Zeetsa, rolled forward. Duris bent so that the aide could whisper in
her ear. She listened intently, then studied several holo documents
projected on a screen before them.
She looked up and smiled. "Barrister Snoil," she said. "You are
aware of the case of Gadon Three?"
Snoil's eyestalks retreated into themselves, and then extended
again. "Yes," he squeaked. "But there are at least four cases that might
have some application here. Please be more specific."
Duris seemed pleased with Snoil's erudition, and held up a finger
at what, from their angle, seemed a shadowy silhouette. "A matter of
breakaway Kif miners."
"Ah, yes." He composed himself. "Approximately fifty standard
years ago, the miners began selling high-energy ores on the open
market. Some of these ores found their way to a colony allied with
enemies of the Gadon regime. The Gadons came to the Republic for
a ruling, and it was adjudged that the intent of the original sale had
been above reproach. Therefore the final disposition of the ores was
not the responsibility of the miners."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly. That had been a poor decision.
The Republic hadn't penalized the miners, because a similar situation
was brewing in a nonallied cluster of planets the Chancellor hoped
would provide the Republic vital raw material. A lenient ruling here
could well make for good friendships elsewhere.
Brilliant politics, but it had now backfired! Obi-Wan felt that
long-vanished headache beginning to return.
While he retreated into his mind, Duris and Snoil continued to
banter back and forth. He knew this was just the opening salvo, but
he was already out of his depth. They spoke of obscure treaties, taxes,
rules and regulations.
Legalities be spaced. This had to end!
Obi-Wan waited for a lull in the conversation, and then raised his
hand. "Pardon me, Regent Duris." He calmed himself. Could she be
so obtuse? "Do you imagine that the Republic will stand by and allow
Cestus to manufacture these killing machines?" Obi-Wan was a bit
surprised at the strident tone in his own voice. "There is only one way
this can end."
For the moment, formality and mannered, measured approach had
broken down. Blast! He was no politician. He saw only the death and
destruction that would be visited on this planet if he was unable to
help them see past their contracts.
"And what is that?" Duris said frostily. She arched her segmented
shell and squared her shoulders. Anger boiled beneath her composed
surface as well. And something more. Fear?
He steadied his voice. "With no JK droids reaching planets outside
the Republic. Perhaps none of any kind leaving your workshops at
all."
"Do you threaten us? The Republic had its chance to purchase our
products, and chose to neglect payment. Then, they restricted
Gabonna crystals. Tens of thousands lost employment, Master Jedi.
Our economy was almost crippled. There were food and water riots
across the planet." She leaned forward. "Thousands died. Now you
tell us not to conduct business with planets offering solid credits.
Would the Supreme Chancellor authorize equal payments? In advance?"
No. Palpatine would never do that—it would be perceived, rightly,
as submitting to blackmail. "I am not here to threaten," he said.
"Merely to act as a conduit of communication between the Republic
and the good people of Cestus. We know that you are fighting for the
welfare of your people—"
"All the people of Cestus," she said. "Not just the X'Ting. Not just
the hive council. My responsibilities are to every soul on this planet."
If true, a fine sentiment, Obi-Wan thought. "We, on the other
hand, fight for the fate of an entire galaxy. You may rely upon one
truth: we will not allow your machines to slaughter our troopers.
Whether or not this entails the destruction of your civilization depends
upon you."
For a moment there was silence in the room. Duris and Obi-Wan
regarded each other intensely, a test of wills.
Then she nodded her head slowly. "Before you destroy us," she
said, "perhaps you should better know what it is you will end." Her
voice tightened, and this was where her breeding and strength rose to
the surface. She would not be rendered ineffective by her emotions,
however fearful they might be. "This evening there is a hive ball in
your honor. It would please me if you would attend. Perhaps some
communication is best facilitated in a more informal setting."
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. He had little taste for such formal
celebrations, but then again, protocol was important. "I am grateful
for the invitation. I hope that Your Grace will not interpret anything
I have said as a lack of respect for you or your people."
"We've both a job to do," she said, and once again he had the odd
sense that she was speaking on more than one level at a time. "But
that does not mean we cannot be civil."
"Indeed," he said, and bowed.
25
0bi-Wan's formal robe was much like his everyday dress: flowing
from floor to shoulder in a cascade of burnt sienna, but woven of
demicot silk. Their astromech had buffed his boots to a high shine,
and his spare tunic was cleaned.
Snoil's flat shell gleamed, and the folds of his skin were scraped
clean of mucus and buffed as highly as Obi-Wan's boots. A pair of
flat boxes had arrived for them. When opened, each yielded a flexible
mask. The slanted eyes, peaked eye ridges, and flat, wide mouths
were clearly a caricature of X'Ting physiognomy. When Obi-Wan
pulled it on and viewed himself in a mirror, the effect was striking.
