Clone Wars Gambit: Siege (3 page)

Scant seconds after Count Dooku’s flickering image vanished from the holopad, Lok Durd vomited down the front of his tunic.

I lied to Count Dooku. I lied to Count Dooku. Hive Mother protect me, I lied to—

He vomited again. Praise to all good things in the hive that he was alone. He’d lied to the leader of the Separatist Alliance, a man who—by all accounts both confirmed and rumored only—could kill with a look, or the snap of his fingers. Possibly by merely raising an eyebrow.

I lied to Count Dooku. And… I think he believed me
.

Horror and relief coursed through his veins. If he’d been human, surely a river of sweat would be pouring down his skin. How he’d managed to dupe Dooku he didn’t know, but he wasn’t inclined to question the miracle. No. He’d accept it and build on it, to salvage the ruins of his life.

The Jedi escaped. Every hostage but one rescued. All I have
left is that barve of a woman. And if she so much as suspects that the rest of her precious family and friends are safe…

There was no one he could trust with this. Barev, Colonel Argat’s replacement, was typical human scum. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the liaison officer answered to the nondroid wing of the Separatist military machine, not to him. Barev and the others called him
General
Durd, but he wasn’t really one of them. That was a courtesy title, a show of respect he’d had to fight for. Humans were such bigots. Count Dooku was a bigot, though no sentient who wanted to live was fool enough to say so to the man’s face.

Durd whimpered. Mired to his armpits in trouble, staring at calamity everywhere he turned, there was only one creature he could trust. And it wasn’t even a creature, it was a droid. Built to his most careful specifications, and equipped with unique sensor and infrared programming that made it impossible for anyone to give the machine orders in his stead.

KD-77 was the closest thing he had to a friend.

His office in his now compromised compound was equipped with a small refresher. Durd washed his face and rinsed his mouth, forcing the panic of the last few hours to subside. True, his droid army had failed to kill or capture the Jedi-aiding Dr. Fhernan—but hope was not entirely lost. There were only two of them, after all. The groundcar they’d managed to escape in wouldn’t get them far. And beyond Lantibba City’s barely civilized limits lay nothing but open countryside and scattered villages. No spaceworthy craft. No comm equipment. The villagers of Lanteeb were little better than their meat animals. Even with the groundcar’s transponder disabled it was only a matter of time before the Jedi were found.

Found and killed, their involvement here obscured forever. They defeated me once. They will never defeat me again
.

A day at the most, surely, it would take him to eliminate his fleeing enemies. Count Dooku would never know how close the Project had come to disaster. He had everything under control…

“Droid!” he said, coming out of the refresher. “Droid, I have orders for you.”

KD-77 stood patiently in the corner. At the sound of Durd’s voice, its photoreceptors lit up. “Sir.”

“This is a priority task,” he said, dabbing a dampened hand-cloth at the sticky, half-dried vomit down the front of his tunic. “Doctor Fhernan must believe that the hostages are still hostages. I want credible holoimagery created to convince her. Several weeks’ worth. Understood?”

“Sir,” said the droid. “Consider it done.”

What else? What else? Oh, yes. Of course. Barev. The trouble was that he hardly knew the man. Argat he’d had time to psychologically dissect and learn how to manipulate. But Colonel Barev had only just arrived. They’d barely been introduced.

But he is human, and humans are greedy and driven by fear. They want to live for as long as they can. I can use that
.

He sent for Colonel Argat’s replacement.

“A bad business, this, General,” said Barev.

He was short even for a human. Though not yet middle-aged, most of his reddish hair was gone. What remained had been shaved close to his pitifully vulnerable skull. His eyes were blue and small. His crooked teeth stuck out. His skin was sickeningly pale and covered in—what did the humans call them? Oh, yes.
Freckles
. At least his voice was pleasantly deep. Too many humans squeaked, like rodents.

“Bad?” Durd nodded. “Yes. Very bad. Your men at the spaceport have failed me, Colonel.”

Colonel Barev’s eyes narrowed almost shut.
Ha
. “I’m sorry, General? Failed you?”

Yes. Yes. Bluster. Humans did not do well with bluster. And they did not like it when their safety was threatened.

“Are you deaf, Colonel?” he demanded. “Yes.
Failed me
. Did the Jedi appear out of thin air? No. They came here in a ship. They passed preliminary security checks and docked at the spaceport. And then your men gave them clearance into the city. Your men endangered my vital Project, Colonel Barev.”

“Strictly speaking,” said Barev slowly, “prior to my arrival Colonel Argat was responsible for any security lapses.” A small muscle beside his right eye spasmed. “The fault is his.”

