boiled to the clouds. Hands bound behind their backs, its crew had
begun their twenty-kilometer trek back to ChikatLik. The message
they carried would be heard loud and clear: Chaos is coming.
And as lovers of comfort and order, the Five Families would seek
out a source of security. The Separatists had been shown to be too
risky and dangerous, and possibly in collaboration with the forces of
Desert Wind. The only option? A closer bond to the Republic.
"It goes well?" asked the newly christened "Jangotat."
"Well enough," Kit Fisto said, gazing through his electrobinoculars.
"We strike, they grab at shadows, and we sever their limbs. Soon
the Five Families will pray for order and safety." The words were
confident, but something more unsure lurked behind them.
"You don't sound totally pleased, sir."
"I am not comfortable with such deception, even though I admit
its value."
Jangotat concealed his pleasure. His perceptions were sharpening,
something that kept soldiers alive. Maybe the whole "Jangotat" thing
wasn't so bad. Don't be afraid to take chances. Think odd thoughts. All
right, then. Here's one this Jedi would never expect. "May I say, sir, that
such nonconventional warfare saves lives."
To his surprise, General Fisto's mouth twisted in a rare display of
mirth. "Does it indeed?"
"Yes, sir."
The general put the electrobinoculars away. "Well. If a soldier of
the Republic can find such a goal admirable, can a Jedi do less?"
He realized that this was, for the Nautolan, a joke, and smiled in
return. The moment of shared levity gave Jangotat the courage to ask
something that had been on his mind for two days now. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"What you did with Master Kenobi . . . could an ordinary man
learn that?"
General Fisto stared at him with those vast, unblinking eyes. "No."
"Some? Even a little?"
There was a long pause, and then the general nodded. "Well, perhaps.
Yes. Some."
"Would you teach me?"
"Nate . . . "
"Sir .. ." Jangotat looked to either side swiftly, saw that they were
alone and lowered his voice. "Please don't laugh at me . . . "
The Nautolan shook his head gravely. "Never."
"I'm thinking of taking a name."
General Fisto's teeth gleamed. "I've heard that some do. What name
are you thinking? Be careful," he warned. "Names can be powerful."
The trooper nodded. "So . . . a friend suggested: Jangotat. Brother
of Jango." He narrowed his eyes as if expecting rebuke. "Would that
be . . . a good thing?"
Kit Fisto did him the respect of genuinely pondering the question.
Then, after almost a minute, he answered, "Jango was a man of great
strengths. A worthy foe. I would be proud to have his namesake at
my side." He slapped the trooper's shoulder. "Jangotat."
"Would you inform General Kenobi? I've already told my brothn
ers.
The Nautolan's eyebrow arched. "And what did they say?"
Jangotat laughed. "They wished they'd thought of it first."
Kit Fisto seemed to look at him a bit differently. "Among my people,
the taking of a name is a serious thing," he said. "An occasion for
gift giving."
"That isn't why I—"
The general held his hand up. "You asked what it might be possible
for you to learn. I have a small thing you may... enjoy. I can teach
you and your brothers some of the most basic exercises taught Forcesensitive
children in the Jedi Temple."
"But I will never be as good as a Jedi, will I?" This was said without
despair or resentment. Merely a question.
"No," the Jedi said. "You will not. But you will know yourself, and
the universe, better than you ever have."
The two of them shared a smile. It was a moment of genuine
openness between these two unlikely comrades, a precious thing between
them.
"Then let's get started," Jangotat said.
The four troopers squatted in a circle outside their cave, crouching
around Kit as he began his lesson. "There is a thing I can teach you,"
the Nautolan said, "a game taught to the very youngest Padawan
learners. It is a thing called Jedi Flow." He paused. "Do all of you
wish this?"
They were so attentive and open that Kit couldn't resist a smile.
"All right," he said, then paused, considering. "Jedi feel the Force as
an ocean of energy in which they immerse themselves, floating with
its currents, or directing its waves. For the average person, the subtle
sensations of life are no ocean—but can still be a stream or river. Can
you understand this?"
They nodded slowly.
"Your body holds memories of pain, anger, fear. It holds them in
your tissues, conditioned responses that attempt to protect you from
future injury."