"And what is this?"
Snoil was actually blocking the doorway as Obi-Wan completed
his own preparations. A bemused smile wreathed the cephalopod's
face.
"Master Jedi," the Vippit said. "You are resplendent."
"And you sparkle," Obi-Wan said. "Now, Barrister Snoil, it is important
that we understand what is happening here."
Snoil raised one of his stubby hands. "Master Jedi, I know that I
may seem ungainly and somewhat gauche, but I have been involved
in such missions before. This ball is clearly a tactic, not a social occasion.
I will be alert."
Obi-Wan sighed with relief. His companion was acutely aware of
these games. More aware, perhaps, than he. In this, it was possible
that Snoil would take the lead, and for that he was grateful.
"This is a hive ball," Snoil said, examining his mask. "The hive
may have little real power, but apparently the offworlders enjoy pretending
that it does."
"Well," Obi-Wan said, helping Snoil on with his disguise. He extended
his arm, and Snoil slipped his own small, firm hand through
it. Snoil's arm was pleasantly smooth and cool, moist but not sticky.
"Shall we join the fun?"
The music enveloped them silkily even before Obi-Wan and Doolb
Snoil had exited their shuttle car. Several hundred guests had already
arrived. Most were human or humanoid,
with a sprinkling of other
sentient species among the bejeweled attendees. Many were in pairs
or trios, although at least one clan-cluster hovered around the appetizers.
Hospitality droids served food and drink at a prodigious rate.
Only a handful were genuine X'Ting, Obi-Wan noted, although all
the others wore the X'Ting masks. Respectful custom or ugly joke?
He wasn't at all certain.
The masked and costumed attendees parted as Obi-Wan and
Snoil moved forward. With polite nods and interested expressions,
they let the two pass and suppressed their speculative whispers until
the odd pair had gone by.
The cream of Cestus's society had turned out for this gathering, a
glittering ensemble indeed. A multispecies band strummed varied
wind and string instruments and at least one synthesizing keyboard,
producing music that sounded much like the mating anthem of
Alderaan's Weaving clans, a perky melody that fairly demanded fancy
footwork.
As they entered his eyes found G'Mai Duris swiftly, performing
some X'Tingian rhythmics reminiscent of the Alderaan Reel. The
couples and trios performing the precision choreography stopped.
The music stopped. All of the masked participants applauded the
newcomers.
If he was to assume that there was more than one meaning to
everything that occurred here, then why had they chosen to welcome
him in such an elaborate fashion? One answer came to mind: they
hoped that elaborate displays would impress upon a galaxy-spanning
traveler the idea that even here, on the Outer Rim, there was a civilization
worth preserving.
These smiles, these bows—they were sincere and hopeful. These
Cestians wanted him to understand the fragile and lovely society that
they had built up over the years, and it behooved him to open his
heart to them. If he grasped their nature better, it might be easier to
make crucial decisions, or devise appropriate tactics.
He hoped.
So with that in mind, when Duris approached him with her mask
held to her face, he took her arm with genuine pleasure. "Master
Jedi," she said. "It is such a delight that you could spare the time to
join our little gathering."
"One could not travel halfway across the galaxy," he said, "and not
partake of Cestus's famed hospitality."
Duris seemed to sparkle. Her immense intelligence and energy
filled her considerable frame to bursting. She was the most vibrant
and fully alive X'Ting he had yet encountered.
A small crowd of dignitaries formed behind her, all masked, but
some wearing costumes that actually concealed their profiles. "G'Mai,"
one woman asked. "Please introduce us to our visitors."
"Of course," Duris said. "Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and Doolb
Snoil of Coruscant, please meet the heads of the Five Families." A
short, slender man bowed. "Debbikin of research." A half-faced
X'Ting mask on the next woman's imperious face did not disguise
the elaborate makeup and tattooing of her lips. "Lady Por'Ten of energy."
The next man was tall and broad and pale, as if he had never
seen the sun. "Kefka in manufacturing," Duris said. Kefka was possibly
human, with perhaps a bit of Kiffar mixed in by genetic splice.
The next man's blue skin proclaimed him of Wroonian extraction.
"Llitishi of sales and marketing," Duris proclaimed. The next in line
was a slender X'Ting, one of perhaps five or six in the entire ballroom.
"And my cousin Caiza Quill of mining." He stood taller than
Duris, almost level with Obi-Wan. Quill extended his right primary
hand in a gesture of respect. He had a golden, stick-thin insectile
body and vast faceted red eyes.
Each bowed in turn. They made small talk. Then, expressing their
eagerness to begin negotiations on the morrow, they retreated to
allow the Jedi and Barrister Snoil to enjoy their evening.
Duris led him onto the dance floor. "Are you familiar with the
reel?" she asked.
