available only to the unliving. "I must inform you that the entire car
is surrounded by some kind of interference field."
"Well I never!" Lady Por'Ten said and pulled out her personal
comlink. After a bit of fiddling, she looked up; all the color had
drained from her narrow face, her customary haughty manner muted.
"He's correct."
"Where are they taking us?" Debbikin asked.
The droid paused for a moment before answering. "We have taken
one of the obsolete tunnel systems and are currently being shunted
onto a mine track. I project that our probable destination, based upon
information dealing with other kidnap/murder scenarios—"
"Murder?" she shrieked.
Ignoring her distress, the droid continued. "I regret to inform
you that there is approximately a thirteen percent chance that the intent
of this action is, ultimately, the death of every person in this
car."
The Five Family executives glanced around at each other, mouths
quivering in shock.
The car went a bit farther, made a sharp right turn. It stopped, and
then slowly, inexorably, they felt it sink beneath them.
"Yes, as I anticipated, one of the mining tracks. This is not good, as
it is not a part of the central system, and therefore may not show up
on the maps. If the beacon has been disabled, which is probable, I
project our chance of being rescued as approximately one in twelve."
"One in . . . twelve?"
"Yes. Unless you would like the chance of us both being rescued
and of all of you being recovered alive. In which case the chance is
closer to one in six hundred fifty, based upon kidnap and homicide
statistics—"
"Shut up!" Lord Por'Ten roared, and stood. The car had finally
come to a stop. Now they could hear footsteps on the roof, their eyes
following them as one portentous thud at a time, they moved back to
the rear, and then stopped.
They glanced at each other, and Quill had opened his mouth to
speak when a figure with thick ropes of tentacle wriggling from his
head swung lightly down and smashed through the roof's plastine
partition. Jagged shards scattered as he landed without a sound, in
marked contrast to the heavier tread heard up on the roof.
A Nautolan! But what did he want?
His eyes were huge and black, with no apparent irises, but with a
filmy coating that seemed to shift in opacity from moment to moment
depending on the angle of light. He was empty-handed, but
there was a handle tucked into his belt, and Debbikin knew instantly
that it represented a threat of some kind.
"Who are you?" Quill spluttered.
"My name is Nemonus. Greetings from Count Dooku," the Nautolan
said.
"Wha-what do you want?"
"You seek to change a bargain," the intruder said.
"What? What are you talking about?"
The intruder turned, so slowly that he seemed like a machine in
low gear, a disturbing contrast to the terrifying speed with which he
had smashed through the roof. "You must learn that there is no place
you can hide. A deal was struck. Those who renegotiate price may
find other matters transformed as well."
Although ordinarily the most imperious of men, Por'Ten completely
melted before the intruder's molten gaze. "Wha-what are you
talking about?"
The intruder came closer. His lips thinned. The tentacles about his
head curled slowly, insinuatingly, as he spoke, twitching with their
own crazed energy. He whispered, yet in some odd way the whisper
was louder than a shout. "My master promised to keep you out of the
war. That you would not be involved. That can change, my friends.
That can all change."
Young Debbikin glanced at the others, nearing panic now. "No!
We have kept our pledges to you. All of them."
The intruder sneered. "Then why have you raised your prices,
threatened to withhold shipment without further credits?"
There was a moment of relief as they glanced at each other. For a
moment, they had feared that he knew of the negotiations with the
Jedi Kenobi! No, this was something completely different, Cestus
Cybernetics' demand for a 10 percent surcharge. Llitishi of sales and
marketing had sworn that Count Dooku would agree if they but held
firm.
"It is the war, the war!" Debbikin leaned closer, trying to establish
a sense of intimacy. "Supply lines have been cut..."
The intruder was unimpressed. "We have made other arrangements
for you."
"Yes, but the timing is off, and we have to buy additional products
so that all of the equipment matches. We are proceeding, but everything
is taking longer, and therefore more expensive—"
The intruder raised his palm. Although he hadn't so much as
touched them, the force of his personality drove them backward into
their seats. "You cannot be trusted."
Quill was using his secondary hands to reach stealthily for the little
hold-out blaster always attached to his wallet. They knew that he
was descended from an assassin clan, and that those skills had been
passed from one generation to the next for half a millennium. If their
kidnapper made but a single mistake, the blaster would be out, the
Nautolan would be dead, and they had a chance to regain control of
the car. And Quill, incidentally, would have redeemed himself.
"How can you say that! Our dealings with you have placed Cestus
in jeopardy with the Republic. We would not betray you. If we did,
we would have no one!" The intruder's back was to Quill. The blaster
was almost in hand . . .
