The Cestus Deception (3 page)

Kit’s lightsaber swatted the first tendril from the air with contemptuous ease. Obi-Wan found his attention straying from the JK, focusing instead on Kit, admiring the strength of his stance, the clarity of his angles as he chose lines of engagement. Kit favored the Form I style of combat, a fierce—

Wait.

Warning sirens howled in Obi-Wan’s mind. Something was terribly wrong. Intellect raced to keep pace with intuition. The JK’s repetition of previous patterns had lulled him into complacency.
The tendrils were only a feint.
Where, then, was the real attack?

He leaned forward, examining the droid more carefully. Its
feet.
The spiky protrusions were sunken in the sand. And projecting outward from the treads themselves, burrowing under the surface…

Were more tendrils, color-camouflaged to resemble sand. This thing attacked on two levels simultaneously, a strategy beyond most
living
warriors. Even more disturbing, it was deliberately misleading Kit by performing at multiple levels of tempo and efficiency, literally juggling its tactics, luring him to overconfidence.

The sand tendrils were within centimeters of their target before Kit sensed them. His lidless black eyes grew wider still as the sand erupted. A stalk snaked around his foot, trying to yank him onto his back. Other vines raced to assist the first group.

The onlookers gasped in amazement as they realized that they were about to see the unthinkable: a mere droid defeating a mighty Jedi!

But Kit was far from vanquished. As if he, too, had merely been playing a game, he crouched and leapt forward, spinning on his body’s vertical axis like some kind of carnival acrobat, surging directly at the JK. He rode the JK’s yanking motion instead of fighting it, slipping between the tendrils, the Nautolan’s sense of timing faster and more precise than conscious thought.

Whatever its powers, the droid had not anticipated such an assault, nor could it adjust in time. It released him and retreated up a step, all tendrils lashing at the Jedi. Kit’s lightsaber rained sparks. Tentacles flopped onto the sand, some of the larger pieces twitching, more like separate creatures than severed limbs.

The Nautolan hit the sand, rolled, and bore in again instantly, his face tightened into a fighting snarl.

Now the JK battled at maniacal intensity, and Obi-Wan wondered:
What is it trying to do?
Again and again the tendrils lashed at Kit’s head. Had Lido Shan failed to give the droid proper inhibiting commands? If so, and the gleaming monstrosity had a single opportunity, it would slay the Nautolan. Obi-Wan’s hand crept toward his lightsaber, the weight of thirty-six grueling flight hours banished from his limbs. If the need arose—

But Kit had entered lightsaber range. At this more intimate distance, the droid was at a disadvantage. Now Kit was the predator, the JK reduced to the role of prey. Hissing, it retreated on its slender golden legs, tentacles wavering, as if it couldn’t crunch data fast enough to counter the unorthodox attack. Kit’s emerald lightsaber blade was
here, there,
everywhere: unpredictable, irresistible. The spinning energy disks no longer absorbed the strikes: now they merely deflected them, sparks raining in all directions.

Kit accelerated into a blur of motion complex and rapid enough to baffle even Obi-Wan’s experienced gaze. The Nautolan Jedi’s lightsaber wove between the energy shields, descending on the JK’s housing for the first time. The droid emitted a painfully thin shriek. Its gleaming legs shivered.

It collapsed to the sand. It twitched, struggling to rise. And then spilled onto its side, spewing smoke and sparks.

The arena was silent as the crowd absorbed what they had just witnessed. Doubtless, some had never seen a Jedi in full action. It was one thing to hear whispered stories about mysterious Temple dwellers; another thing entirely to see the almost supernatural skills for oneself. A century hence, some might be regaling their great-grandchildren with tales of this demonstration.

But there was another aspect of the affair that most eyes had missed, a strange phenomenon that had manifested first with the trooper, but seemed even more pronounced with Kit Fisto: the JK had
anticipated
the Nautolan’s responses.

A bitter metallic taste soured Obi-Wan’s mouth, a sensation he recognized as the first whisper of fear. “What is this device?” he asked. “I note that the shields absorb, rather than deflect.”

The technician nodded. “And what does that suggest to you, Master Jedi?”

“It is no battlefield implement. It is designed to protect its environment, even from ricochets.”

“Excellent,” she said.

“And judging by its cosmetic appearance, the JK is some manner of personal security droid.”

Lido Shan held up her hands, requesting silence. “That concludes the demonstration,” she said. “There will be briefings for some of you. As for the others, the Supreme Chancellor appreciates your presence.”

