The Cestus Deception (26 page)

On the most secretive of occasions, those executives known as the Five Families met in their most private facility, a bunker complex seventy kilometers south of ChikatLik. The bunker was officially called an “entertainment complex,” and was complete with sufficient communications gear to monitor the entire planet, as well as enough food and water to supply ten people for six months. The outer facility was complete with a holoatrium, exercise and dining rooms, luxurious suites, and lounging areas. An inner room was even more secure, with walls thick enough to resist even glazion energy torches for a standard day.

Despite her relation to the X’Ting clan, Trillot had never before entered the bunker, and doubted she ever would again. At the moment she was hosted by her distant cousin Quill, who owed her favors. Still, nervousness hung in the air like a pall of smoke. The ambience did not improve when, from a darkened corridor, a tall shaven-headed woman entered the room, the pale skin at her temples scribed with tattoos. Ventress wore a skintight suit of black Sullust leather that emphasized the disturbingly boneless quality of her movement.

Trillot stood to make the introductions. “I present to you Asajj Ventress.”

Those present stood politely. Then they sat again and awaited her comments.

“I am Commander Asajj Ventress.” Her tattooed scalp held their eyes as if the static inkings were animated. “I represent Count Dooku. Our new venture, the JK droids, will give you wealth and power beyond limit. But make no mistake: my master has greater concern than profit. If you conduct fair trade, you will be rewarded.” The representatives whispered to each other, nodding enthusiastically, and Ventress had to raise her voice slightly to get their attention again. “Attempt to deal with this as mere commerce,” she warned, “and you will die to regret it.”

Dame Por’Ten raised a thin, blue-veined hand. “No need for such talk, Commander. There may have been some confusion recently, but with the…
departure
of Obi-Wan Kenobi, I can assure you we are back on track.”

Ventress inclined her head. “Well then,” she said, her lips curled in a cold smile. “Let’s discuss particulars.”

There was a bit of polite agreement before someone had the honesty to actually speak her mind. “What is it you request?”

Ventress focused her gaze upon the speaker, then dropped her eyes politely. “That you continue to serve your best interests.”

The answer seemed to please them. “And what might those be?”

Ventress raised her eyes. They burned like coals. “Survival. And you would
not
be alive, any of you, if you had yielded to the Jedi. Now then, I know at least one escape capsule survived. I believe both Kenobi and his allies are still alive. I
feel
it. They will attempt to disrupt our commerce.”

Lady Por’Ten recoiled before Ventress’s ferocity. “Wha-what should we do?”

The slightest of smiles curled those thin lips. “Obey me,” Ventress said. “And provide me with your data, data you can project on a map.”

“Why?”

Her eyes hardened. “Do not ask for answers that you cannot understand,” she said. “Let us merely say I intend to prove Kenobi my inferior. His lies are my reality.”

All the data had been gathered and then input to the computers. It included every sighting, every act of sabotage, everything that was known, including the escape pod’s disappearance.

Everything.

Asajj Ventress walked through the midst of the projection field, eyes closed and fingers outstretched, resembling a blind girl mapping an unfamiliar room.

Or so it might have seemed to one of mundane mind. To others, she seemed a strange and terrible siren wandering through a sea of living energy, gliding along lines of intention.

Trillot thought Ventress the most beautiful, frightening sight she had ever beheld.

Finally, Ventress turned and faced them. Her hand stretched out, one quavering finger touching a point in the midst of all the glowing lines. “Here,” she said. “They are in
this
place.”

“Are you certain?” Lady Por’Ten asked. “You can be so sure of their location?”

The others held their breath, not wishing to contemplate the potential danger of questioning this woman in any way, shape, or form.

Her chest heaved slowly as she replied. “You of the Family are dead to the Force. But Obi-Wan. Yes… he is alive with it. He and… yes…” She closed her eyes. “One other.” She inhaled, as if scenting something in the air. “The Nautolan. Yes. He is Jedi, too. I feel it. I can feel their ripples in the Force.”

