The Cestus Deception
THE CESTUS
DECEPTION
STEVEN BARNES
BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK
Star Wars: The Cestus Deception is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents
either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Del Rey® Book
The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2004 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated.
All Rights Reserved. Used Under Authorization.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of
Random House, Inc.
www.starwars.com
www.delreydigital.com
The Cataloging-in-Publication Data for this title is available from the Library of
Congress.
ISBN 0-345-45897-4
Text design by Susan Turner
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: June 2004
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For my new son, Jason Kai Due-Barnes.
Welcome to life, sweetheart.
D R A M A T I S P E R S O N A E
CORUSCANT GROUP
Obi-Wan Kenobi; Jedi Knight (male human)
KitFisto; Jedi Master (male Nautolan)
Doolb Snoil; barrister (male Vippit of Nal Hutta)
Admiral Arikakon Baraka; supercruiser commander (male Mon
Calamari)
Lido Shan; technician (humanoid)
CLONE COMMANDOS
A-98, "Nate"; ARC Trooper, recruitment and command
CT-X270, "Xutoo"; pilot
CT-36/732, "Sirty"; logistics
CT-44/444, "Forry"; physical training
CT-12/74, "Seefor"; communications
CESTIANS
Trillot; gang leader (male/female X'Ting)
Fizzik; broodmate of Trillot (male X'Ting)
Sheeka Tull; pilot (female human)
Resta Shug Hai; Desert Wind member (female X'Ting)
ThakVal Zsing; leader of Desert Wind (male human)
Brother Nicos Fate (male X'Ting)
Skot OnSon; Desert Wind member (male human)
FIVE FAMILIES OF CESTUS CYBERNETICS
Debbikin; research (male human)
Lady Por'Ten; energy (female human)
Kefka; manufacturing (male humanoid)
Llitishi; sales and marketing (male Wroonian)
Caiza Quill; mining (male X'Ting)
CESTUS COURT
C'MaiDun's; Regent (female X'Ting)
SharShar; Regent Duris's assistant (female Zeetsa)
CONFEDERATION
Count Dooku; leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems
(male human)
Commander AsajjVentress; Commander of the Separatist Army
(female humanoid)
THE CESTUS
DECEPTION
V O L U M E 5 3 1 N U M B E R 4 6
H 0 L 0 N E T N E W S
1 3 : 3 . 7
Baktoid Closes Down
Five More Plants
TERMIN, METALORN—In a statement issued to shareholders, Baktoid
Armor Workshop confirmed that it will close down five more plants in
the Inner Rim and Colonies as a direct result of Republic regulations
that have hindered its battle droid program.
Baktoid plants on Foundry, Ord Cestus, Telti, Balmorra, and Ord Lithone
will close by month's end. An estimated 12.5 million employees
will be laid off as a result.
Legislation passed by the Senate eight years ago forced the disbanding
of the Trade Federation's security forces, the largest single consumer
of Baktoid's combat automata and vehicles. Further licensing
restrictions on the sale of battle droids made the purchase of such
hardware prohibitively expensive for most of Baktoid's clientele ...
1
For half a millennium Coruscant had glittered, a golden-towered
centerpiece to the Republic's galactic crown. Its bridges and arched
solaria harked back to ages past, when no leader's words seemed too
grand, no skyscraper too spectacular, and titanic civic sprawls boldly
proclaimed the rational mind's conquest of the cosmos.
With the coming of the Clone Wars, some believed such glorious
days were past. Whether the news holos spoke of victory or defeat, it
was all too easy to imagine flaming ships spiraling to their doom beneath
distant skies, the clash of vast armies, the death of uncounted
and uncountable dreams. It was almost impossible not to wonder if
one day war's ravening maw might not envelop this, the Republic's
jeweled locus. This was a time when the word city symbolized not
achievement, but vulnerability. Not haven, but havoc.
But despite those fears, Coruscant's billions of citizens kept faith
and continued about their myriad lives. A flock of hook-beaked
thrantcills flew in perfect diamond formation through Coruscant's
placid, pale blue sky. For a hundred thousand standard years they had
winged south for the winter, and might for yet another. Their flat
black eyes had watched civilization force Coruscant's animal life into
inexorable retreat. The planet's former masters now scavenged in
her duracrete canyons, their natural habitats replaced with artificial
marshes and permacrete forests. This, others argued, was a time of
marvels and marvelous beings from a hundred thousand different
worlds. This was a time for optimism, for dreams, and for unbridled
ambition.
A time of opportunity, for those with vision to see.
