The Cestus Deception: Star Wars (Clone Wars): A Clone Wars Novel Read online

  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 sec 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.

  3

  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 goodbyes 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 non-sentient, which in some ways is even more amazing, representing the first nonsentient creature ever f
ound 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.”

  4

  Three hundred kilometers below, the ocean was quiet. From this peaceful vantage point, one would never guess that within those watery depths courageous soldiers were fighting, striving, slaying. Dying.

  A steady stream of single-person capsules erupted from the sides of the troop transport ships, blazing their fiery trails down through the atmosphere. Within the transports, corridors surged with unending streams of uniformed troopers. The hallways buzzed with activity, like blood vessels bursting with living cells. The troopers wore not blast armor but flexible black depthsuits. They ran in perfect order and rhythm, knees high and heads erect, heading toward their rendezvous with danger, perhaps death. Each stood exactly 1.78 meters in height, with short black hair and piercing brown eyes. Their skin was pale bronze, with darker variations among those who had spent more time in the sun. Every face was identical, heavy eyebrows and blunt noses prominent above strong narrow mouths.

  Clone troopers, every one.

  A few were not common troopers, although at the moment few outsiders could have told them apart. These were the Advance Recon Commandos. Representing a tiny fraction of the total clones grown in the Kamino cloning labs, the ARC troopers were the deadliest soldiers ever created.

  Contrary to popular belief, even a standard trooper was not merely a mindless shock troop or laser cannon fodder. Trained in a wide spectrum of general military disciplines ranging from hand-to-hand combat to emergency medical techniques, they were also graded from basic soldier to commander based upon field performance. Theoretically, all troopers were equal, but experience and tiny variations in initial cloning conditions inevitably made some more equal than others.