She smiled at them. “If you see ripples in water, do you not know where the stone was dropped? If these maps and this information are good, my analysis will be true.”

As Ventress spoke with the others, Trillot felt the pressure mount. If this operation failed, the gang lady might bear the brunt of anger from both sides. But if she succeeded…

Quill leaned close to her. “You have done well. Continue your support, cousin. If the Five Families profit, you will be rewarded beyond your dreams.”

“My dreams are quite expansive,” Trillot said, turning to look at them. “What is it you offer?”

“For three hundred years,” Quill said, circling Trillot seductively, “there have been Five Families. Mining, fabrication, sales and distribution, research, and energy. But mining has always understood that labor was an integral part of our process.”

“So?”

“So… after Duris is dead, there will be room in the hive council for Trillot.”

Trillot’s eyes glowed.

“Think of it. Your grubs would no longer crawl in the shadows.”

“Invited to the balls?”

Quill smiled. “Dining at the head table. Trillot, my friend. My sister. It is high time for you and your family to emerge from the darkness and take your rightful place.”

Quill had found Trillot’s weakness. “What must I do?” she said.

Ventress watched it all without speaking. Her hands were still outstretched, as if she could feed through her fingertips. Trillot had heard that Obi-Wan Kenobi had faked a fantastic demonstration only days before. Could Ventress actually do such an incredible thing? And if she could, did that not imply that she was superior to the Jedi…?

“Remember who is your friend and ally in these matters. Not Duris, certainly.”

“No.”

“Nor Kenobi,” he said quietly, glancing to be certain their deadly ally was out of hearing, “who uses our planet as a pawn on the galactic game board.”

“Yes.” Trillot was shaking.

“Do you fear Kenobi?”

Trillot nodded.

“Do not. Our ally, the great Asajj Ventress, will destroy him. You must supply her with whatever she asks, whenever she asks, without question. Kenobi may still trust you, and come to you for help. If he does, you must act without hesitation. The moment will come, and when it does, you may emerge into the sun.”

“We must act,” Ventress said, turning to them.

“What have you in mind?” Lady Por’Ten asked.

Ventress stalked the chamber almost as if she were oblivious to the others. “I have in mind a test for your JK droids.”

The members of the Five Families glanced at each other nervously. “They are not lethal until their Gabonna crystals are replaced, ma’am.”

“No matter. Captives can be profitably questioned. But one other thing is necessary: months ago Count Dooku designed and ordered special infiltration droids. According to your reports these droids are complete, and ready for testing.”

“Yes, that is correct,” one of the technicians agreed.

“Then they, and the JKs together, will follow my commands,” Ventress said, and she smiled. And that smile was so unfeeling that it made a snarl look warm and welcoming in comparison.

They were not alive, but they crawled through the darkness. They had no minds, but dreamed of death. They had no bodily needs, yet were ravenously hungry.

At the moment the four droids in the lead were little more than clear sacs of jelly. Dull lights embedded in their semisolid bodies revealed clumps of metallic shapes suspended within.

Those in the rear were more solid, golden, hourglass-shaped droids. Their small, pointed legs crawled easily along the path blazed by their larger brothers. JKs.

The four infiltration droids used their indeterminate shape to squeeze through the smallest passageways, finding purchase wherever they could, then taking whatever shape best served their needs. Laser nodes along their surfaces scalded the rock, melting it and grinding it to widen the passageway.

For kilometers they traveled like this, becoming more solid when they needed to push an obstruction aside, more fluid when they needed to explore, making the way for the JKs.

The lethal procession whispered beneath the ground, below every sensor, beneath any potential observer. And they traveled in near silence. When they met an obstacle they burrowed or burned through it.

One meter at a time, they simply approached their prey. Without fatigue or trepidation, without mercy or living intent they moved forward, motivated by nothing save a programmed appetite.

One that would shortly be satisfied.

For hundreds of years the Dashta Mountains’ deep shadows had provided protection for smugglers, runaways, thieves, political malcontents, and young sweethearts. No one knew all the paths that led into the chambers, and likely enough no one ever would. Therefore it was the depths of the caves themselves that were selected as the best place for a celebration.

