her hope, and over the next years came to worship the formidable
Narec as a father figure. He had groomed the Force-strong child, uncovered
and developed her potential. At that time she imagined that
one day she might travel to Coruscant and stand before the Council,
become part of the ancient Order.
Then her Master was murdered. The Jedi Council, who had abandoned
Ky Narec to his fate, now became the object of her blind rage.
Consumed with vengeance, she became a destructive force beyond
anything her Jedi Master could have dreamed.
It was Count Dooku who discovered her on the Outer Rim. She
had attacked him, been defeated and disarmed, but rather than slaying
her he took her as an accomplice, completed her training, and set
her feet on the proper path. It was Dooku to whom she owed total allegiance,
as she owed nothing save death to the ruthless, corrupt Jedi.
Yes. She had clashed with Jedi. Killed many. Faced Master Windu
and come within a hairbreadth of defeating him. Faced Skywalker in
battles they would both remember. Obi-Wan had escaped her hand
twice, but would not again. This she swore by her allegiance to
Dooku. This she swore by her dead Master Ky Narec.
This she promised herself, purely for her own pleasure.
Asajj Ventress's closed eyelids fluttered, and her pink mouth curved
upward in a smile.
26
The Jedi and his Vippit companion had retired to their shared
quarters, but G'Mai Duris was still attending to her ball guests as
the music slowed and the lights came up, signaling the evening's
end.
She stood at the door, bidding farewell to her guests, when Caiza
Quill and his partner Sabit appeared. A few months before, it had
been Quill who had been the green-eyed female, Sabit the male, but
even then Quill had been intimidating. At his weakest, he was more
intimidating than Duris was at her strongest. Now, at his most aggressive,
the weight of his pheromones was almost overwhelming.
He leaned over her, exuding his scent. "Don't think that I don't
know you're trying to cultivate the Jedi as an ally," he said. "Don't
think for a moment that I will tolerate that. Remember what happened
to Filian."
She stiffened. How could she forget? Not five years before, Quill
and her mate Filian had engaged in a formal combat, what the
X'Ting called "going to the sand." And there, before the council, the
lethal Quill had slain her love. If she lived to a thousand, she would
never forget the sight.
"Do not weaken," he said. "Do not waver. Or you will suffer."
And then he was gone.
G'Mai Duris bid the rest of her guests farewell and took her shuttle
back to her apartment. She had loved Filian completely. As they
had spiraled through the eternal dance of male and female, each moment
and way of being had been, in its turn, exquisite.
But he had died before the fertilization dance could begin. So
childless, alone with her empty egg sac, she rocked in the darkness,
tears of terror and loneliness slicking her faceted emerald eyes.
As the new recruits practiced their maneuvers, Nate watched,
noted, and made adjustments in this obstacle course or that targeting
range. Forry approached him at an easy trot, the sort of pace that a
common man would find exhausting in ten minutes, and a trooper
could continue all day long.
"Sir!" the commando said, saluting smartly. "More recruits arrive."
"How many?"
Forry smiled with satisfaction. "Two dozen, sir!"
Nate felt a warm flush. This was exactly the kind of news he had
hoped for. "We'll make a fight of this yet," he said.
Nate was well satisfied with what he saw, and was moving the intensity
up a notch when Sheeka approached behind him.
"So?" she asked. "What do you think?"
He was pleased to realize that he felt confident to intuit her meaning.
"Not too bad," he said. "Farm boys and deep miners, but they can
take orders."
"They're tough folk," Sheeka said. "A lot of them think it's time to
fight."
"And you?"
"I just fly," she said.
"You might do just fine," he said. "Strong legs and back, good reflexes.
You might think about signing up."
She laughed. "No experience. And experience counts." Then she
glanced at him. "On the other hand, you weren't always the old
battle-scarred veteran, were you?"
Nate shook his head. Then with a slight smile, he added, "True.
But our simulations are . . . quite stimulating." He moved his shoulders
a bit, rolling out the stiffness and remembering Vondar-3.
"I'm sure they are," she said.
He watched as the training droid's arms flexed in multiple directions,
giving each recruit the motivation he or she needed to excel.
"They are eager enough—but they'd have their heads handed to
them by experienced troops, or battle droids."
"I've watched you with them," she said. "I think the four of you are
just the man for the job."
For a moment he thought that she had misspoken herself, then
realized that her straight face was only being maintained with effort.
She laughed out loud.
Nate felt his own lips twitching, understanding her joke, and that
even though it was at his expense, he appreciated it.
"Yes, we are," he said.
With that, he left her and went down to take a more personal hand
in the training. It was not entirely lost on him that he squared his
shoulders just a little more rigidly, that he moved a bit faster in
demonstrating unarmed combat moves, that he was a hair more alert,
because he knew Sheeka was watching. And although he felt a bit
absurd for it, at the same time he enjoyed her attention, and hoped
that she would be there when the day was done.
