As the food worked its way through his system, Obi-Wan was
comforted by the troopers' measured, military cadences. On occasion
he'd found that emotionless precision irritating, but now it calmed
him. The value of such competency could not be underestimated.
Here, it might save all their lives, and the plan as well.
All in all, he was pleasantly surprised by the commandos' accurate,
perceptive, and entirely admirable reports.
When they were complete, Kit Fisto leaned forward, resting his
elbows on his knees. "Your thoughts?" he asked after Obi-Wan had
remained quiet for almost a full minute.
"Impressive," he said. "It makes my own blundering seem all the
more childish in comparison."
Obi-Wan stood, slapping his palms against his legs. "The situation
has changed," he said. "Our resources have changed, and the nature
of our adversaries has changed. Gentlemen—" He scanned the assembled.
"—an unknown person or persons destroyed our transport
ship and killed one of your brothers. This was an unspeakable act,
and must be addressed as such."
The recruits, their new and improved "Desert Wind," were hard
now. Their grueling training had weeded out the weaklings and
transformed them into a band capable of following orders, of marching
courageously into danger. Still, a vital question remained: were
they really willing to kill or die? It was never possible to determine
who would cower under fire. Only combat itself could answer the
questions burning in every raw recruit's breast:
Will I? Can I?
He saw that question now. Saw also that his brush with catastrophe
had not diminished him in their eyes. In fact, it seemed the surviving
members of Desert Wind now accepted him as they had not
before, saw him as an ally, one who might now be willing to go beyond
his stated parameters into something more radically dangerous.
Someone had attempted to murder him. Someone had betrayed
and manipulated him. Duris? The Five Families? Trillot?
Someone. But who? Who stood to gain by his death?
He pulled his mind back to the task at hand. "We will continue
on," he said. "And we will finish what we started together. You do not
know me, but through the glowing reports of my associates, I know
you." He had their eyes and minds. What he needed was their hearts.
"In the coming days, the nature of our new situation will become
clear to you, and I trust that none of you will falter at the grim task
ahead. This is no longer a charade. Justified it may be, but I ask that
you control your rage. I ask you to follow the path of least violence for
the damage that we are called upon to do. To be merciful when possible,
and courageous in action when not."
He paused, and gathered himself. "We journeyed to Cestus seeking
a diplomatic solution. It would seem that that option is no longer
available to us. Ladies. Gentlemen." He locked eyes with each of
them in turn. "We must consider ourselves at hazard."
47
F.or hours G'Mai Duris had pored over her advisers' reports and
suggestions, seeking to better understand her current position. The
Republic had attempted to influence her decisions by deception. The
Jedi had won her the leadership of the hive council. Had given her a
piece of information that could destroy Cestus Cybernetics, or offer
her people a new beginning.
But by perpetrating a fraud, Obi-Wan had plunged her into a
nightmare. She could not support the Jedi, or accept his support. The
information in her hands could not be used to manipulate Cestus
Cybernetics. Without support from the Republic, the information
would do little save ensure her own assassination.
Another question remained as well, one she was having a more
difficult time answering. How exactly had the Jedi been foiled? She
didn't believe for an instant that the scheming Quill had trapped
Obi-Wan in such a fashion. No. She had seen too much of her
cousin's past power-grubbing to think her rival capable of such a
coup. Quill had received serious assistance. But from whom?
There was another force at work here, and one that might prove far
more dangerous.
Her assistant Shar Shar rolled into the room, blue skin gleaming
splotchily in alarm. "Regent Duris!" she cried. "We have terrible
news!" Shar Shar extruded an arm and punched a code into the machine,
waving her stubby hands through the reading stream until the
images changed. "This just came through a minute ago."
The view was from orbit, one of the drone satellites used to monitor
and protect the entire planetary system, everything from the moons
to the mines. They watched Obi-Wan's ship rising up through the
atmosphere. "We lost the image for a moment as the shift between
the ground monitors and the orbiters was disrupted. Perhaps by this
drone ship—"
Something appeared from the direction of a moon. It was black
and configured strangely, and Duris thought her eyes deceived her.
For a moment she imagined it to be some great bird of prey, but then
she saw it to be no manner of living thing, but a ship of an unfamiliar
design.
But was it really unfamiliar? Hadn't she seen such a ship design
among a series of craft purchased by Cestus Cybernetics security just
last year? It appeared from nowhere, swooped out of frame until another
satellite caught it, and then it and the Jedi's ship were both in
the viewing field at the same time. The black ship spat something out
toward the Jedi ship, which promptly commenced corkscrewing maneuvers.
"Who is in the escape pod?" G'Mai asked.
