Clone Wars Gambit: Siege (2 page)

“Yeah…” Anakin looked at him. “So who was it exactly nicknamed you the Negotiator? Because from where I’m lying you couldn’t sell water to a man dying of thirst.”

He smiled. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Anakin muttered. “But right now the only thing that would make me feel better is—”

“What?”

“Lok Durd’s head on a plate.”

Was it his imagination or had Anakin meant to say something different? It was hard to tell; he’d covered his eyes with his forearm.

“We will get him, Anakin,” he said quietly. “General Durd’s days are numbered.”

“Everyone’s days are numbered, Obi-Wan,” Anakin retorted. “Not even Yoda’s going to live forever. The point is, we blew it.
I
blew it. I trusted Bant’ena—I pushed you into trusting her, too—and now look where we are.” Sitting up, he rubbed his hand over his face. “We should’ve taken out the lab while we had the chance. Blown that blasted bioweapon to smoke and debris.”

It hurt to hear him this disillusioned and full of self-blame. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Anakin. You followed your feelings. You argued for what you thought was best. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No?” Anakin’s eyes were bloodshot with weariness and strain. “Obi-Wan, trusting that woman nearly got us killed. You were right. She reminded me of my mother and I let that blind me. I’m sorry.”

Anakin was a proud young man who hated to admit fault. But the point was he
did
admit it. Maybe not straightaway—
often
not straightaway—but still…

Late is always better than never
.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that this mission isn’t over. If we act swiftly, I believe we can still thwart Durd before he can use that weapon. There’s even a chance we can recapture him.”

Eyebrows raised, Anakin looked around them. They really were in the middle of nowhere. No birdsong. No speeders. No groundcars. No sense of even the most rudimentary, partially sentient life nearby. The silence was absolute. Only on the farthest edge of awareness, a whispered hint of the village they’d been trying to reach. They had no food, no water, no communications, no transport. No weapons, beside their lightsabers. No allies. No backup of any kind.

“Yes. Well,” he added. “I didn’t say it would be
easy.
”

Anakin pulled a face. “No kidding.” Then he fumbled to his feet and looked down. “Obi-Wan, we’re in so much trouble.”

“I know.”

“But a solution is bound to present itself? Maybe. Except one of these days that’s just not going to happen.” Anakin held out his hand. “You do know that, right?”

Obi-Wan wrapped his skinned fingers around Anakin’s wrist and levered himself off the ground. “Yes. But it won’t be today.”

For the briefest moment Anakin wasn’t General Skywalker, the Chosen One, scourge of the Separatists and hero of the Republic. He was instead the small boy who’d looked for reassurance from a stranger on the night of Qui-Gon’s funeral.

“Promise?”

Obi-Wan patted his former apprentice’s undamaged shoulder. “Promise. Now let’s go.”

Keeping up a steady pace, eventually they came to the end of barren, uncultivated countryside and discovered a ferrocrete road, narrow but well maintained. No traffic in either direction. The Force prompted them to turn left, so they turned left and kept walking. The almost treeless landscape was sere, its sparse vegetation crinkled brown and thirsty. The intel provided by Special Ops Brigade Agent Varrak had mentioned drought, and here was the proof. Once these had been crop fields, but no crops grew here now. Scatterings of bleached bones and strips of desiccated hide suggested farm animals long since perished. Hinted at a prosperity lost, perhaps forever. Especially if Lanteeb could not be freed from Dooku. From the Sith.

An hour passed. Another. And another. The sun crawled higher in the pale and cloudless sky, and the flat land around them gradually began to fall and rise in frozen ripples. Unnervingly aware of their ongoing danger, they told and retold their false life stories and quizzed each other on them until their recitations were faultless. They had to be. Weary as they were, they might have misread the Force. There could be a Separatist presence in the village, and if that was the case their first mistake would likely be their last.

“All right,” Obi-Wan said eventually. “Enough. I doubt we’ll forget our new histories in a hurry.”

“No,” Anakin agreed. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be dreaming about Teeb Markl when I’m ninety.”

Let me reach ninety and I’ll happily dream about him, too
. “That’s the general idea.”