The red-and-white disk of a two-passenger Limulus-class transport
sliced through Coruscant's cloud-mantle. In the morning sun it
glittered like a sliver of silvered ice. Spiral-dancing to inaudible
music, it had detached its hyperdrive ring in orbit, slipping through
wispy clouds to land with a shush as gentle as a kiss. Its smooth, glassy
side rippled. A rectangular outline appeared and then slid up. A tall,
bearded man wrapped in a brown robe stepped into the doorway and
hopped down, followed by a second, clean-shaven passenger.
The bearded man's name was Obi-Wan Kenobi. For more years
than he cared to count, Obi-Wan had been one of the most renowned
Jedi Knights in the entire Republic. The second, a startlingly
intense younger man with fine brown hair, was named Anakin Skywalker.
Although not yet a full Jedi Knight, he was already famed as
one of the galaxy's most powerful warriors.
For thirty-six hours the two had juggled flying and navigational
duties, using their Jedi skills to hold their needs for sleep and sustenance
to a minimum. Obi-Wan was tired, irritable, famished, and
felt as if someone had poured sand into his joints. Anakin, he noticed,
seemed fresh and ready for action.
The recuperative powers of youth, Obi-Wan thought ruefully.
Only an emergency directive from Supreme Chancellor Palpatine
himself could have
summoned the two from their assignment on
Forscan VI.
"Well, Master," Anakin said. "I suppose this is where we part company."
"I'm not certain what this is about," the older man replied, "but
your time will be well spent studying at the Temple."
Obi-Wan and Anakin continued down the skywalk. Far beneath
them the city streets buzzed with traffic, the walkways and groundlevel
construction occasionally interrupted by wisps of cloud or stray
thrantcills. The web of streets and bridges behind and below them
was dazzling, but Obi-Wan noticed the beauty little more than he
had the height, the fatigue, or the hunger. At the moment, his mind
was occupied by other, more urgent concerns.
As if his Padawan could read his thoughts, Anakin spoke. "I hope
you're not still annoyed with me, Master."
There it was, another reference to Anakin's rash actions on Forscan
VI. Forscan VI was a colony planet at the edge of the Cron drift, currently
unaffiliated with either Republic or Confederacy. Elite Separatist
infiltration agents had set up a training camp on Forscan, their
"exercises" playing havoc with the settlers. The most delicate aspect
of the counteroperation was repelling those agents without ever letting
the colonists know that outsiders had assisted them. Tricky.
Dangerous.
"No," Obi-Wan said. "We contained the situation. My approach is
more . . . measured. But you displayed your usual initiative. You
weren't disobeying a direct order, so . . . we'll mark it down to creative
problem solving, and leave it at that."
Anakin breathed a sigh of relief. Powerful bonds of love and mutual
respect connected the two men, but in times past Anakin's impulsiveness
had tested those bonds sorely. Still, there was little doubt
that the Padawan would receive Obi-Wan's highest recommendations.
Years of observation had forced Obi-Wan to grant that
Anakin's seeming impetuosity was in fact a deep and profound understanding
of superior skills.
"You were right," Anakin said, as if Obi-Wan's mild answer gave
him permission to admit his own errors. "Those mountains were impassable.
Confederacy reinforcements would have bogged down in
the ice storm, but I couldn't take the chance. There were too many
lives at stake."
"It takes maturity to admit an error," Obi-Wan said. "I think we
can keep these thoughts between us. My report will reflect admiration
for your initiative."
The two comrades faced, and gripped each other's forearms.
Obi-Wan had no children, and likely never would. But the unity of
Padawan and Master was as deep as any parent-child bond, and in
some ways deeper still. "Good luck," Anakin said. "Give my regards
to Chancellor Palpatine."
A hovercar slid in next to the walkway, and Anakin hopped
aboard, disappearing into the sky traffic without a backward glance.
Obi-Wan shook his head. The boy would be fine. Had to be fine. If
a Jedi as gifted as Anakin could not rise above youthful hubris, what
hope was there for the rest of them?
But meanwhile there was a more immediate matter to consider.
Why exactly had he been called back to Coruscant? Certainly it must
be an emergency, but what kind of emergency . . . ?
The appointed meeting place was the T'Chuk sporting arena, a
tiered shell with seating for half a million thronging spectators. Here
chin-bret, Coruscant's most popular spectator sport, was played before
hundreds of thousands of cheering fans. Today, however, no expert
chin-bretier leapt in graceful arcs across the sand; no pikers
vaulted about returning serves. No cerulean-vested goalkeepers
veered like mad demicots, hoisting their team's torch aloft. Today the
vast stadium was empty, cleared and sequestered, hosting a very different
sort of gathering.