The crowd drifted away, a few of them pausing to congratulate Kit. Perhaps they had considered descending to shake his hand or slap his back, but neither gesture seemed appropriate given the tightness around Kit’s dark, unblinking eyes.

Obi-Wan jumped down from the stands and handed the Nautolan his cloak. Without a word Kit accepted it, and together they walked up the stairs toward the exit. Obi-Wan looked back at the sand, where service droids were still vacuuming up oil and fluids. What would he, Obi-Wan, have done given the same challenge? He allowed himself no doubt that he would have emerged victorious, but simultaneously realized that Kit’s chaotic, unpredictable approach had given the Nautolan an advantage against the machine. Obi-Wan’s own more measured response might well have proven less effective.

On their way out they passed a knot of troopers, all carved from the same rock, all with the same broad shoulders and shielded faces, the same military bearing and polish. With surprising tenderness they cared for their defeated brother, and Obi-Wan wondered…

The Nautolan’s tendrils lifted and Kit turned, seeming to read his mind. “Obi-Wan?”

“For a moment I wondered if I had met him before.”

“And?”

“And I realized how foolish that thought was.”

“Foolish?” Kit asked.

“Yes. I’ve met every one of them.”

True enough. Yet watching them caring for one of their own as if none of the witnesses existed, he wondered if he, or any outsider, really knew them at all.

The Chancellor’s briefing room was as tall as four Wookiees, its marble ceiling supported by massive duracrete pillars. Its vast bay window peered out on Coruscant’s magnificent skyline: the Bonadan embassy and revolving Skysitter Restaurant were directly across the avenue. The dense duracrete forest conveyed a sense of grandeur that impressed dignitaries from the Outer Rim but always left Obi-Wan wondering if something more productive might have been done with the space.

At the moment a cluster of scaled and emerald-eyed Kuati dignitaries busily exchanged formal pleasantries and good-byes with the Chancellor and his robed assistants. The two Jedi stood in a corner of the room as the ambassadors executed elaborate ceremonial bows.

As they waited, Obi-Wan noted that Kit seemed a bit ill at ease. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “Did the droid come too close for comfort?” In truth, he could not remember Kit ever seeming other than utterly self-possessed.

“My life does not revolve around comfort,” the Nautolan said. “Still… it was, as I’ve heard humans say, a ‘close shave.’”

And strangely, even those words told Obi-Wan how challenging the JK had been. That last statement was as revelatory as the Nautolan Jedi had ever been.

As the diplomats exited the room, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine finally addressed them, his broad, strong forehead creased with worry, lips drawn into a thin, tight line.

“My pardon for the inconvenience and mystery, my friends,” he said. “I hope that you will shortly understand the need for both.”

“Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, in no mood for formal pleasantries. “Are you prepared to share this ‘Jedi Killer’s’ secret with us?”

The Chancellor winced. “I admit to being mystified. Even our lowest citizens would not find such a vulgar appellation amusing.” After a pause for thought, he continued. “In the interest of providing context, please indulge a digression.” Palpatine waved them toward a pair of chairs. The Chancellor sat at his great desk, rectangles of light and shadow dividing his face into quadrants. He turned to the short-haired female technician, who had silently entered the room while the Chancellor spoke. “Lido Shan?”

“With pleasure, sir,” she said. “When this device first came to our attention, our first priority was to determine exactly how it performs in such an unusual manner. Ordinary scans showed little of note in the inner workings, save for a completely shielded central processor unit.”

“Naturally, that processor was the focus of your investigations,” Obi-Wan said.

“Naturally,” Lido Shan replied, allowing her pale lips to curl into a smile. “Opening the processor invalidates the warranty, but we thought it worth the risk.”

Kit canted his head. “And what did you find?”

“Please,” Lido Shan said, imitating the Chancellor’s tendency for oblique discourse. “In time. Let us begin with an assessment based on its displayed skills.” She paused, gathering herself. “The JK is a Force-sensitive bio-droid of a type previously considered impossible. For much of the last year, they’ve been sold throughout the galaxy. Even at inflated prices, they sell faster than they can be manufactured.”

“Force-sensitive?” Kit scoffed. “Absurd! Why haven’t we seen these droids before?”

“Because,” she replied, “they are the most exclusive, expensive personal security droids available.”

“And exactly what is this cost?” Kit asked.