"Let me see." Her assistant manipulated the field. "Not much
shielding on a pod. We might be able to—ah! Not human . . . it was
the Vippit barrister."
"Then the Jedi is still piloting the ship?"
"Perhaps, and—" Suddenly the entire visual field flooded with
light, enough to wash the shadows from the room and temporarily
render them all dazed and nearly blind.
"What was that?" Duris asked, instantly comprehending the horrid
absurdity of the question. She knew precisely what it was. Even
more important, she understood what it meant.
Some unknown force or person had destroyed the Republican ship
and, with it, the Jedi personally appointed by Supreme Chancellor
Palpatine to negotiate with Cestus. She groaned. Things had been
horrendous enough. The discovery of Obi-Wan's perfidy, and its
public disclosure, had tied her hands. But this went so far beyond bad
that she would have to find new descriptions, and those new words
would have to wait until she ceased feeling too nauseated to think.
For all her current anger, she suspected Obi-Wan had acted from
a desire to bring Cestus back into the Republic's sheltering fold.
With respect and deep relief she noted that no one had actually been
harmed during the fraudulent kidnapping. In her heart she believed
that this suggested genuine concern for the lives and welfare of even
the lowliest security people, let alone t
he Families themselves. But
who or whatever had acted against the Jedi had displayed no such
scruples. Beyond doubt Cestus would be blamed, and she would have
no option but to throw her support to the Confederacy.
And although she could not fully grasp the intents of all sides in
this matter, she knew that for all of his deception she preferred Obi-
Wan to these shadowy assassins.
"What do we do?" asked Shar Shar, bouncing in agitation.
"There is only one thing we can do," she replied. "And that is to
safely retrieve any survivors. Snoil, at least, may be alive. Search for a
rescue beacon!"
48
Jangotat and the rest of the rescue party had traveled most of the
way to the location indicated by Barrister Snoil's homing beacon,
zipping along close to the ground on speeder bikes. They were less
than three klicks away when they picked up the first signals from
ChikatLik's approaching rescue craft.
"We have a problem, Captain," Sirty said.
"Agreed, Sergeant." Obi-Wan's escape from the ship had been anticipated,
and had gone off without a hitch. His capsule had been all
but invisible to the scanners. Snoil's unanticipated exit was another
matter altogether. The Vippit's rescue beacon would be seen by anyone
with a scanner tuned to the emergency frequencies. The troopers
had their orders: to retrieve Snoil. There was no telling the nature
or inclination of those who now rushed to find them. Was it still
important not to expose the presence of trained Republic forces on
Cestus? What to do?
He made his decision from among a handful of equally bad options.
"Forry and Desert Wind travel north to intercept. Dig in and
do what you can to make yourselves look like a larger force. They
won't be anticipating hostile fire, and should retreat."
"Yes, sir."
"On it!"
Two of the speeder bikes peeled off to head north. He sent a coded
message to those remaining with him. "Follow me. Increase to maximum
velocity."
The Republic transport drama had attracted attention from members
of the Five Families. A seething Quill had already returned to
Duris's throne room, and Llitishi was said to be on his way. Quill radiated
both hatred and triumph. How long would it be before he
found a way to kill her? A month? A week? A few days?
"Regent Duris," said Shar Shar, rolling side-to-side with dismay.
"Our security force approaches the beacon location for the escape
capsule, but there is a problem."
"And what is that?"
The little blue ball frowned. "Look." On the projection field, a few
small dots zipped from the direction of the Dashta Mountains, heading
for the capsule.
"What is that?"
"Ordinarily I'd guess aboriginal nomads, ma'am. But they're moving
kind of fast."
Quill sneered, his wings fluttering with repressed rage. "We know
that Desert Wind was cooperating with the Jedi. We are simply seeing
the weapons that bought such cooperation, Regent."
"And now they intend to rescue the Vippit?" Her head spun.
"They may even be responsible for the attack."
"They have no such weaponry." Duris bit her tongue. These waters
were deepening. Could Desert Wind have been involved? But if they
had other allies, allies who might have supplied the technology for
such an assassination, then were the anarchists playing both sides
against the middle, supporting anyone who would provide them with
weaponry? Then what of her intuition that Quill had obtained the
holovid from complicit sources? And if he had—Whose trap is this,
really? And who has been caught in it?
Duris was beginning to think that Obi-Wan might have been
more truthful than she thought. Why, then, had he not proclaimed
innocence in some way? If security considerations were involved,
why had he not asked for a private audience? No, she had seen his
face: surprise, shock, consternation . . . and shame.
"Ma'am!" Shar Shar called out. "The rescue force is under fire!"