With a small effort Durd smothered his delight.
Yes, yes, Barev, I have you now
. Self-preservation was a great motivator.

“A mere technicality, Colonel. Argat is dead. I executed him myself, with Count Dooku’s blessing.
You
are in charge now. Therefore
you
are responsible.”

“Dead?” Barev’s throat convulsed in a swallow. “It was my understanding Argat had been recalled.”

Now he let himself smile. “Yes. That’s right. Recalled to his deity—isn’t that how you humans put it?”

Instead of answering, Barev turned and walked to the office window. Beyond it the secured compound enclosure was crowded with vigilantly patrolling battle droids.

“Things could be worse,” said Barev, his hands loosely clasped behind his narrow back. “Doctor Fhernan is uncompromised. The Project is secure. As for the Jedi… well, really, General Durd—how much damage can two men do?”

He felt his lips thin in a snarl. “You are a fool if you underestimate them, Colonel. I want them found, is that clear? I cannot have my Project further disrupted. Count Dooku is waiting, and he is not a patient man.”

Colonel Barev’s shoulders tightened. “You needn’t concern yourself, General—or involve Count Dooku. The Jedi are on borrowed time.”

“How do you intend to find them?”

Barev turned away from the window. “Scout droids are already deployed. As soon as the Jedi are sighted and their exact location is calibrated they will be overwhelmed by our forces.”

It seemed a sound enough plan. “Don’t send humans against them,” Durd said, raising a warning finger. “Droids only. Jedi can’t sense droids. You must exploit their weaknesses. They don’t have many, so you can’t afford to miss even one.”

Barev’s mouth pinched at the corners. “General, I am an experienced soldier. Your advice is—appreciated—but unnecessary, I assure you.”

A strong sense of self-preservation
and
pride. This Barev would be easy to control. “You’re offended, Colonel?” he said, feigning regret. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intent. I’m merely trying to save you from Count Dooku’s wrath. If he ordered me to kill you, I’d be obliged to obey. And after Colonel Argat…” He pretended to shiver. “Well. It would be a great pity.”

Eyes watchful and frightened, Colonel Barev snapped to attention. “Do not concern yourself about the Jedi, General Durd. They are dealt with. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Indeed there is, Colonel,” he said, lacing his fingers over his middle. “Thanks to—” He smiled. “—Colonel Argat, this facility is fatally compromised. For all I know the Jedi are lying low somewhere close by, intending to return and sabotage my work. And should they elude your forces they might well succeed. I want the stage-two facility prepared for immediate occupation. Doctor Fhernan and I must be able to move in there no later than midday tomorrow.”

“Midday,” said Barev, his voice tight. “Yes, General.”

“And Colonel?” he added, just as Barev reached the office door. “I meant it when I said I didn’t want to be faced with the task of—recalling you. So for both our sakes I think that what has happened on Lanteeb should be kept quiet. We can contain this situation without distressing Count Dooku. Agreed?”

Colonel Barev stared at him in silence. Droid patrols challenging one another’s identities was the only sound for quite some time. And then the human nodded. “Agreed.”

As soon as he was alone again, Durd made his way upstairs to Dr. Fhernan’s criminally generous accommodation. He nearly fell over six droid patrols on the way. Another ten droids guarded the corridor outside the doctor’s room. Five more were stationed inside it.

The woman got off her chair and looked at him with dull hatred as he closed the door behind him. “I want to see the rest of my family and friends,” she said flatly. “I want to know they’re all right.”

If she hated him it was
nothing
to what he felt for her. Striking his prisoner to her knees, Durd heard her sharp grunt of pain and felt warm pleasure blossom.

“Don’t test me, Doctor,” he said, standing over her. “Not after what you’ve done.”

Red human blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. Weak tears filled her eyes. “What happens now?”

He bared his gums at her. “Now we finish our Project. But not here. We leave this facility tomorrow. Pack up the lab.”

“Where are we going?”

“Why should you care?” he said, and kicked her in the ribs. Carefully. Bruises, not breakage. That was the goal. “All you need to know is that the Jedi will never find you. They’ll be dead soon. And if you don’t do exactly what I say, when I say it, they won’t be the only ones.” He nodded at the holodisplay on the table, which was playing a continuous loop of her friend Samsam’s execution. The droids guarding her were under orders to make sure she didn’t touch it, or walk away, or close her eyes. “You understand?”

Her gaze shifted to the little figure in yellow as it plummeted into the lake. “Yes.”

Bending, he captured her ugly human face between his fingers and pressed and pressed until the bones beneath her flesh threatened to give way.