After all, the initial strategy may have gone awry, but their secondary plans had gone swimmingly. If the Jedi regretted the loss of life, the rejuvenated forces of Desert Wind felt that they had finally struck a telling blow against the Five Families.

After six of those raids, Sirty’s communications skills combined with Doolb Snoil’s phenomenal mind for research, tapping into ChikatLik’s holovid network to extract a vital and telling piece of data: droid production had dropped by more than 30 percent. If they could but maintain the current pace of action, the Five Families and the government would be forced to the bargaining table, where all desires could be met.

And while Obi-Wan wasn’t nearly so certain that their current course would indeed take them to the desired land of plenty, there had been much violent action, many hairbreadth escapes, and three lost comrades to honor. Tensions were building to a killing point, and a bit of celebration would do them good.

So the revel had been building for hours, guards posted at the cave mouth. While alert status remained high, Desert Wind’s heightened appetites were simultaneously slaked with food, drink, games, bragging and boasting, and dancing.

Resta Shug Hai spent most of her time by herself, sipping mead, a drink that had similar effects on human and Cestian. Since the very first days of training she had been an outsider, the lone X’Ting among human recruits. The barrier had gone both ways: after a lifetime of fighting for her land and identity, there was little love lost for the offworlders. Even as the troops began to enjoy victories, and the normal camaraderie bound them all together more tightly, she had remained somewhat apart. But she finally stepped forward, swaying slightly as if her tongue had been loosened by the mead. “I sing song,” she said.

Doolb Snoil happily clapped his chubby hands together, cheering her on.

“X’Ting songs like Thak Val Zsing’s history lessons,” she explained. “Every clan have own song. Tell people’s story. When song die, people die. Resta last to know her clan song.”

And she sang it. Obi-Wan didn’t speak the language, but he didn’t need to. He understood the emotions behind the alien words. And if emotion held true, the song spoke of courage, and toil, of love and hope and dreams.

What struck Obi-Wan most was her evident pride and courage. If Resta and G’Mai Duris were typical of their people, the X’Ting were incredibly strong folk. Despite the plagues, despite their lands being stolen from under them, despite no external evidence at all, they dreamed on.

When she finished, the rock walls rang with applause.

Jangotat made his rounds of the outer caves, taking a few moments to speak to each of his brothers, all of whom declined intoxicants. Then he checked in with the recruits who were taking guard positions among the rocks or monitoring the scanners. No matter how well hidden they believed themselves to be, it was inevitable that eventually their lair would be discovered. Still, considering that the mountains themselves could shield them from enemy bombardment, it would take hours for enemy troops to ascend the slopes under fire, and all rear exits were either well guarded or sealed off.

In the world of field operations, this was about as secure as life could get.

Making his third rounds, a sense of ease descended over Jangotat. General Kenobi’s initial plot had failed, but this new operation seemed to be working fine: breaking energy lines, crippling water plants, and looting payrolls for their growing war chest. The local troops had performed well under pressure.

Unknown enemies had doomed their initial ruse. Jangotat now considered the entire world of diplomatic subterfuge unfit for a soldier, or, he now believed, those strange and fascinating creatures called Jedi. Odd. He thought of the Jedi not merely with respect, but with the sort of fraternalism ordinarily reserved for members of the GAR. In the unchanging order of things they were high above him, but were fighters, leaders extraordinaire. The most recent adventure proved that perfection eluded them, as it did all beings. Even diving into the scalding water had been only a temporary, if intense, pain. A liberal application of synthflesh from their first-aid kits had covered wounds and reduced redness and swelling in a few hours.

Most important, they had won.

Jangotat found himself entering a state of contentment rarely experienced by one of his station. He was fulfilling his primary function, enjoying an opportunity to learn from two superlative teachers. There were other… interesting factors as well.

He cast about, hoping to find Sheeka Tull, but did not. Doubtless she was ferrying in another load of supplies. The thought gave him a warm feeling.