Clone Wars Gambit: Siege

by Karen Miller

  Sad though it was that Grievous had failed to take the Bothan colony and its spynet facility, still… Palpatine had yet again turned the edge of defeat into a thin blade of victory. A brilliant stroke indeed, to ensure that vital Republic resources were diverted to the planet’s protection. Played out properly the tactic would see the faltering Republic’s Grand Army sorely weakened in the ongoing Outer Rim Sieges. And with Mace Windu captive to both Kothlis and Bothawui panic, even the Jedi Council had been weakened. Yoda was weakened, for he relied upon Windu’s advice and staunch presence. And a weakened Yoda was a very good thing.

  So why then am I certain that something is wrong?

  Letting his eyes drift closed again, he sought afresh within the Force for a clue to his disquiet. Within the true Force, the Force of power and majesty. The Jedi called it the dark side, like frightened children cowering under their beds, but of course it was no such thing.

  They are merely blinded by the power. Too weak to wield it, or even comprehend.

  And so to this brewing mischief. Was it connected to his current mission? His star cruiser Vanquisher was on its way to Umgul, in the Darglum system. With the costs of war escalating daily, Palpatine had just announced a new raft of tax increases to help defray ruinous military expenses. Umgul, with its high tourist turnover, was ripe for plucking—and the pleasure planet’s government was not amused. Was so unamused, in fact, that it had reached out to Count Dooku, the political firebrand, the champion of systems’ rights, the lambaster of Republic greed, and requested an urgent meeting.

  Darth Tyranus had been only too happy to oblige.

  But did his disquiet mean the Umgul Cabinet was now wavering in its intent to abandon the Republic and side with the Separatist Alliance? He sincerely hoped not. For the loss of hedonistic Umgul, with its famous racetracks and casinos and pleasure palaces and luxury resorts and decadent spas, would deeply distress the Republic’s idle wealthy… and many other citizens who scraped and saved and bartered their way to a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with unbridled luxury. And their distress would echo in the Senate chamber, rousing more protests, more disarray, more discord. HoloNet News and Entertainment would faithfully report the unrest, and its ripples would spread… and spread… and spread.

  If Umgul is indeed wavering…

  He waited for the Force to show him if that was the case, uneasily aware that he must tread lightly and not accept what he was shown on blind faith alone. With so much turmoil in the galaxy, even this far out in the Mid Rim, the Force’s eddies were not always reliable. Not even his vast skill and experience could guarantee a clear answer. It was the price he and Sidious paid for stirring the galaxy to war.

  But no, the source of his disquiet wasn’t Umgul. Could it be Grievous? His loathsome general was slaughtering clones above Eriadu. The recent reports stated it was going quite nicely. No, the trouble wasn’t Grievous. Where else could there be mischief, then? What other little projects did he have on the boil?

  Lanteeb.

  Of course. Lanteeb… and General Lok Durd. The Neimoidian scientist set his teeth on edge and his skin to crawling. All Neimoidians did, of course, but Durd was the worst. More repellent even than Gunray, and that was quite a feat. At their last meeting, some three days ago, Durd had sworn to him on bended knees that the bioweapon was nearly ready. One last small irregularity to be ironed out. “A week, a week at most, my lord Count, and I promise you will have it. One week.” He’d sensed no deception in Durd’s desperate promise. Could he have been mistaken? Could he have been deceived?

  The thought sent a shiver through him. His Master wanted that weapon completed. Further delay would displease him. And no man in his right mind displeased the Sith Lord Darth Sidious.

  Durd, if you have lied to me I shall with my own hands peel you in thin strips and force you to feast on your own slimy hide.

  So he bent his thoughts toward Lanteeb, toward Lok Durd and the Corellian scientist, Dr. Fhernan, the Neimoidian’s unwilling accomplice. Pushed hard through the roiling Force so he might discover the truth.

  And there—there—yes—lay the source of his unease. Lanteeb and Lok Durd. The fear was faint but unmistakable. A different note, a different taste, than the ambient fear of the nothing little planet’s irrelevant populace.

