Whatever he tried, Ventress stood ready. Whatever his plan, she
was prepared to counter it. In fact, whatever it was the two of them
had in mind, she would use it to lure him into her trap. This time,
there would be no escape.
She had yet to meet with the Five Families, but could still use
them. Bait, that was the approach. She would have tracking and listening
devices attached to their vehicles and persons. They would be
followed, their actions and words recorded.
And somewhere in the process, she would trap Kenobi. She could
feel it. This was the planet, this was the time.
Obi-Wan Kenobi would be hers.
Delicious.
Twice since landing on this planet, Obi-Wan had felt . . . something.
Not quite enough to fully bring him to attention. Certainly
not enough to clearly identify. Comprehension eluded him, as if he
were groping for an object just out of reach. But although none of his
senses could touch such a phantom object directly, the mere withdrawal
left ripples in water . . . or in the air. And now there was a ripple
in the Force. A not-presence. Something withdrawn. Something
missing.
He did not feel it consciously. In fact, the more consciously he
searched, the more it slipped away, as if he had imagined the entire
thing. So he concentrated on the conversation with G'Mai, leaving
only the slightest sliver of attention, a merest mote, to scan the surroundings,
searching not for a presence, but another . . . lack of presence.
Yes. Another sense of withdrawal.
It was too small to integrate itself into his consciousness at the
moment. Not until later, in the depth of his Jedi meditations, might
this small trap bear fruit. But he could wait.
30
F.or a dozen generations the leaders of the Five Families had ruled
as if by divine privilege. So long as ore flowed to the foundries, and
those foundries fed the factories creating droids and armor, channeling
credits to Cestus coffers, that power might last for generations
more.
The trappings of royalty provided what the actuality did not: a lavish
wealth of art, fine subtle scents, and furnishings that might have
done credit to any office in the Republic. If Cestus could not come to
civilization, civilization had indeed come to Cestus.
At the moment, however, some of the conversation in the throne
room was far from polite. For hours now the arguments had raged,
and although on the surface the words used were polite, there was no
mistaking the fierceness beneath them.
"Every event can have multiple meanings as well as consequences,"
said Llitishi, whose family had sprung from the daughter of an ore
miner and the son of a murderer.
"I am aware of this," Duris said.
Quill, the room's only other X'Ting, stood. "The hive is upset that
the Republic Senate has declared planets have no right of secession."
The Five Family leaders were arrayed in a semicircle about Duris s
throne. In theory, the forces they represented were no more powerful
than hers. In practice, of course, Duris was almost completely
under their control.
"They are not fools," Duris said. "If Palpatine interferes with our
right to commerce, it will drive more planets away."
Quill bore in. "If the Republic offers violence as a means of persuasion,
the situation worsens."
Duris sighed, and remained silent as her esteemed guest spoke. It
had been a week now, and as Obi-Wan presented his case to yet another
group of the Five Families' representatives and barristers, she
began to despair that a true consensus would ever be reached.
"I stand before you with a fair and just offer," Obi-Wan said. "We
can stop the Gabonna crystal blockade and advance funds to purchase
two thousand units of your class JL and JK droids."
G'Mai paused. This offer was new. She knew, of course, that Obi-
Wan had been communicating with his Coruscant masters. In fact,
some of those communications had already been intercepted and decrypted.
The X'Ting was similarly taken aback. "That might...," he said,
then emphasized, "might be enough to secure our market position."
Debbikin nodded. "I am willing to believe that this Jedi speaks
Obi-Wan inclined his head. "A fact noted and appreciated."
Lady Por'Ten's nephew raised his skeletal hand, as if warding off
expectations of easy settlement. "But even this offer is risky. The cost
of the war mounts. Taxes soar. The central government offers payment
in credit bonds, to be redeemed at a later time. Such bonds can
be traded for goods, but usually at a lower rate than face value .. ."
Obi-Wan had kept his voice and manner even, but he found the
entire discussion dreadful, dull, and exasperating. Time was short,
and there was a limit to the tricks he could pull, a limit to the negotiating
room extended him by the Supreme Chancellor.
And if he ran out of maneuvering room . . . he shuddered to think
of the cost. Perhaps sensing his mood, Snoil bent down and whispered
to him. "Time is running out. This is more and more troubling:
if the Republic wins, the rebellious planets will face a heavy punishment
for their attempt to leave. But if the Republic loses, then planets
belonging to the Republic will carry the tax burden."
Obi-Wan felt the patch of cold behind his left ear expand. The
stress level was climbing intolerably. "My cephalopodan friend, you
are giving me a headache. You, and the sense that Duris may be correct."
"In what way?" Snoil asked.