"More in theory than practice," he said politely, momentarily
wishing that a band of assassins might attack the party at this moment,
giving him an excuse to decline.
He was on the verge of begging off completely when he felt
something. A sensation like a flux-wire brushing across his spine, and
he knew that there was danger in this room. He glanced left and
right, seeing nothing but dancers. Then—a glimpse, a silhouette on
the far side of the room. A lithe, costumed figure. Male? Female? He
wasn't certain, and wasn't even certain why his alarms had triggered.
There appeared no obvious threat, but he wanted to be certain.
Duris stood before him, waiting patiently for him to answer her implied
request. Obi-Wan forced himself to smile. "Shall we experiment?"
She laughed throatily and, he thought, with genuine mirth. He
looked back over his shoulder. Barrister Snoil was surrounded by
three masked females, one human, a Corthenian, and a Wookiee,
who were engaging him in animated conversation. Good. Snoil's torpid
locomotion was a perfect excuse for declining dance, but at least
he was pleasantly occupied.
With that in mind, Obi-Wan extended his left hand, and she
rested both primary and secondary right hands upon his forearm. He
joined the line, took his place across from G'Mai Duris, and extended
the tendrils of the Force.
The band prompted them to enjoy Cestus's own special dance
variant. Even if the original form had been one as universal as the
Alderaan Weaver's Reel, they would have their own interpretations.
And he knew that the guests were watching to see if he could adapt.
This would tell them not only if he was of their social tribe, but how
they might expect him to react in the future.
Obi-Wan had dual obligations: to learn this dance as swiftly as
possible, and to search out the elusive figure and determine why his
senses were screaming at him. Something is wrong. Danger!
There. White-smocked, deliberately genderless? Slipping between
two humans and a native Cestian servant. Human? No. Extremely
fluid in motion—
Then Duris squeezed his arm. "Master Jedi! I had no idea that you
were a courtier as well as warrior and diplomat. You dance superbly."
He chuckled to himself. For centuries, dance had been used at the
Jedi Temple to facilitate rhythm and timing. On any world of the
galaxy, when one found males or dominant females dancing, it was
often a warrior art in disguise. Obi-Wan knew the movements of a
dozen fierce and beautiful traditions.
"I merely follow your lead, madam," he said, smiling as he focused
over her shoulder, seeking the elusive figure.
Gone!
The room swirled and Obi-Wan glided along with it, his Jedi reflexes
and coordination drawing admiring glances almost at once.
He remembered his childhood in the Temple. Master Yoda had devised
so many ingenious ways to teach vital lessons. He remembered
watching the great Jedi perform complex dance steps, admonishing
his astonished young students to become "compl
ete" movement
artists. A warrior who cannot dance? Clumsy in both war and peace he is.
At the very least, an ambassador who could not fumble his way
through the Alderaan Reel was a poor ambassador, indeed.
There was nothing suspicious to be seen, and in fact his sense of
danger had faded, almost as if it had never been justified at all.
"We're all watching you, you know," Duris whispered, coming
closer. "Most have never seen an actual Jedi before."
Obi-Wan chuckled to himself and backed away from her as the
music changed. He swirled and passed to the next lady in line, where
the dance began anew.
At the first opportunity he retired from the line, and on the pretext
of seeking refreshment again scanned the entire room, from stalactites
to stalagmites.
Nothing.
As if there had never been anything at all.
Asajj Ventress hurried down the tunnel toward her waiting hovercar,
discarding her X'Ting mask as she went. Fizzik awaited her
there, in a chauffeur's coat, and none of the guests trickling out of the
ball paid them any attention.
"Did you see him?" Fizzik asked.
She laughed mirthlessly. "Of course," she said. "He almost sensed
me." For months Count Dooku had taught her the Quy'Tek meditations.
It was good to see the result. Her grin was as feral as a kraken's
fixed and meaningless smile. "Obi-Wan Kenobi." She settled back
into her seat and closed her eyes. "The game is mine."
"Wasn't that very risky?" Fizzik said.
She opened her eyes and gazed at him, perhaps wondering whether
her pleasures would be best served by killing him here and now.
"Life is risk," she said, and then turned to watch the buildings flow
past. For a moment her face assumed an unaccustomed softness as
her thoughts deepened. "Perhaps death, as well."
At that, Fizzik fell silent.
Ventress closed her eyes, laying plans.
Jedi. She'd killed many Jedi, and yet did not hate them. Rather, she
hated the fact that they had lost their way, that they had forgotten
their true purpose in the world, becoming pawns of a corrupt and
decadent Republic.
While most Jedi were discovered in early infancy and raised in the
Jedi Temple, Asajj Ventress had been discovered by Master Ky Narec
on the desolate planet of Rattatak. An orphaned child starving in the
wreckage of a war-torn city, Ventress had clung to anyone offering
The Cestus Deception Page 16