“
Good.
”

Struck speechless, Bail Organa stared at the man he’d called his friend for nearly fifteen years.

I must be hearing things. He cannot have said what I think he just said. Because Tryn Netzl might be the walking, talking embodiment of an absentminded professor, but he’s not an idiot
.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “You’ve done
what?
”

Swathed throat to mid-thigh in his stained and patched lucky blue lab coat, his pale hair pulled back from his predatory face in a braid, Tryn didn’t look up from carefully tipping a small capful of dark blue crystals into a glass beaker.

“Hmm? Oh. I’ve successfully created a sample of the bioweapon.” He nodded at the lab’s glass-fronted safe hutch, a stone’s throw distant at the other end of his bench. “It’s in there.”

And indeed, through the hutch’s security-shielded transparisteel door Bail could see a lidded container three-quarters full of some greenish, noxious-looking substance. Before he could stop himself he’d taken an alarmed sideways step.

“
Tryn—
”

Surprised, Tryn finally looked at him. “What?”

Am I slipping? Did I not make myself clear?
“You
created
the filthy stuff? I thought you were supposed to be finding a way to
kill
it!”

Tryn shrugged. “Can’t kill what I don’t have, Bail.”

Funny. He’d forgotten how pragmatically indifferent his friend could be.
He’s a scientist, remember? He worships at the altar of objectivity
. “I know that, but—”

“But what? Bail…” Tryn put down the glass beaker. “Look. How’s this for an idea? I’ll refrain from telling you how to get legislation passed in the Senate and you can hold off telling me how to be a biochemist. Sound fair?”

Nothing about this current crisis was
fair
. Prickling with unease, Bail started to pace around the impressive Jedi Temple laboratory Yoda had offered to his friend for as long as it was needed.

“Shelve the flippancy, Doctor Netzl,” he snapped. “I’m not in the mood. I’ve just spent half a day cooped up with the most self-interested, self-righteous, self
-everythinged
senators it has ever been my misfortune to know. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and if I have to hear
one more piece
of bad news I’m going to—”

“This isn’t bad news, Bail,” said Tryn, watching him closely. “It’s good news. The toxin’s formula is proven. I’ve got a solid place to start from now.”

“Proven?” Halting on the far side of the lab, Bail felt his belly turn over in a queasy roll. “You mean you’ve tested it? Here?”
What was he thinking?
“Tryn, we already know the filthy stuff works!”

“No, we were
told
it works. Now we have firsthand proof. There’s a difference.”

“You
tested
it.” Pacing again, he fought the furious urge to smash something. “Tryn, this is the
Jedi Temple
. Up there—” He jabbed a pointed finger at the ceiling. “—is the Jedi Council. You
cannot
endanger them by—”

“Hey!” Now it was Tryn’s turn to snap with temper. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do in my own lab. This place is the best facility I’ve ever worked in. Trust me, I’m the only sentient at risk.”

Which was simply one more reason for him to feel sick. “I don’t care how secure this lab is, what you’re doing is too dangerous.”

Tryn stared at him. “That’s not your call.”

“Excuse me, but I think it is. As head of the Republic’s Security Committee I—”

“Bail, all due respect, but you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tryn said. “I did what I had to do, with Master Yoda’s full knowledge and approval. And now that I know this bioweapon inside out I can get to work on creating an antidote. Something broad enough to cross the species barrier and bind up the active toxins while they’re still in a victim’s bloodstream.”

That brought Bail up short. “You mean that?” he said, his heart pounding his ribs. “You can really do this?”

“Well—I’m not making any promises,” Tryn said, pulling a face. “But I wouldn’t have left my students halfway through the semester if I didn’t think I could help.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m not suggesting—you’re brilliant, I didn’t mean to—” Tangled, Bail stopped talking and started pacing again. A tension headache was brewing behind his tired eyes. “Sorry. Like I said, it’s been a long day and it’s not over yet.”

Tryn came around to the front of his bench and hitched himself onto it. His bright orange trousers rode up his skinny ankles, revealing mismatched socks of fluorescent green and pink. His lab clogs were crimson. So were his eyes. Well. Today they were crimson. Yesterday they’d been violet. Tomorrow, who knew? Tryn was a man of changeable disposition.

“Bail?” he said, gentle now, his temper abandoned. “I’ve never heard you sound this scared. What aren’t you telling me? What’s happened now?”

Nothing had happened, and that was the problem. There’d been no word from Obi-Wan or Anakin since they alerted Yoda that they were going back to Lok Durd’s compound. And in this situation no news was
not
good news. No news was very
bad
.