"Like scar tissue?" Forry asked.
"Exactly like it," he said, approving. "Tight like a fist. It warps and
twists you. When you collect enough of them, they are like armor.
But Jedi wear no armor. Armor both protects and numbs. Jedi must
expose themselves fully to the currents of the universe. I can teach
you how to remove some of these wounds. Think of them as boulders,
obstacles on the river of energy. Learn to flow around your fears
and angers instead of crashing against them. Learn to do this well
enough, and you can even direct the river to move the boulders for
you, widening the riverbed, increasing the flow of energy."
"But howl"
He searched for some simple way to express his thoughts. "Physical
action is the unity of breathing, motion, and alignment. In other
words, breath is created by the motion of your diaphragm, and the
movement of your spine. Motion is created by breathing and proper
posture. And alignment is created by a unity of breath and motion.
To keep this triplet in mind as you practice your combat arts is
to take a martial technique or physical challenge and transform it
into something more." Kit grinned his predatory, Nautolan smile.
"Enough theory," he said. "It is time for practice."
For the next two hours Kit taught them exercises to refine their
breathing, concentrating on exhalations only, allowing air pressure to
fill their lungs passively as the rib cage expanded. He was gratified to
see how rapidly they absorbed the lessons, and gave them more.
The Nautolan showed them how to turn two-dimensional calisthenics
into three-dimensional gymnastics, moving static exercise
positions through additional ranges of motion, turning poses into
dynamic waveforms, and melding all with the triumverate of breathing,
motion, and alignment. He also demonstrated how to take those
exercises and combine them, flow in and out of them, creating their
own combinations to address any specific fitness needs.
But always, always, preserving and attending to breathing, motion,
and alignment.
When he was done they were sweaty but exhilarated, and begged
for more.
"No," he said. "That is enough for one day. Just remember: the
&nbs
p; point, the value is not in the exercises, or not exclusively there. The
greatest value is in transitioning between one exercise and the next.
All life is movement between states, between moments. Work to
make every moment a symphony of these three aspects. Evolve into
your excellence. Use external tasks merely to test your integration and
clarity. That is the road to becoming an exceptional warrior."
43
In the innermost chambers of ChikatLik city, negotiations had
moved into new and higher gear. Few in the capital knew anything
but rumors: Five Family executives had been kidnapped, payrolls hijacked,
transports destroyed, power stations sabotaged. The general
mood suggested change, and major change at that. Things had been
quieter than usual in the public section of Trillot's lair, and back in
her private chambers a pall had descended over the usual revelry.
It was late now, and barely a sound could be heard in the entire
twisting, turning nest of catacombs.
Trillot rested on her couch, puffing from one of her pipes, attempting
to self-medicate. Accelerating the shift from male to female
was a touchy process: this fungus to relieve stress, and that leaf
to eliminate fatigue. Another to stabilize her mood. However unpleasant,
Trillot found this preferable to the monthlong fertility
period as the cycle went from male to female. A time of almost overwhelmingly
volatile emotions, X'Ting traditionally sealed themselves
in their quarters for this period, preferably with a mate.
No such isolation for Trillot! She had been awake for four days
now, and although her system would eventually crash, necessitating
thirty hours of coma-like slumber, for now she managed to keep the
worst of it at bay. Meanwhile, spies brought her information from all
over the city. She filtered it, deciding what was actionable and what
she should pass on to Ventress, who had her own mysterious sources.
The holovid she had asked Trillot to pass to Quill, for instance . . .
Still, Snoil's discovery of the entire synthstone business was disturbing.
Even with their new information, this century-old folly was
the ultimate wild card. Who knew what the Jedi might do with such
leverage? The sooner Kenobi was dead, the better.
These musings might have been enough to disrupt her sleep cycle,
but there was more: her growing need to lurk outside Ventress's bed
chamber. Invariably, the experience left her trembling.
Trillot was grateful for the narcotic currents coursing through her
blood. What might have been profoundly disturbing in a more sober
mood seemed merely a matter of curiosity. Strange. When she chose,
Ventress appeared able to shield herself from the most powerful Jedi.