  Something is wrong.

  Lok Durd’s bioweapon was the lynchpin in an important tactical dance. If the Neimoidian had somehow bungled his crucial task…

  In addition to Vanquisher’s standard comm equipment, he of course had his own private holo unit for discreet conversations. Tight with ruthlessly restrained anger, Dooku fetched the unit out of hiding, placed it on his stateroom’s table, and commed the Neimoidian.

  Durd took too long to answer.

  “My lord Count!” the scum cried, at last. “An honor. Such an honor. How can I be of service today?”

  The Neimoidian wasn’t easy to read. Not only because of the vast distance separating them, or because reading anyone via hologram was a distinct challenge in itself, but because his duplicitous species as a whole was a slippery challenge—even for a Sith.

  “What progress have you made with the Project, General? By my reckoning you should be four days closer to success. Are you?”

  Durd’s nictitating membranes flicked across his ugly eyes. “Closer, my lord Count? Yes, we are certainly closer. Yes, indeed, my lord. Success is within our grasp.”

  Dooku smiled, being sure to display all his teeth. “And how many fingers would you say you have laid firmly upon it, General?”

  “Fingers, my lord Count? I’m not sure I—that’s to say—human idioms, my lord, not always easy to—”

  “General Durd!” He let the dark side flare around him. “I give you fair warning—I am not to be trifled with. You are being handsomely paid for the privilege of serving the Separatist Alliance. And even though you have failed us once we have forgiven you. Are you under the impression that a second failure will meet with an equivalent leniency? For if you are…” He shook his head. “Alas. You labor under a serious misapprehension. Do you understand me, General? Or do my idioms continue to confuse?”

  “No, my lord Count,” said the Neimoidian faintly. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Excellent. Then I can expect to hear from you no later than four days hence, with good news about the completion of your Project?”

  “Yes, my lord Count,” said Durd. He was close to choking. “Four days, my lord. I will comm you in four days.”

  A distinct stench of fear bubbled through the dark side. Dooku smoothed his beard, eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me, Durd? The truth. Or I swear you will feel my fingers closing hard upon the back of your neck.”

  The Neimoidian wrung his plump, clammy hands. “It’s—it’s nothing, my lord Count. I swear. The woman was being troublesome. The scientist. Doctor Fhernan. I had to punish her. Not so that she cannot work, of course not, but severely enough so she mended her ways.”

  Without the scientist his plan was ruined. If Durd had misjudged the situation… “Punish her how, General?”

  “I took action against a hostage, my lord. She understands now, and is perfectly obedient.”

  Took action meant “killed.” Grudgingly Dooku appreciated the gesture. “You’re quite certain she will give you no further trouble?”

  “Absolutely, my lord Count,” said Durd, eagerly nodding. “She is as penitent as can be. You will have your weapon, sir. The Separatist Alliance will prevail.”

  He could still sense Durd’s fear, but pride and arrogance and truth mingled with it. The Neimoidian believed his own claim, that much was clear.

  “And the other hostages? They remain secure?”

  “They are secure, my lord Count. Doctor Fhernan is bound tight to my will.”

  “Then I am satisfied,” he said. “For now. Return to your work, General. I look forward to your final report.”

  He broke the transmission in the midst of Durd’s incoherently blathere
d promises. And as he disconnected the signal he felt a leap in Vanquisher’s engines. A heartbeat later the stars beyond his stateroom’s window shivered and streaked as the cruiser made its jump to hyperspace.

  Disquiet allayed, Dooku returned to his bed. Sleep claimed him swiftly. As the warmth of the dark side closed over his head, he felt himself smile.

  Ah, sweet victory. Close enough now to kiss.

  Scant seconds after Count Dooku’s flickering image vanished from the holopad, Lok Durd vomited down the front of his tunic.

  I lied to Count Dooku. I lied to Count Dooku. Hive Mother protect me, I lied to—

  He vomited again. Praise to all good things in the hive that he was alone. He’d lied to the leader of the Separatist Alliance, a man who—by all accounts both confirmed and rumored only—could kill with a look, or the snap of his fingers. Possibly by merely raising an eyebrow.