The Five Family executives were so busy arguing with each other
that for the moment, no one seemed focused on them. "This may all
be misdirection," he said. "I fear that lack of clarity will haunt me
yet."
Duris raised both primary and secondary hands, requesting quiet.
"We have an obligation to conduct these negotiations with good faith.
I believe my honored associates hold the financial welfare of Cestus
Cybernetics closely to heart, as they should. I represent the planet of
Cestus, with all its citizens, and the hive, and its interests. Cestus Cybernetics
could conceivably move to another planet, whereas this is
our only home. Save the squabbling for another time. Our survival is
at stake."
There was stunned silence for a moment, and then the discussion
began anew, this time with a less argumentative tone.
After the hours of negotiation were past, the Jedi and the barrister
returned to their lodgings. The other members of the Five Families
packed their docufiles and left, but Quill approached Duris.
"You have blocked me for the last time," he said, seething. "I have
spent a lifetime arranging a deal just such as this, and I will not tolerate
your interference. Appear before the council tonight. You may
end your own life, or you can go to the sand. Those are your only
choices."
He leaned closer. "Personally, I hope you choose to fight. It would
be good to kill you, as I did your mate. He died begging. I would like
to hear those same words from you, smell your surrender."
Quill paused. "Then, of course, I will kill you."
31
In the dead of night, Trillot's people delivered the documents Obi-
Wan had requested. Between those and the official records, Snoil
had access to enough information to keep a research staff busy for
years.
They didn't have years.
He absorbed, scanned, noted, summoned up abstracts, and worked
well into the night. As far as Obi-Wan could determine, the Vippit
hadn't slept since they arrived. Because he was uncertain of Vippit
physiology, he wasn't sure whether this was exceptional. Still, he had
grown more and more concerned until the hour when an exhausted
Snoil informed Obi-Wan that he was ready for sleep.
Snoil crawled into his bedroom and was not seen again for ten
hours, when he appeared in the doorway with an enormous smile
splitting his face.
"Doolb?" Obi-Wan asked.
Snoil was radiant. "Obi-Wan!" he called. "Obi-Wan! While I
slept, the two halves of my brain talked to each other. I've found it!"
"Found what?" he asked.
"Look here," he said, feverish with excitement. "In this document,
executives of the Cestus Cybernetics boast about the fact that the
land was purchased with synthstones. They actually laugh at the ignorant
aboriginals."
Venality. Offensive in all its forms. "And?"
"Technically, synthstones represent counterfeit money." Snoil's
eyes gleamed. "Follow me here, Obi-Wan. Cestus Cybernetics was a
licensed subsidiary of the prison. The prison was constructed and operated
under a Republic contract."
"Yes? And?" He still couldn't see where this was leading.
"Obi-Wan," Snoil said in exasperation, "Cestus Cybernetics was at
that point a representative of the Republic, held to the same standards
as any ambassador. A purchase made with counterfeit currency
is no purchase at all. This nullifies the original sale. The land beneath
every factory on Cestus still belongs to the hive!"
Obi-Wan's head spun. If this information got out, the Five Families
were finished. Coruscant would take control of the situation, and
only the hive would profit. Great for X'Ting, but if the economy
crashed, the water and food shortages might kill millions. So it was a
dreadful, last-minute leverage, barely better than an all-out bombardment.
But it was better . . .
There was a knock on the door. Chippie the driver stood in the entrance,
his secondary hands extending a datadisk. "Client say play
this."
Obi-Wan inserted the disk in his astromech, and waited a moment
as the image field was generated.
G'Mai Duris appeared in the air before them. "Things have come
to a head," she said, "and my leadership of the hive council is under
attack. There is no one else I can trust, and I ask that you come to my
quarters, where we can speak in greater privacy. My condition is
dire."
Duris kept an apartment in the penthouse section of ChikatLik. A
servant admitted Obi-Wan to the luxurious accommodations.
The inside of her apartment was a blend of technology and traditional
X'Ting "chewed duracrete" architecture.
Obi-Wan followed Duris into her kitchen. There, a variety of
glowing lights were illuminating a beautiful little garden of various
mushrooms and fungi. It took his breath away. This was master-level
skill, a lifetime's education in creating a miniature fungus forest.
"Beautiful," he said.
"It is our medicine and cuisine, our meditation and entertainment,"
Duris said. "Each family has its own mushroom forest, a balance
of different species that has been passed through the line for
thousands of years."