In ChikatLik, diplomatic operations proceeded at a glacial pace.
Snoil spent the mornings and much of the afternoons poring over
contracts, and finally twined his eye stalks in frustration. "Ah!
I've lost ten years' growth on my shell," he whined. "Have you seen
these?"
"What?" asked Obi-Wan, who was working to establish secure
communications with Coruscant. This necessitated linking through
Xutoo at their docked ship. So far, a solar storm seemed to have
distorted the link.
"The little cracks and fissures here where the new chitin is forming."
Snoil craned his long neck to look back at his flat shell's attractive
curls and swoops. In truth, he was accurate: there were new
cracks where the thinnest, newest shell segments should have been
forming.
"Ah, yes, I see," Obi-Wan said, distracted. "What does it mean?"
Snoil's eye stalks coiled in distress. "Stress! Stress, I tell you."
"Well, I don't want to add to your burden . . ."
"Oh, please . . . "
The hololink suddenly cleared, and Supreme Chancellor Palpatine
floated in the air before him. Snoil immediately quieted.
"Chancellor," Obi-Wan said.
"My Jedi friend. What news have you?"
"I believe that the Re
gent is of good heart, but fears for her life if
she acts her conscience."
"And what do you think her conscience would dictate?"
"That which is best for all Cestus: suspension of manufacture."
"Then what is the problem?"
"I believe the real power is in a group called the Five Families,
owners of Cestus Cybernetics. And they think of little save profit."
"Then you may need to take matters to the next level. I believe you
were given reliable contacts. Have you used them?"
"I believe Master Fisto has met with one. I meet with the other
tonight."
"I wish you fortune, Master Kenobi. Remember: little time remains,
if we would avert disaster."
"Yes, sir," Obi-Wan said, but before he could speak further the
Chancellor was gone.
He sighed, turning to Snoil. "Barrister," he said. "If you had a wish
list of... secure documents, what would be at the top?"
Doolb moaned. "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I say?"
"The truth."
His eye stalks twined around each other. "I think I would ask for
the original papers of incorporation and land purchase. And, oh—
the purchase orders themselves between Cestus Cybernetics and
Count Dooku or his intermediaries."
"Will do." He slapped Snoil's shell with the flat of his hand. "If
anyone asks, just tell them I'm sampling the native cuisine," he said,
lake care.
And with that, Obi-Wan left their suite.
Obi-Wan was able to slip into an empty room down the hall, and
from there to exit through a window unmonitored by the security
forces which doubtless kept a long-distance view of all his activities.
He climbed up to the roof and rode a service chute down to the
street, landing in an alleyway with his knees slightly bent, cushioning
the shock. Three steps and he blended with the crowd, none of
whom took the slightest notice of him.
Obi-Wan had heard of other planets that had begun as prison
colonies, but never actually visited one. He was heartened by the
overwhelming sense of energy and aliveness. Everywhere he looked
the streets were filled with milling, thronging offworlders. Although
there were only a smattering of X'Ting citizens to be seen, the city
did remind him of a hive colony. Commerce was conducted every
minute of the day, and every being he passed was trading in one way
or another. One out of ten shops was boarded up, but the others
buzzed with a frantic sense of activity, as if dancing on the edge of a
precipice. How many Cestians understood the game her masters
were playing? Even if without conscious awareness, these people
seemed a little too bright and aware. This was nervousness, not exuberance.
He hailed one of the cheaper, older air taxis, figuring that they
were less likely to be tied into the surveillance grid. Even if they were,
technically speaking he was doing nothing illegal or that would
overtly damage his mission. The driver's taxi holocard read GRITT
CHIPPLE. Gritt was X'Ting, with the red thoracic fur indicating descent
from a lower hive clan. "Your destination?" Gritt inquired.
"The Night Shade." Gritt Chippie flinched. Clearly, he knew the
Night Shade, and was not entirely happy to travel there.
"Hard credits," Obi-Wan added, and offered the little X'Ting
some Cestian chits. The driver's red eyes lit up. The chits were onplanet
and therefore easier to change, and not tied into the galactic
credit grid like the Republic chits. Untraceable. Avarice overwhelmed
fear. "Aye," he said, and they zipped away.
"You Jedi?"
Obi-Wan nodded. He was not disguised, but had hoped that he
might avoid notice.
"Then I heard of you. You wan' ride back from Night Shade?"
"That might be good, yes."
The little one made a spitting sound that Obi-Wan interpreted as
pleasure. "Then I wait for you. You be careful. Sometimes offworlders
not safe." Another spitting sound. "Sir."
