, that revelation could hardly have been more inopportune than it was now.

  In another week they might all be dead. Still, it made no sense not to do what he could to comfort a troubled soul. Finally, he asked the question he had long thought, and knew the official answer to, but had never dwelled upon. “I know that troopers are obedient to a fault. But in your heart, do you ever question orders?”

  Jangotat’s shoulders squared so swiftly that the posture could only have been a programmed response. “Soldiers do not question. Soldiers obey.” He paused, and Obi-Wan had the sense that the trooper’s mask had been dropped. This was a different man from the one who had originally taken ship with them. “Don’t they?”

  There was a question behind the question. And another behind that one as well. Obi-Wan walked for a few minutes, secure in the knowledge that Jangotat would follow. He found a small clearing and sat on a rock, inviting the trooper to sit beside him. “Many volunteer for the military life. Others are conscripted for a time, then after the alarm bells have died away return to their farms or families. But what of a man born for war, trained for war? I can sense your ambivalence, Jangotat. There are answers you would like to have. Considering how carefully your mind has been shaped, I’m impressed that you can even formulate your queries.” Obi-Wan sighed and scratched at one of the abrasions won during his recent struggle with the JK. “You cannot be free. You were born to fight in other men’s wars with no hope of gain or glory.”

  He closed his mouth, certain that he had said too much. Obi-Wan had never commented on this matter of clones and freeborn people. It was not his affair. Perhaps even now Jangotat regretted his inquiry.

  Surprisingly, Jangotat was not put off by Obi-Wan’s words or tones. “What about feelings?” he asked. “The Jedi are the best fighters I’ve ever seen. But you’ve got feelings.”

  Obi-Wan chuckled. “If not, we wouldn’t strive to keep them under control.” Obi-Wan feared that he, like so many others, assumed that every trooper had his place, an infinite array of identical laser cannon fodder regressing like a hall of mirrors until it not only filled but defined the horizon.

  But Jangotat put the lie to that assumption. “Do you have a home?” he asked, almost shyly.

  “The Jedi Temple is my home. And has been since childhood.”

  “And you chose to become a Jedi?”

  “Yes. I was raised from infancy within the Temple’s walls. There was certainly a moment when I made a formal decision to become a Jedi Knight, but in fact my feet were placed on that path before I could walk.”

  “Weren’t you too young to make a decision like that?”

  Obi-Wan considered the question carefully. Was there any way that the boy he had been could have known what his present life would be? All of the dangers, the travails? Or the wonders? What would that boy have thought, had he known?

  He answered with deliberation. “If I had made that choice with my head, perhaps.”

  “Your heart?”

  “Some might say,” Obi-Wan replied. “But truth is that we sense the Force with our whole bodies. Every part of me knew that this would be my destiny. I knew I would not have the joys and comforts accorded normal folk. Even at that early age, I accepted that fact.” Obi-Wan reached a hand out to the clone, clasped his shoulder. “I made that choice.”

  “That choice was made for me,” Jangotat said.

  So they were on opposite sides of a divide: one a man who had forsaken all the normal trappings of life for an existence of service and adventure. The other, a replaceable cog in a faceless army, chosen before birth, poured into a mold that he was uniquely suited to fill.

  Had Obi-Wan made the choice, or had his midi-chlorians? In the final analysis had either he or Jangotat had any real choice at all…?

  Did anyone?

  72

  Shadows arced in silent pantomime against the cave wall, fueled by a roaring scrap-wood fire. As Obi-Wan scanned the assembled members of Desert Wind, he thought that all over the galaxy, throughout all ages past, courageous beings of a thousand breeds had held conclave in such caves, before such fires, for similar reasons.

  “We face tremendous obstacles,” he began.

  “But we done all right,” Resta said.

  “It’s true. And at a cost. And the cost is rising. We cannot afford it.”