Tension crackled in the air. Debbikin kept his eyes on the intruder,
striving not to reveal by eye movement or the slightest tremor of
voice that anything was amiss.
For the first time the intruder seemed to change expressions. The
film over his black eyes swirled. "Your Families need a lesson. The
best I can imagine is one written in blood—"
Quill's blaster was out and moving to the level, its tiny gleaming
barrel rising to sight at the intruder's back. But without turning, the
intruder's hand flickered. The gleaming handle at his belt blurred.
Something that looked like a coil of glowing wire suddenly flexed,
lashing backward toward Quill's blaster. Three meters long it was, and
thin as a thread, wrapping around the barrel. With the slightest twist
of the intruder's wrist, the blaster was sliced in half, the grip suddenly
glowing white-hot. Quill dropped the blaster, howling from singed
fingers, and thrust them into his mouth, sucking and nursing them.
"Now then." Kit Fisto smiled grimly. "Shall we negotiate?"
37
By the time Obi-Wan arrived at the palace, the halls were in an
uproar. He was hustled into G'Mai Duris's presence to see the regal
X'Ting hunched in her seat listening to the words of a round, shortlegged
Zeetsa with a very worried expression.
"—Regent Duris," the leathery blue creature said in conclusion.
Her stubby arms pointed at a glowing map hovering in the air. Her
eyes
traced the map with concern.
"Excuse me, Shar Shar," Obi-Wan said as softly as he could. "If
there are concerns with the transportation grid that necessitate the
postponement of the day's negotiations, perhaps I should return at
another—"
Duris glanced up, an expression of surprise and then tears of gratitude
overflowing her faceted eyes. "Master Jedi!" she said. "Obi-
Wan. I am afraid we have an emergency. Thank goodness you are
here!"
"Indeed?" he asked. "How can I be of assistance?"
"The Five Families should have been here an hour ago. Their private
car seems to have disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Obi-Wan managed to conceal the pleasure in his
voice. "How is that possible?"
"The entire planet is honeycombed with tunnels. Many of them
are unmapped. We can only assume that someone, for their own
purposes, shunted the car off its route into one of these secondary
pathways."
"And as yet you have received no communication?"
"None," she said.
Obi-Wan studied the entire map, his face set sternly. "May I assume
that the other cars traveling along the map have sensors to
avoid collision?"
"My engineer can answer that question," Duris said.
The engineer was a small, graying human who looked as if the current
stress might cost him his few remaining sprigs of hair. "Yes, the
sensors are excellent."
"Tell me," Obi-Wan asked Duris, "what is known of the situation
at this time?"
"A group of Five Family executives were kidnapped."
"This Desert Wind group we've heard of?"
"We do not know," she replied. "We've heard little from them in
the past year, and considered their threat broken. Frankly, it doesn't
seem like their style."
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and counted to five, and then opened
them again, retaining his most serious expression. "Can you holomap
the entire system?"
The engineer nodded. "Well, of course, but why?"
"In order to do something like this, to make the car disappear, they
have to have removed it from the grid. The individual magcars
should react to the absence of a moving object, slowing and speeding
themselves in compensation. The degree of disruption will increase
the closer we get to the point of departure."
"But they have clearly affected our computers. They left no
trace—"
"They left no direct data trace. But can the phantom car influence
proximity sensors on other system vehicles?"
"Well...," the engineer's mouth suddenly widened as he grasped
Obi-Wan's implication. "No. The safety system is off the main grid,
a backup system to prevent a single mistake in central command
from causing a systemwide catastrophe."
"Good," Obi-Wan said, as the complete system sprang to life in a
floating web of glowing silver threads. "Now I want you to filter for
proximity feedback from the cars themselves, showing their actual
positions and their projected positions according to schedule."
The engineer blanched. "But . . . we are not on Coruscant, sir.
We have no computer fast enough to find the original point of
departure—"
Obi-Wan raised his hand. "I am not searching for a thing. I need
to sense something that is not there. Where computers falter, the
Force may prevail. Please. Give me the images."
The engineer gawped at Obi-Wan. Then Duris nodded her head
and waved her primary hands, and he performed as requested. Soon
every image on the grid was doubled. "Make the projected images
red, and the actual ones blue," Obi-Wan said, his voice dropping low.
Duris remembered stories of these mystic warriors, and fought to
repress a tremor of almost supernatural awe. She nodded to the engineer,
and a series of ghostly overlay images began to form. Impossibly
complex, all of it, because as each car accelerated or decelerated to
compensate for the missing car, they began to interfere with other
cars on the tracks, causing them to slow or speed in a widening ripple
effect.