Skirting the small beginnings of a pothole in the ferrocrete road, Anakin squinted into the middle distance. “
Stang
. I thought that might be a mirage, but it’s not, is it?”

Obi-Wan looked. “No. Those are hills.”

One hand clutched behind his head, Anakin jigged in frustration. “Great. We’ve been walking for hours and what—now we have to go
mountain climbing?
”

“Pimple climbing’s more like it,” he said, staring at him. “D’you know, I’m pleased we left Ahsoka behind. All this complaining is not what
I’d
call setting a good example. And if
Rex
could hear you…”

Disgruntled, Anakin shut up and they kept on walking. Cultivating blisters. Ignoring their thirst and hunger and pain. Sliding in and out of the Force, they remained exhaustedly alert for the first signs of danger. The road they traveled remained empty of traffic, and so far they’d seen no sign of droid activity. No trundle carts, no mobile security cams, and certainly no battle units. But that could change at any moment, especially if the village they headed toward held some value for the Separatists. An unarmed civilian population could be effectively controlled by only a handful of armed droids. They’d seen that on Naboo, and on more than a dozen even larger planets since the outbreak of war.

After a while Anakin slowed to a halt. “You feel that? I think the village is just on the other side of your pimple.”

Halted beside him, Obi-Wan nodded. The village was only a few klicks distant now. Through the Force he could read its busy, sentient life. No stark fear or misery, no overwhelming sense of immediate danger or dread, just a dull, muffling sadness shot through with brighter threads of anxiety.

“Doesn’t mean we’re out of trouble, though,” Anakin added, glancing sideways. “With our luck the place’ll be lousy with Sep droids. If it is, how do you want to handle them?”

“Carefully,” he replied. “But I’m sure if we stick to our story, they’ll have no reason to suspect anything.”

“Unless they’ve been beamed a security alert.”

And you call me a pessimist?
He wiped his torn and filthy sleeve over his sweaty face. “Unlikely. You said it yourself, Anakin—the last thing Durd wants is for Dooku to find out we evaded capture.”

Sighing, Anakin pressed his fists into the small of his back. “Let’s hope so, because neither of us is in any shape for another fight.”

“If we keep our wits about us there’ll be no need for fighting,” he retorted. “We’re humble laborers returned to our home planet after three long years in the galactic wilderness, remember? With the emphasis on
humble
.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Anakin muttered. Then he looked at the empty, undulating countryside surrounding them. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone build a village way out here? You’d find more life in the Jundland Wastes. At least the wastes have got herds of wild banthas. But there’s nothing out here except dead trees and dead grass.”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said wearily.

Anakin flicked him an irritated look. “You’re not curious?”

Oh, for pity’s sake…
“Yes, Anakin, of course I’m curious, but I don’t have the energy to worry about it now. So I’m not
going
to worry about it now—if that’s all right with you, of course!”

After that, they walked in silence.

Some three klicks later they reached the foot of the hills. Resigned, they put their heads down and started for the top, breathing labored, sweat trickling, their bruised muscles shrieking, every cut and scrape and blaster burn awake. Drawing on the Force to help them, feeling it flow like fire through their veins, they pushed through the pain and didn’t stop walking until they reached the blunt peak.

Below them, men and women toiled beneath the unclouded sun—and the village’s purpose became apparent.

“That’s a damotite mine,” Anakin said, pointing to a heavily shielded shaft-and-sinkhole arrangement on its far right outskirts. “Isn’t it?”

It was, if the intel Bant’ena Fhernan had collected was accurate. Which would explain the village’s isolation. Unrefined damotite’s toxicity virtually demanded that no other settlements be established within poisoning range.

Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ve been very slow. I should’ve realized we’d find a mine out here.”

“Yeah, right,” said Anakin. “You’re a simpleton, Obi-Wan. I’ve always thought that. I just didn’t want to say.”