“Eighty thousand credits.” Shan gestured, and a hologram maze of droid circuitry blossomed in the air around her. She ran her hands along the internal structure, tracing various features, then took a deep breath.

“And now,” she said finally, “we come to the heart of the matter. The secret of their success is a unique living circuit design incorporating organics into the core processor, allowing greater empathy with the owners and superior tactical aggression toward intruders.”

“Living circuits?” Kit asked.

Lido Shan seemed to match the Nautolan’s ability at unblinking attention, but Obi-Wan watched as a yellowish mucosa filmed her eyes and then swiftly dissolved. “The processor is actually a life-support unit for a creature of unknown origin.”

The hologram flickered, darkened. A coiled, snakelike, eyeless image appeared. A comparison scale suggested that the creature was the size of Obi-Wan’s clenched fist. “And this gives the droid its special qualities?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lido Shan said. “We believe so. We made a direct request for information from the manufacturers, but they refuse to discuss their secrets.”

“And this manufacturer is…?”

“Cestus Cybernetics. Are you familiar with Ord Cestus?”

Obi-Wan scanned his memory. “The homeworld of Baktoid Armor?”

“Excellent,” the Supreme Chancellor said.

Lido Shan nodded. “Our Cestian contacts tell us that the animal is called a dashta eel. This dashta appears to be nonsentient, which in some ways is even more amazing, representing the first nonsentient creature ever found with a profound level of… well, of Force sensitivity.”

“Dashta eels?” Obi-Wan glanced at Kit, who shook his head.

“Possibly natives of Cestus’s Dashta Mountain range,” the Chancellor said. “Combined with the JK’s unique armament, they give the droid an anticipatory advantage in combat. We have tested it with a variety of opponents, and you, Master Fisto, are the first to prevail.”

Kit bowed fractionally, the only sign of his acknowledgment or pleasure.

“For that reason,” the Chancellor said, “Master Fisto’s thoughts would be invaluable.”

Kit Fisto pursed his lips for a moment, as if reluctant to give an unconsidered answer. “Life will always have greater Force-harmony than any machine,” he said. “However…”

However indeed. The Nautolan’s swift, worried glance revealed the rest of his thoughts as clearly as a shout.

“When did these Jedi Killers first appear on the market?” Kit asked.

“About a year ago,” Palpatine replied. “Soon after the Clone Wars began. Extensive Trade Federation contracts created a boom on Cestus, which subcontracted for the Baktoid Armor Workshop. After the Battle of Naboo, the Trade Federation distanced itself from the workshop, creating economic chaos. Financially desperate, Cestus turned to the Republic and requested our help. We made a substantial order—” He winced. “—but unfortunately we were spread too thin economically, and payment was not prompt. More chaos resulted. We may have misjudged the importance of this small planet. Lido Shan,” he said. “Speak of the Gabonnas.”

Lido Shan sighed. “As soon as the war began, we placed certain highly important technical parts on restriction. Among these were Gabonna memory crystals, used by Ord Cestus in the manufacture of high-end Cesta security droids, its most famous nonmilitary product prior to the introduction of the JK line.”

“And how did that lead to the current situation?” Obi-Wan asked.

“With the restrictions,” Shan said, “Cestus’s rather delicate economic balance shifted to the negative. Gabonnas are the only memory crystals fast enough to power a class five personal security droid.” She said this flatly, perhaps supposing it to be common knowledge. “Most battle droids are class four, and can run on less extreme hardware.”

The Chancellor shook his graying head. “Cestus was… unlucky, and perhaps foolish to place so many of its cocoons in one hutch.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan said.

Kit Fisto spoke for both of them. “So… the situation is quite unstable. Cestus no longer trusts us.”

The Chancellor nodded. “You are doubly tasked, my Jedi friends. I have consulted with the Senate and the Jedi Council and we agree that you are to contact the Cestian Regent, one G’Mai Duris. Regain her trust by taking any necessary steps to preserve their existing social order. We must bring them back into the fold and stem the flow of these obscene Jedi Killers.” His mouth twisted, as if merely speaking those last words left a bad taste.

“So,” Obi-Wan said, attempting to mentally reconstruct the time line. “To the Cestians, the Republic has twice caused economic chaos. I assume they appealed to the Trade Council?”

“Indeed, and we tried to reach a compromise, even offering another, more lucrative military contract.”

“And?” Kit asked.

“Negotiations collapsed.”

“Because?”