Duris manipulated her chair-arm sensor, momentarily unable to
find the feed. "Any visual contact?"
Shar Shar tried to manipulate the drone satellite but couldn't get
magnification powerful enough to show anything but a few specks
and flashes in the desert. "No," the Zeetsa said. "But they are using
weapons similar to those known to be possessed by Desert Wind."
Of course. That meant nothing. And everything. Her head hurt.
"Tell them to pull back. Put a smaller security team into the area."
The other dots were moving. Had they reached the capsule and extracted
the survivor?
"They're leaving!" Shar Shar bubbled. The dots on the map bleeped
out. "And they must have reached the mountains. Our drone satellite
can't see anything at all now."
Had Snoil been rescued? Kidnapped? Murdered? Tortured for information?
Welcomed as a friend? It was impossible to say from this
vantage point. But the differences among those possibilities might
cost G'Mai Duris her cloak of office.
More important, they might cost the life of every being on Cestus.
49
with anarchists attacking on multiple fronts, there was little time
for rest in ChikatLik. The attacks were always carried out with laser
precision, and inevitably involved minimal structural damage and no
loss of life. Still, with every strike an industrial complex was damaged,
production slowed or stopped. Mines were rendered too dangerous
for workers to enter, vehicles were sabotaged, and security
forces were humiliated and enraged. And behind it all, behind every
mark on the map that meant another blown bridge, another crippled
skyport, another central processing by-station rendered useless,
Duris thought she sensed the mind of Obi-Wan Kenobi: brilliant,
ferocious, tactically diverse, and respectful of life in all its forms.
Could the Jedi still be alive?
If the majority of production loci were jammed, if those critical
production lines were slowed to a crawl, her hands would be tied. She
would have to either sue for peace or call in Confederacy forces to
protect their interests, throwing Cestus onto the path of destruction.
Because if Cestus declared for the Confederacy, then the Republic
would consider her an enemy planet producing lethal arms. Cestus
had no fleet capable of resisting either juggernaut. Politically, economically,
and personally she would be torn to pieces, and Cestus
would end as a minor footnote in dull academic histories detailing
failed attempts at secession.
During those days the Regent slept little. It seemed that every five
hours or so there was another report, bearing new embedded images
of flaming refineries, fleeing security forces, stories of commando
teams—perhaps Desert Wind, perhaps something else—striking from
silence and shadows, destroying only equipment, and then fading away
again. Just dissolving into thin air.
Then in the middle of a night, Shar Shar's cries roused her from
uneasy drea
ms. "We've trapped Desert Wind!" she called. "Please,
come now."
G'Mai Duris wrapped a robe around her ample body and hurried
to follow her assistant's spherical blue form as it richocheted down
the hall toward the observation room.
She recognized the location in the holos: the Kibo geothermal station
west of the Zantay Hills. Kibo had appeared on a high-priority
list of possible targets and thus been allotted additional security
teams. Apparently those precautions had borne fruit.
"What do we have?"
"A Desert Wind unit. No more than ten. They were sabotaging
one of the towers, and a secondary sweep picked them up. We
swooped in before they could escape. Seemed to have cut off their retreat."
"Good, good," Duris said. "Then there is a chance for capture, and
then interrogation." Perhaps now they would finally learn a bit of the
truth. Perhaps.
50
bi-Wan Kenobi was pinned down in a bunker at the rocktumbled
edge of Kibo Lake, just outside the power station's white
duracrete dome. For the last hour a slow wind had been building.
The air was clouded with sand and dust, reducing the accuracy of defensive
fire. Their enemies seemed less encumbered: one of his recruits
was already wounded by sniper blasts. The surprise and the
accurate return fire had dispirited the others.
The clone troopers were still disguised as Desert Wind fighters.
Even though Obi-Wan knew that the incriminating holovid existed,
if there were no additional witnesses, and no obvious clone trooper
involvement, it would be easier for Coruscant to deny allegations.
Kibo Lake's fifty-kilometer-wide volcanic crater was the fourth
largest on the planet. Active vents at the bottom transformed this,
one of Cestus's largest bodies of groundwater, into a hypermineralized
geothermal soup pot, home to a collection of odd primitive
aquatic forms, and a power source for many of the outlying mines.
The geothermal stations tapped those volcanic vents, concentrating
the heat and ultimately powering a series of steam turbines. The
power was sold in a dozen forms planetwide.
Both stealth and courage had been required to move into position
0
for the assault: they'd skimmed silently across Kibo Lake's simmering
alkaline soup and simultaneously crawled over the crater wall from
the desert, in a precision pincer operation.
Explosive charges had been carefully placed, guards neutralized
The Cestus Deception Page 26