Ha ha
. Shading his eyes, he stared down at the village. No Separatists that he could see, at least not in the open. A few old groundcars, some of them traveling to and from the mine. A handful of antigrav floaters. A huddle of cottages on the far left side of the settlement. What looked like a small factory placed between the rest of the village and the mine. Pale smoke drifted from a series of flat chimneys. Was that where they refined the raw damotite before transport? Probably. Beside the factory stood some kind of warehouse. There was a small, unsophisticated power plant and an irrigation system. Some crops; the two planted fields splashed bright greens and yellows and reds against the drab brown of everywhere else. A few domestic animals grazed another splash of green. Other buildings lined three sides of what looked like a central communal gathering area. There were even some children, playing with a ball. And unless he was mistaken, no battle droids…

“Is it safe?” said Anakin, suddenly uncertain. “I think it’s safe. Does it feel safe to you?”

“Yes. Now come on. We need to get out of the open.”

So tired by this time they were close to staggering, they picked their way down the back side of the hill, making sure to stay close to the narrow road’s crumbling edge, just in case a vehicle caught them from behind. Stinging eyes fixed on the village, on salvation, they used every Jedi trick they knew to stay on their feet.

They were well beyond the village’s boundary, unchallenged, past the mine and the refinery and nearing the village’s heart, when the playing children saw them and ran shouting for a grown-up. Soon after that an antigrav floater came toward them along the main street, guided by a tall, thin woman in a baggy brown tunic and trousers and synthafibe boots. Most of her gray hair was covered in a faded red scarf. She halted the floater in front of them, blocking the way.

Watchful, suspicious, a length of old pipe in one hand, she slowly looked them up and down. “What do you want?”

Obi-Wan took a deep breath.
Humble, humble. Don’t alarm her
. “Help,” he said, pitching his voice a little high. “Please, Teeba? My cousin and I need your help.”

Count Dooku stirred out of uneasy sleep, one dark thought reverberating in his mind, in his bones, and through his gently surging blood.

Something is wrong
.

He sat up. The shielded window in his cruiser’s stateroom was uncurtained. Starlight leavened the shadows and picked out the flecks of gold thread in his sumptuous bedcover. Holding out his hand, he admired the silvery wash across his skin. Such a simple, elegant beauty.

Then he commed the bridge. “Why are we at sublight?”

“
My lord Count, an irregularity was detected in the hyperdrive conversion chamber. It is being addressed now.
”

“Address it quickly,” he said, smiling at the subtle play of light and dark between his fingers. “Or I will be displeased.”

“
Yes, my lord Count.
”

The bridge officer’s fear warmed him. Complacency in one’s servants was anathema. And then, disconnecting from the comm board, he frowned. So was it this trouble with the hyperdrive that had stirred him from sleep? Or was some other mischief brewing? He closed his eyes to the starlight and let his superbly honed senses unfurl.

Power hummed subliminally through the cruiser’s durasteel skeleton as it sailed the astral winds of the galaxy’s Mid Rim Territories. Touched with melancholy, he sighed. This was his life now: no permanent home, no civilized planet to call his own. Coruscant denied him. Well, at least for now. Until the pustuled boil that was the Jedi Order had been lanced and drained and the Republic once and for all set free of the hypocritical tyranny that Yoda and his minions represented… and perpetuated.

Only the clarity of the Sith can save us
.

But until that clarity prevailed he was perforce a vagabond, cruelly destined to wander the stars. Chained to the likes of General Grievous and Nute Gunray and the other stunted slime of the Separatist Alliance, every last one of them venal and greedy and corrupt to the core. Breathing the same air as such creatures made him ill. Only because Lord Sidious commanded it could he stomach the task. Only his dreams of the day he would see them slaughtered eased the pain of dealing with them.

“
Fret not,
” his exacting Master had told him. “
They serve a purpose, and must live until that purpose is served. You may trust me implicitly, Tyranus—when they are no longer useful I shall see them cut down.
”

Cold comfort, perhaps, but comfort nonetheless. Still, even so—

Something is wrong
.

Wrong, and elusive. Dooku withdrew himself from the Force and opened his eyes. The chrono on his nightstand glowed dim blue. A breath past midnight, ship time. He hadn’t been asleep for long. Clad luxuriously in silk, he slid from the bed and crossed to the shielded window. Where were they, exactly? He read the starry void beyond the transparisteel with careless ease, his knowledge of the Republic intimate and instant. Ah, yes. Currently his cruiser was skirting Kothlis, where the natives scrambled like desperate ants to prepare themselves in case of another Separatist attack.

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 blathered 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
.