“We were told that payment would have to be in advance.” The Chancellor’s face grew long. “This we cannot do on a contract of such magnitude.”

“Perhaps it is merely my ignorance of commerce,” Kit growled, “but surely the Cestians know they flirt with disaster. How can the sale of a few thousand droids be worth such risk?” He leaned forward, his dark eyes swirling with intensity. “Explain.”

Lido Shan closed her own eyes for a moment, and then spoke. “The JKs themselves represent only a fraction of Cestus’s total economic picture. But they’ve become fashionable, high-status objects, increasing the value of their entire product line.”

“Of course, there are additional problems,” Palpatine admitted. “The lower-class population, which of course constitutes ninety-five percent of Cestus, is descended from… how do I say this delicately?” He pondered, and then abandoned the effort to be politically correct. “They are descended from uncivilized aboriginals and criminals, and inherited their forebears’ unfortunate antisocial tendencies. The wealthiest families, and duly elected government, might well be thrown into turmoil and collapse if a proper solution is not found.”

Obi-Wan nodded to himself, thinking that there was much left unsaid here. “Why is the situation so severe?”

“Because Cestus is a relatively barren world, which cannot support its current population without importing soil nutrients, food, medicines, and supplies. Every drop of water consumed by an offworlder must be carefully processed.”

“I see.”

“So. The first JKs appeared on the market, priced at a premium. This was noted, but was hardly something to be alarmed by. And then a second piece of intelligence reached us.”

“That being?” Kit asked.

“That the Confederacy had made an offer to buy thousands of these security droids. Perhaps tens of thousands.”

Obi-Wan was stunned. “Has Count Dooku access to such wealth?”

“Apparently,” Palpatine said with obvious regret.

Kit Fisto’s black eyes narrowed. “I’d assumed that such bioconstructs could not be mass-produced.”

“We’d made that assumption as well, Master Fisto. Apparently, we were wrong. We don’t know how, but we know why.”

“They will be used as battle droids,” Kit said.

Battle droids.
Obi-Wan winced. “How can this be allowed? Certainly selling military ordnance to the Separatists is forbidden.”

“Yes,” Lido Shan said. “But there are no laws against selling
security
droids to individual planets in the Confederacy, which is, technically speaking, all Cestus is actually doing. It’s irrelevant that the JKs can be converted into lethal implements merely by substituting memory crystals.”

Obi-Wan hoped that his face concealed his thoughts, because his most primary emotion was dismay. The idea of bio-droids being converted to death machines was alarming. Such devices might even nullify the slight precognitive advantage enjoyed by Jedi in combat.

It could not be allowed.

“We’ve learned that Count Dooku offered to supply Cestus with its own Gabonnas, allowing the assembly lines to resume production. He also offered to supply technology allowing Cestus to streamline and increase production of droids and dashta eels.”

“Cloning?”

“Yes. The rumors suggest superiority to Kaminoan technology. Techniques that create endless colonies of living neural tissue, allowing their factories to production-line a process that was once quite exclusive and expensive.”

“Those who place profit above freedom,” Kit said, “generally end with neither.” He paused, sensor tendrils waving gently. Perhaps, like Obi-Wan, he envisioned a battle against thousands of machines, each as dangerous as the metal opponent battled on the sands of T’Chuk coliseum. A terrifying wave of precognitive juggernauts.

The Chancellor seemed encouraged that they so swiftly grasped the situation. Indeed, to Obi-Wan’s way of thinking, it was the Chancellor himself who barely understood the difficulties ahead. Wise in politics he might be, but Palpatine was still a novice in the ways of the Force.

Obi-Wan found himself thinking aloud. “It might take a special decree to deny Cestus the right to manufacture and sell these droids.”

“And meanwhile,” Kit said, “the galaxy waits, and watches.”

“Indeed,” the Chancellor said. The light from the overhead window divided his face. “If the Trade Council dominates precious little Cestus, we will seem like bullying thugs. Before things deteriorate to that level, I, the Senate, and the Jedi Council insist we try diplomacy.”

“With a lightsaber?” Kit asked.

The palest of smiles crossed the Chancellor’s face. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. My friends, you will travel to Ord Cestus and begin formal discussions. But the negotiations cover your other purpose: to convince Cestus, and through them the other interested star systems, that Count Dooku is too dangerous to deal with.”

“And our resources, sir?” Kit asked.

And now, finally, the Chancellor’s smile grew certain and strong. “The best of the best.”