  “How did this happen?” OnSon brushed his long blond hair back from his forehead, exposing a crescent moon of a scar. “We’ve worked so hard…”

  Obi-Wan was troubled to hear the pain in that young voice. “It’s true,” he replied. “And the fault is not in you. You have given your blood and sweat to us in full measure. We’ve failed you.” Kit Fisto stared into the embers impassively. Obi-Wan wished he could guess what his friend was thinking.

  The men and women, perhaps thinking that the Jedi was preparing to leave them, protested vocally. “No!” OnSon said. “Without you we would never have struck so hard and deep. This hasn’t been for nothing!”

  “No,” Kit Fisto said. “It has not. But we have been thwarted at every turn, and we believe that there are additional factors of which we are unaware.”

  “What factors?” Resta growled.

  “Information has reached the government, gathered either through spies or devices, or traitors, or…” And here his voice trailed off as he sank deeper into his thoughts.

  “Or what?”

  “Or someone who is both knowledgeable and ruthless. Someone who is able to…” His voice trailed off again. The spark of an intuitive flash stirred in his mind. That flash had first arisen during a deep meditation early that morning, while the rest of the camp was asleep. During his trance, he had sensed that there was a connection. During his stay on Cestus he had brushed auras with someone…or something…that had become a vital factor in this whole situation. But he had been behind the curve continuously since he had arrived. Everything had been perfect, and yet…

  He shook himself out of his self-induced trance and continued. “Everything that has happened has thrown our plans out of sequence, and as a result we are fairly certain that Supreme Chancellor Palpatine will soon have a supercruiser here to threaten Duris. If the situation has not progressed by that time, there is a very real possibility that they will begin a bombardment that leads to total war.” He paused to give time for his words to sink in. “If that happens everyone loses.”

  “What can we do?” Skot OnSon asked.

  “I have an idea,” the Jedi replied, “that might end this conflict without another shot fired, and without crashing the entire economy. It’s dangerous, but it just might work.”

  73

  In the days since Fizzik had joined his sister Trillot’s organization, advancement had been rapid. It seemed that the gangster trusted nothing so much as blood relations. Fizzik found himself carrying out missions of greater and greater importance, but never allowed himself to forget how quickly his shift in fortunes could change. So when Fizzik was sent east
to the Jantos trading post to meet with the Jedi, he was understandably anxious.

  “So,” Fizzik said, “what do you want?” His nerves twitched in this place. If his sister had wished him assassinated, the mission profile might have looked very similar.

  “I seek to make a purchase,” Obi-Wan said.

  “And what precisely is it that you desire?”

  “A class six Baktoid radiation suit.”

  “And to what use would you put such a suit?”

  “That is my affair.”

  Fizzik peered into the bearded Jedi’s blue eyes, wishing he were better at reading human facial expressions. This was a dangerous piece of information to carry. He knew that the Jedi were causing chaos in the industrial complexes, and anyone who aided or abetted sabotage could be executed.

  A radiation suit. Had he once heard rumor of a control system protected by a reactor? Possibly, but one never knew how trustworthy such rumors were. What was this Jedi up to?

  But Fizzik kept his thoughts to himself, stood, and bowed. His was not to reason why. His was merely to serve his sister until he found a more desirable berth.

  Which, considering the deteriorating conditions hereabout, might not be found on Cestus at all.

  “And you trust this Trillot?” Kit asked after Obi-Wan returned.

  “She’s given me everything I asked. Spoken truthfully in every way I can check. Our sources on Coruscant trust her.” He sighed.

  “I notice you don’t say that you trust her,” Kit observed.

  “I have a plan,” Obi-Wan said. “And it needs Trillot. And I am willing to take the risk. Trillot once spoke of a hidden control station, protected by a radiation field. It would be very expensive to obtain protection, but if I had it, I could enter the Cestus reactor complex and shut down Clandes’s entire production line without causing extreme damage to the infrastructure. I think that that might do it.”