G'Mai Duris took a twist here, a pinch there, and as Obi-Wan
watched put the finishing touches on a meal that seemed created
of a hundred different dishes using fungi of varying texture in various
ways. Her private forest provided the spice and garnish. Larger
amounts of a heavier, meatier fungus were added from a special
locker. The aromas were growing almost intoxicatingly delicious
when she said, "I am being forced to fight Quill tonight. I've heard of
the Jedi—you are said to be the greatest fighters in the galaxy. Can
you teach me to fight?"
Obi-Wan bowed his head. "I am sorry. There is no time." He considered.
She kept preparing, but her primary and secondary hands were
starting to shake.
"Is it possible that you might have a second?" he asked. "A champion?"
"It is not done," she said sadly. "I had hoped this day would never
arrive. So. I knew it was a foolish hope," she added. "Still, I had to try.
Would you stay, please, and dine with me? Please?"
She was shaking so piteously that he couldn't deny her.
She served him what she called her "death meal." A last ritual act.
As she had with every official motion and word, her actions were
perfect. Her motions were precise, elegant, controlled.
He asked her questions about the hive, and the rituals.
She kept glancing at the chrono, and he knew her time was drawing
near.
"I cannot face Quill in the arena, just to be slaughtered publicly. I
am afraid of what I might do. I might beg and disgrace my lineage.
Better for me to die tonight. In my fungus forest are the plants
I need to end my life." She smiled wanly. "There is a saying among
my people: Death is darkness. The children are safe. It means to have
courage."
So things had gone that far. He was appalled that her conversation
could have taken such a lethally casual tone.
A thought occurred to him. "What happens if both you and Quill
die?" he asked.
"Then the council would be free to make its own decisions. Without
Quill, I believe they would be more reasonable."
"Then I have the answer for you," Obi-Wan said. "The answer is
in your death meal."
"What?"
"Listen to me," he said, and bent close. "I have the answer, if you
have the courage."
Together they took a turbolift down into the depths of the city,
below the sections where offworlders lived and worked and thought
themselves the owners of a captive world. Down into the oldest sections
they went. There, some thousands of X'Ting still lived in something
approximating a community.
The caves had been formed by water seepage, not volcanic activity.
The walls had been textured with the familiar creases of hive-style
chewed duracrete. Here, below, they did things in the old ways.
At the hive council table sat twelve ancient X'Ting, one for each of
the planet's hives. How powerful and regal they must have seemed
once. Now, their hives broken and scattered, they clung to mere fragments
of their former glory. Despite their daily humiliations, the
twelve faced their Regent and her offworlder companion with dignity.
Quill doffed his robe, baring his powerful thorax. "So you decided
not to take your life," he grinned. "Good. I want the entire council to
smel
l the stench as you die."
Duris trembled so badly she could barely remove her cloak, and almost
dropped it as she handed it to Obi-Wan. "Courage," he said
softly. "Death is darkness. The children will be safe."
"I have no children," she whispered. It was almost a whimper.
"Every soul on this planet is in your hands," he said. "They are all
your children."
G'Mai Duris nodded.
Their arena was a circle of groomed sand twenty meters in diameter.
Radiating contempt, Quill began as Duris expected, strutting
and boasting. He made short, lightning stinger thrusts, and instead
of responding with parry or flight, Duris closed her eyes, folding together
the fingers of her primary and secondary hands.
"The answer is in your death meal," Obi-Wan had told her. The
ritual death meal, designed to drain all emotion. Only a master, prepared
to serve the death meal from birth, could have matched her actions
in the apartment. Even though facing the end of her life,
G'Mai Duris had been utterly calm.
"This is what you do," Obi-Wan had said. "Close your eyes. Think that
you are preparing your death meal, and be calm. When he stings you, the
instant you feel his stinger, sting him. Do not try to survive. Go as one already
dead."
Quill approached her, and she merely waited.
He turned this way and that, trying to frighten her. Nothing he
tried worked.
"There is a secret to the warrior arts," Obi-Wan had said. "One that
has nothing to do with training. Nothing to do with fancy movements. It
is the willingness to trade lives with your enemy. To never fight for anything
you would not die for. Those who fight for glory, or gold, or power,
stand on shifting sand, not the bedrock of true courage. Fight for your people.
Fight for your mate. For you, dying means winning. The arena is not
a circle of sand. The arena is your heart."
Quill leapt and pranced and shook his stinger. He hissed and circled
and made fearsome faces. And through it all, G'Mai Duris
merely stood.
Waiting to share death with him.
At last Quill stopped, stupefied, for the first time his mask of confidence
cracking. Beneath, was fear.
G'Mai Duris stood, eyes closed. Waiting.
Quill's mouth quivered, and he lowered his eyes to the sand. " I . . .
I concede," he said, radiating hatred.
The eldest X'Ting on the council stood and spoke. "G'Mai Duris