As he emerged from the echoing length of pedestrian tunnel, Obi-
Wan scanned the tiered stands. Most of the rows were as empty as a
Tatooine desertscape, but a few dozen witnesses were gathered in the
box-seat section. He recognized a scattering of high-level elected officials,
some important but ordinarily reclusive bureaucrats, a few
people from the technical branches, and even some clone troopers.
Instinct and experience suggested that this was a war council.
Over time the Clone Wars' initial chaos had settled into a tidal
rhythm; loyalties declared, alliances formed. The galaxy was too vast
for war to touch all its myriad shores, but at any given time battles
raged on a hundred different worlds. While that number represented
an insignificant fraction of the billions of star systems swirling about
the galaxy, due to long-standing alliances and partnerships, what
happened to millions of living beings had the potential to affect trillions.
Already kingdoms, nations, and families had been ravaged by the
wars. As the numbers grew and weapons inevitably became more
and more powerful, devastation might well spiral out of control, offsetting
the countless eons of struggle that had finally birthed a
galaxywide union. The labor of a thousand generations, vanished?
Never!
Lines had been drawn: Separatists on the one side, and the Republic
on the other. For Obi-Wan as well as many others, that line
was drawn with his own life's blood. The Republic would stand, or
Obi-Wan and every Jedi who had ever strode the Temple's halls
would fall. It was a simple equation.
And in simplicity there was both clarity and strength.
2
T'Chuk arena's sand-covered floor was empty save for a pale, slender
humanoid female. She wore a white technician's cloak, and her
black hair was cropped short. She stood tinkering with a gleaming
chrome hourglass-shaped construct that Obi-Wan found a bit puzzling:
it looked more like an edgy work of art, a Mavinian clusterwedding
organ, or perhaps a Juzzian colony marker, than anything
dangerous enough to concern a Jedi. Rows of narrow pointed legs at
the base were the only apparent means of locomotion.
What in the thousand worlds was this about?
The technician fiddled with the device, running various wires from
it to a pod at her waist. Perhaps it was some sort of advanced med
droid?
The audience grew increasingly restless as she detached the wires,
then turned and addressed them.
"My name is Lido Shan, and I thank you for your patience," she
said, ignoring their obvious lack of same. "I believe that our first
demonstration is ready for your graces." Shan gave a little bow and
swept her hand toward the gleaming construct. "I present the
JK-thirteen. To demonstrate its prowess, we have selected a Confederacy
destroyer droid, captured on Geonosis and reconstructed to
original manufacturer specifications."
The JK stood chest-high with a glassy finish, aesthetically pleasing
in ways few droids ever managed. A child's toy, a museum display,
a conversation piece, some fragile and delicate bit of electronics,
perhaps. On the other hand, the black, wheel-like destroyer droid
looked comparatively primitive, battered and patched, but still as
menacing as a wounded acklay.
With a hiss of compressing and decompressing hydraulics, the destroyer
droid rolled forward, crunching the sand into tread ridges as
it did. The JK model hunched down, gleaming, but in a strange way
seemed oddly helpless. It seemed almost to quiver as it crouched. The
impression of helplessness was reinforced by the size differential: the
JK was perhaps half the battle droid's mass.
At first Obi-Wan wondered if he was simply to witness another
demonstration of destroyer droid power and efficiency. Hardly necessary:
he still carried scars from the blasted things. No, that was an
absurd assumption: Palpatine couldn't possibly have summoned him
from Forscan for so mundane a purpose. In the next instant the destroyer
droid rolled within five meters of the JK, and all questions
were answered.
In a single moment the JK divided into segments, assuming a
spiderlike configuration. In that instant its pose seemed less of a
cowering leaf eater than one of those cunning creatures that mime
helplessness to lure their prey into range.
The destroyer droid spat red fire at its adversary. The sand rippled
as the JK projected not a single force field, but a series of rotating energy
disks that absorbed the blasts with ease. That was a surprise:
typically a machine required less sophistication to deflect energy than
to absorb it. This display implied some kind of advanced capacitance
or grounding technology. The attacking droid continued its rain of
fire, unable to comprehend that its pure-power approach had proved
inefficient.
Like most machines, it was powerful but stupid.
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed. Something . . . something unusual was
happening. The JK sprouted tentacles from the sides and top, tendrils
snaking out so swiftly that the destroyer droid had not the
slightest chance of evasion. Now Obi-Wan, and indeed most of the
witnesses, leaned toward the action as the war droid struggled helplessly
in the JK's tentacled grip. Initially the tendrils were thick and
ropy. Even as he watched they grew thinner, and then thinner still,
webbing the attacker with fibers that finally reduced to an almost invisible
fineness.
The tendrils chewed into the destroyer droid s casing like hundreds
of silk-thin fibersaws. The droid finally seemed to comprehend
its peril and commenced a desperate struggle, emitting disturbingly