The car had been riding along the side of the vast cave, but then
leapt into the maelstrom of ChikatLik. The complex was dizzying
even to one who lived in the fabled Jedi Temple. The driver floated
through the maze as only one born to a planet could do, and Obi-
Wan thought that Anakin might well have appreciated the little
X'Ting's facility.
Five minutes' travel brought them to a darker, grimmer section,
one set off from the main business districts. This was a place where
reputable citizens strayed on only the most disreputable of business.
Where in other parts of the city he saw only a few X'Ting per hundred
citizens, here, finally, the insectile beings were plentiful.
The driver handed him a triangular holochip. "Trigger this when
you want ride," he said, and the door opened. Obi-Wan tipped Gritt
handsomely and exited. The tattered little taxi cruised off, leaving
Obi-Wan alone.
Following memorized instructions, Obi-Wan approached the
door guarded by the two massive X'Ting guards. Females, no doubt.
The males were smaller and more lethal, but the females were more
intimidating to offworlders, who often failed to realize that much of
the bulky body was mere egg sac.
"You wish—?" the larger of them asked in a surprisingly cultured
voice.
He spoke a code word, then said, "I have an appointment with
Trillot." Not exactly the truth, but he knew that their contacts had
warned the X'Ting gang lord to expect him.
"A minute," the smaller said, and slipped back through the entrance,
emerging a moment later to hold the door open. "Enter."
Eyes measured him, not all of them respectful. A few were curious,
wondering if he was typical of his kind, wondering if the Jedi were as
strong as their supporters said, or as weak as the Separatists claimed.
The den was dark, and alien eyes glimmered at him from the darkness.
No one guided him, as if they expected him to find his own
way.
He could tell by the body language of the beings he encountered,
their posture and expressions, which way through the maze Trillot
lay. If this was some kind of a test, he intended to pass it with flying
colors.
On every side of him wafted the smells and sounds and sights of
an utterly corrupt habitat. Clearly, these were social dregs, y e t . . . to
be so close to the inner circle of the powerful Trillot, they had to have
resources, if nothing other than Trillot s trust. So Obi-Wan might as
well consider this the gangster's hive, a place the X'Ting kept for his
own comfort, something that reminded him of his own grubhood,
even if it demanded the destruction of other beings.
He recoiled at the thought, but kept his thoughts and feelings to
himself.
At the end of the corridor was another door, and before this one
stood a second pair of X'Ting bodyguards braced at attention. Males
this time, and genuinely lethal. They opened the door as he approached.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the interior. Trillot sat
perched on a tall cushion, puffing contentedly on a pipe of some
The swollen thorax, ready to be filled with fertilized eggs, told Obi-
Wan that Trillot had completed the swing from male to female.
"Jedi," Trillot said, her faceted eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. "Welcome
to my abode."
"Mistress Trillot," Obi-Wan said, and then bowed slightly, reciting
a complex series of sounds in X'Ting.
Trillot's eyes glittered. "You are very cultured for a human. Please.
Come sit by my side."
Obi-Wan did so as Trillot took several more puffs. "I would not insult
a Jedi," she said, "by publicly offering the fruit of fantazi."The
implication was obvious.
Kenobi smiled. "We have business," he said. "Fantazi clouds the
mind."
Trillot nodded. "But also sharpens the senses."
"We both know why I am here," Obi-Wan said. "War sweeps
across the galaxy. Cestus is not immune to its touch."
"War . . . or peace," Trillot said with a deep and evidently satisfying
puff. "Either way, I make my profit."
Bluff.
"Not if that war destroys Cestus's industrial capacity. Then there
are no workers to exploit. Then you suffer as well."
Trillot nodded slowly, as if Obi-Wan had indeed made an important
point. "I wish to avoid travail if that is at all possible."
"I believe it is."
"Then I will listen. What is it that I can do for you?"
Good. Avarice was a useful lever. "My friends on Coruscant say
you have a finger on everything that happens here," he said.
Trillot tittered. "How perceptive."
Obi-Wan lowered his voice slightly. "I wish to know the secret
codicils between the Families and the Confederacy."
At that, Trillot seemed to be taken a bit aback. "Indeed? Such information
would be hard-won."
"I have resources."
"Do you? I have resources as well. I would be loath to endanger
them on such a mission."
"I was told that if anyone could reveal the industrial system's weakness,
it would be you."
Trillot inhaled deeply. A long, thin stream of smoke escaped her
shallow throat-slits. "And if—that is to say if I was to share that
knowledge, how might it benefit me and mine?"
"In order to keep the peace and keep these devices off the market,
the Republic is prepared to offer a generous contract for droids. Your
information is valuable in . . . favorably resolving my negotiations. I
will give you advance notice of the order's size and specifications."
The Cestus Deception Page 17