  I lied to Count Dooku. And… I think he believed me.

  Horror and relief coursed through his veins. If he’d been human, surely a river of sweat would be pouring down his skin. How he’d managed to dupe Dooku he didn’t know, but he wasn’t inclined to question the miracle. No. He’d accept it and build on it, to salvage the ruins of his life.

  The Jedi escaped. Every hostage but one rescued. All I have left is that barve of a woman. And if she so much as suspects that the rest of her precious family and friends are safe…

  There was no one he could trust with this. Barev, Colonel Argat’s replacement, was typical human scum. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the liaison officer answered to the nondroid wing of the Separatist military machine, not to him. Barev and the others called him General Durd, but he wasn’t really one of them. That was a courtesy title, a show of respect he’d had to fight for. Humans were such bigots. Count Dooku was a bigot, though no sentient who wanted to live was fool enough to say so to the man’s face.

  Durd whimpered. Mired to his armpits in trouble, staring at calamity everywhere he turned, there was only one creature he could trust. And it wasn’t even a creature, it was a droid. Built to his most careful specifications, and equipped with unique sensor and infrared programming that made it impossible for anyone to give the machine orders in his stead.

  KD-77 was the closest thing he had to a friend.

  His office in his now compromised compound was equipped with a small refresher. Durd washed his face and rinsed his mouth, forcing the panic of the last few hours to subside. True, his droid army had failed to kill or capture the Jedi-aiding Dr. Fhernan—but hope was not entirely lost. There were only two of them, after all. The groundcar they’d managed to escape in wouldn’t get them far. And beyond Lantibba City’s barely civilized limits lay nothing but open countryside and scattered villages. No spaceworthy craft. No comm equipment. The villagers of Lanteeb were little better than their meat animals. Even with the groundcar’s transponder disabled it was only a matter of time before the Jedi were found.

  Found and killed, their involvement here obscured forever. They defeated me once. They will never defeat me again.

  A day at the most, surely, it would take him to eliminate his fleeing enemies. Count Dooku would never know how close the Project had come to disaster. He had everything under control…

  “Droid!” he said, coming out of the refresher. “Droid, I have orders for you.”

  KD-77 stood patiently in the corner. At the sound of Durd’s voice, its photoreceptors lit up. “Sir.”

  “This is a priority task,” he said, dabbing a dampened hand-cloth at the sticky, half-dried vomit down the front of his tunic. “Doctor Fhernan must believe that the hostages are still hostages. I want credible holoimagery created to convince her. Several weeks’ worth. Understood?”

  “Sir,” said the droid. “Consider it done.”

  What else? What else? Oh, yes. Of course. Barev. The trouble was that he hardly knew the man. Argat he’d had time to psychologically dissect and learn how to manipulate. But Colonel Barev had only just arrived. They’d barely been introduced.

  But he is human, and humans are greedy and driven by fear. They want to live for as long as they can. I can use that.

  He sent for Colonel Argat’s replacement.

  “A bad business, this, General,” said Barev.

  He was short even for a human. Though not yet middle-aged, most of his reddish hair was gone. What remained had been shaved close to his pitifully vulnerable skull. His eyes were blue and small. His crooked teeth stuck out. His skin was sickeningly pale and covered in—what did the humans call them? Oh, yes. Freckles. At least his voice was pleasantly deep. Too many humans squeaked, like rodents.

  “Bad?” Durd nodded. “Yes. Very bad. Your men at the spaceport have failed me, Colonel.”

  Colonel Barev’s eyes narrowed almost shut. Ha. “I’m sorry, General? Failed you?”

  Yes. Yes. Bluster. Humans did not do well with bluster. And they did not like it when their safety was threatened.

  “Are you deaf, Colonel?” he demanded. “Yes. Failed me. Did the Jedi appear out of thin air? No. They came here in a ship. They passed preliminary security checks and docked at the spaceport. And then your men gave them clearance into the city. Your men endangered my vital Project, Colonel Barev.”