Obi-Wan stood in the middle of the vast rippling maze, his eyes
half lidded, arms outstretched as if actually feeling the entire web of
motion. Then, slowly, he turned and pointed to a stretch of tunnel
between one of the outer rings of luxury apartments and the central
city. "This," he said, "is where the phantom car originated. It is therefore
here that the real car went offline."
Duris glanced at the engineer, who hunched his shoulders. Perhaps.
The Jedi traced a line along a branching tunnel. "And it went
here . . . " The tunnel branched again. He traced his finger along one
of the paths, and then backtracked and took the other. "And then
here, where it slowed and changed levels . . . "
The throne room was blindingly silent. The quiet heightened the
impact of each word almost unendurably. "And then it began moving
again, until..."
He cocked his head sideways. "This is strange. There is no track
indicated here. Should there be?"
The engineer cleared his throat. In fact, he looked a little frightened,
regarding their guest with something halfway between dread
and awe. "Well..." He consulted a holo rotating above his briefcase,
and raised his head again a moment later, that tense crease of his lips
deepened. "There is a utility corridor that was taken off the map because
Obi-Wan's eyes were still closed. "But?"
"But in fact, if it is still up to the former specifications, it could take
the load safely."
Again, silence. Obi-Wan nodded. "Here you will find your missing
car.
The engineer swallowed hard. "Regent Duris," he said. "There remains
the problem of reaching it. If we assume that the kidnappers
are tied into the central network, they'll see anything we do to
reroute a car. That reduces our options to acting off the grid. It will
take hours to position a strike squad. Have we that much time?"
Obi-Wan looked at her. Duris chewed at her chitinous lower lip.
If this was Desert Wind, then there was little fear for the lives of the
Five Families. Desert Wind kidnapped, but had never killed in cold
blood. Not their style. But they had doubtlessly made arrangements
for their captives to be spirited to some more secretive place—and
from there, no one could predict what might happen.
Of course, it was always possible that it was not Desert Wind. On
Cestus, misinformation was simply a fact of life . . .
Glancing back at Obi-Wan, she realized that she had not, for even
a moment, doubted that this amazing man had done what all of Cestus's
computers could not. That by power of his mind and the mysterious
Force, Obi-Wan Kenobi had found their missing Family
members. With all that had happened in the last day she felt dazed
and confused as she had not in all her time on the throne, as if suffering
from a mild form of shock.
"You might be right," she said. "We may have no time, and the
usual means will not serve. Master Jedi—have you a plan?" Somehow,
she knew he would.
"Tell your security people not to shoot until they've made an identification,"
Obi—Wan murmured.
"What are you going to do?"
Obi-Wan paused for dramatic effect, and then replied: "Something
drastic."
0re cars, equipment shuttles, passenger vehicles, mining machines,
and repair droids all flowed through the same labyrinth of
magrails and lev tracks, zipping past and moving around each other
as if they were living, breathing things, individual tissue structures
within a larger organism, cells in the body Cestus, drones in the technological
hive.
And atop one of those cars, clinging to the surface with nerves and
muscles honed by decades of training, crouched Jedi Knight Obi-
Wan Kenobi. He compensated for impossibly swift and sharp turns,
accelerations, and decelerations with a profound understanding of
the rhythms of the universe and its invisible currents.
Sequestered in his rooms, Obi-Wan had privately absorbed the
shuttle system patterns over the course of a long, sleepless night. In
G'Mai's presence he'd spent no more than a few minutes updating
that research. Even if they had watched him spend hours immersed
in study, what he was about to attempt would still have been impressive
to them. With the secret practice and knowledge, his next
actions would appear miraculous, putting his hosts—especially the
volatile Quill—off-balance emotionally.
But first he had to actually do it, knowing as he did that sensors on
the various vehicles observed his every move.
The vehicle began to slow and veer to the left. Following instincts
far beyond the level of conscious thought, he jumped even before he
saw the next car.
For a moment Obi-Wan clung to the tunnel's wall, then felt a blast
of air as the next magcar barreled toward him. For a moment its
transparisteel walls resembled the great glowing eyes of some subterranean
creature. He glimpsed commuters who had been absorbed in
their datapads or conversations suddenly stare at the man hanging
upside down from the top of the tunnel, and they gasped as he
dropped toward them. A yellow-skinned Xexto flailed her four arms
in shock, screaming that the poor human was attempting some kind
of bizarre suicide.
Sorry, Obi-Wan mouthed, then clutched the front of the car,