“You don’t have to say,” Tryn added. “But as it stands, I’m the next best thing you’ve got to a captive audience.”

Bail hesitated. Tryn Netzl had been Witness at his marriage. Had put him and Breha with the best fertility doctor in the Republic and matched him drink for drink after every one of Breha’s five miscarriages. Tryn had let him weep without saying a word when their last hope for a child was exhausted. There was nothing he could not entrust to this man.

But I need him focused. So pull yourself together, Organa. If he’s worried about you, he can’t do his job. And if he can’t do his job…

“You’re right, I am worried about something,” he said, because he would never lie to Tryn. “But it’ll keep. What can you tell me about this bioweapon?”

Tryn frowned. “It makes me ashamed I was ever proud to call Bant’ena Fhernan a colleague.”

There was a second bench in the lab, piled high with flimsies and hard-copy biochemistry texts and at least a score of datareaders. Bail leaned one hip against it and folded his arms.

“She’s under duress, Tryn.”

“I don’t care. What she’s created is a perversion of science. She’s betrayed herself and her calling.”

“There are those who say every weapon created is a perversion of science,” he pointed out. “And that using those weapons is a betrayal of life. I seem to recall
you
making a few heated points in favor of that argument, once or twice.”

Tryn scowled. “I don’t like war. I don’t like killing.”

“I don’t either,” he said, after a moment. “But since we last sat down face-to-face, my friend, I’ve killed. It was in self-defense, and in defense of others, but even so…” Remembering the desperate battle on that secret space station, a confrontation he often relived in his dreams, Bail shook his head. “I can’t even tell you how many. There wasn’t time to stop and count. And while I’m coming clean, I suppose I should also confess that I voted for the creation of the Republic’s clone army—now, that’s science taken to extraordinary lengths—and two days ago I approved the diversion of funds from a refugee crisis program to the discretionary account used to make up the shortfall in payments for clone replacements.”

“I don’t—I can’t see—” Tryn wrapped his long braid around his fingers and pulled hard, a familiar nervous habit. “
Stang
, Bail. Why would you tell me that?”

“I guess because…” He sighed. “How do we know what we’d do if we were forced to watch someone we loved
die
because we didn’t do as we were told?”

Tryn stared at the floor, uncomfortable. “I’d like to think I’d have the guts to stay strong, no matter the pressure—or the punishment.”

“Yes, well, we’d all like to think that,” he said drily. “But in these past months I’ve learned a
lot
of things, Tryn. Most of them unpleasant.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Tryn said, his dark red eyes somber. He looked around the magnificently equipped lab. “I mean, you and the Jedi? Brand-new best friends? Have to tell you, Bail, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “Oh, and I was right, by the way. The Jedi aren’t always comfortable but you can trust them. And I promise you that without them our Republic would be in tatters by now. As it is, even
with
them—” Abruptly overwhelmed, Bail dragged a hand down his face. “Things are bad, Tryn. With no way of knowing where or when the Seps will strike, if we don’t have a reliable antidote to this bioweapon then they’ll win. And that means the end of the Republic. So I need you to make this happen.”

“
No
, Bail!” Tryn protested. “I
told
you, I can’t promise you anything. I might despise Bant’ena Fhernan for a gutless coward but she’s still a genius. This—this
thing
she’s invented—this monstrosity of a weapon—”

His friend’s abrupt distress was worrying. “Tryn, you can do this. You’re the best biochemist I know.”

Tryn glowered at him. “You’re a
nidziga
, Organa. I’m the only biochemist you know.”

Bail tried to smile but failed, abysmally. “Tryn. Seriously. Whatever you need, no matter what it costs. Tell me and I’ll get it for you. No questions asked.”

“You’ve changed,” Tryn said after a taut silence. “I can see it now.”

As if I didn’t know that
. “Not for the worse, I hope.”

Tryn bit the end of his braid: another old, familiar habit. The one he turned to when he was particularly upset. “I hope so, too.”

“I have to go,” Bail said, glancing at his wrist chrono. “There’s a late Senate session tonight that I need to prepare for.”

“Look,” Tryn said, hunched inside his lucky blue lab coat. “I’ll do my best for you, Bail. If the work needs fresh blood, I’ll even open my own veins. But you need to tell the little green guy and whoever else you answer to—this might not happen. You have to understand that. You have to prepare.”

For what? Annihilation?
Sickened, Bail nodded. “I will. But I believe in you, Tryn. I believe you can
make
it happen.”

Tryn rapped his knuckles on the bench once, and got back to work.