  “Strictly speaking,” said Barev slowly, “prior to my arrival Colonel Argat was responsible for any security lapses.” A small muscle beside his right eye spasmed. “The fault is his.”

  With a small effort Durd smothered his delight. Yes, yes, Barev, I have you now. Self-preservation was a great motivator.

  “A mere technicality, Colonel. Argat is dead. I executed him myself, with Count Dooku’s blessing. You are in charge now. Therefore you are responsible.”

  “Dead?” Barev’s throat convulsed in a swallow. “It was my understanding Argat had been recalled.”

  Now he let himself smile. “Yes. That’s right. Recalled to his deity—isn’t that how you humans put it?”

  Instead of answering, Barev turned and walked to the office window. Beyond it the secured compound enclosure was crowded with vigilantly patrolling battle droids.

  “Things could be worse,” said Barev, his hands loosely clasped behind his narrow back. “Doctor Fhernan is uncompromised. The Project is secure. As for the Jedi… well, really, General Durd—how much damage can two men do?”

  He felt his lips thin in a snarl. “You are a fool if you underestimate them, Colonel. I want them found, is that clear? I cannot have my Project further disrupted. Count Dooku is waiting, and he is not a patient man.”

  Colonel Barev’s shoulders tightened. “You needn’t concern yourself, General—or involve Count Dooku. The Jedi are on borrowed time.”

  “How do you intend to find them?”

  Barev turned away from the window. “Scout droids are already deployed. As soon as the Jedi are sighted and their exact location is calibrated they will be overwhelmed by our forces.”

  It seemed a sound enough plan. “Don’t send humans against them,” Durd said, raising a warning finger. “Droids only. Jedi can’t sense droids. You must exploit their weaknesses. They don’t have many, so you can’t afford to miss even one.”

  Barev’s mouth pinched at the corners. “General, I am an experienced soldier. Your advice is—appreciated—but unnecessary, I assure you.”

  A strong sense of self-preservation and pride. This Barev would be easy to control. “You’re offended, Colonel?” he said, feigning regret. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intent. I’m merely trying to save you from Count Dooku’s wrath. If he ordered me to kill you, I’d be obliged to obey. And after Colonel Argat…” He pretended to shiver. “Well. It would be a great pity.”

  Eyes watchful and frightened, Colonel Barev snapped to attention. “Do not concern yourself about the Jedi, General Durd. They are dealt with. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Indeed there is, Colonel,” he said, lacing his fingers over his middle. “Thanks to—” He smiled. “—Colonel Argat,
this facility is fatally compromised. For all I know the Jedi are lying low somewhere close by, intending to return and sabotage my work. And should they elude your forces they might well succeed. I want the stage-two facility prepared for immediate occupation. Doctor Fhernan and I must be able to move in there no later than midday tomorrow.”

  “Midday,” said Barev, his voice tight. “Yes, General.”

  “And Colonel?” he added, just as Barev reached the office door. “I meant it when I said I didn’t want to be faced with the task of—recalling you. So for both our sakes I think that what has happened on Lanteeb should be kept quiet. We can contain this situation without distressing Count Dooku. Agreed?”

  Colonel Barev stared at him in silence. Droid patrols challenging one another’s identities was the only sound for quite some time. And then the human nodded. “Agreed.”

  As soon as he was alone again, Durd made his way upstairs to Dr. Fhernan’s criminally generous accommodation. He nearly fell over six droid patrols on the way. Another ten droids guarded the corridor outside the doctor’s room. Five more were stationed inside it.

  The woman got off her chair and looked at him with dull hatred as he closed the door behind him. “I want to see the rest of my family and friends,” she said flatly. “I want to know they’re all right.”

  If she hated him it was nothing to what he felt for her. Striking his prisoner to her knees, Durd heard her sharp grunt of pain and felt warm pleasure blossom.

  “Don’t test me, Doctor,” he said, standing over her. “Not after what you’ve done.”