But she had such contempt for Trillot that she allowed her ugliest
dreams to seep from her sleeping mind.
Trillot took another puff and closed her emerald eyes. Instead of
darkness, a fantasy of fire and blood repeated itself again and again.
Warships rose.
Towers fell.
The Republic might dissolve, the Separatists trigger a wave of secession
that washed through the entire galaxy. Consideration of profits,
however enormous, might soon be moot. As might survival itself.
"Fire and blood," she whispered.
The council chambers had been locked in verbal turmoil for long
hours when Obi-Wan entered. He very nearly smiled. Since the subterranean
kidnapping and "battle," the major subject of conversation
was not whether they should acquiesce to the Republic's request, but
rather how they could most swiftly comply.
This he knew even though he had not been present. A Jedi had
means. Especially a Jedi with solid Republic credits to spread around.
"Yes, I was called?"
Snoil sat at the circular conference table across from the executives,
half a dozen holodocs floating around his head. He gestured to Obi-
Wan. "We've had a breakthrough. They've decided to meet the Chancellor's
terms."
A vast relief. The sooner he put this distasteful situation behind
him, the better. "Excellent."
The immense room was filled wall to circular wall with representatives
of the Five Families. And not just the executives who claimed
the top slots—there were three dozen or more lower-tier Cestus Cybernetics
executives thronging the room, poring over their holodocs,
arguing and proposing. They added signatures and thumbprints on
the touch-screens for instant upload to legal computers all over Cestus,
and from there broadcast to Coruscant for instant verification.
The air before Obi-Wan flickered, and a holodoc appeared. He
turned to Snoil. "This meets your approval?"
He noticed the crinkles of exhaustion on the Vippit's stubby arms,
and realized that Snoil must have found the past days of negotiation
grueling. "Absolutely."
Obi-Wan signed as the Republic's representative, and felt vastly
satisfied. He and Duris shared a smile. "I assume that when the
Supreme Chancellor reads the contract, he will approve. But barring
some problem on that end, I believe that we have come to an agreement."
"And not a moment too soon, Master Jedi," she said.
One of Duris's lawyers put a datapad in front of him. "And now,
Master Kenobi, we need your signature on the following documents—"
Suddenly and without formal announcement Quill entered the
chamber, waving a rectangular holocard above his head as if it contained
"Wait! Hold the proceedings! Do not thumb that holodoc."
Duris stared at Quill with suspicion. "What is the meaning of
this?"
"Better we ask the Jedi the meaning of this." He placed the card in
a datapad, smirking with triumph. An instantly recognizable image
sprang into the air. It was not taken from a standard security cam—
those had all been disabled down in the tunnels. It was, rather, an
image taken by some unseen person who had reached the site even
before Kenobi had arrived.
Obi-Wan's gut churned sourly. How had this happened? And how
had the unknown observer concealed his or her presence?
To these questions, he had no answers at all. He did, however,
know what was about to appear, and realized that total disaster was
at hand.
Floating on the player's projection field was the image of a Desert
Wind fighter. A battle ensued between Jedi and rebel, revealed very
clearly from this angle to be a mockery, a fraud, with a lightsaber
passing a quarter meter broad of the target. The kidnapper fell down
and flapped his arms theatrically. Obi-Wan "attacked" another, this
battle even more obviously staged. The mood in the room had grown
frigid. No one made a sound.
This was disaster beyond belief. The mission was utterly compromised,
had perhaps been from the beginning. His unknown adversary
had waited until the worst possible moment to sabotage him.
Obi-Wan could think of nothing to say.
"I understand now," Lady Por'Ten said, "how the Jedi have attained
their i
mpressive reputations."
G'Mai Duris stood, her secondary arms fidgeting nervously, her
golden flesh gone pale with rage. Her immense form trembled as if
in the throes of an avalanche. "You will leave. Immediately," she said.
His mind had stuttered, searching for a way out of the trap, for
some explanation, however ineffectual. "G'Mai—" he began.
She had drawn herself fully to her most impressive height, her
bulk radiating power. "That is Regent Duris." Her voice cut like an
arctic wind. "You Jedi. What you cannot win by diplomacy you seek
to gain by fear. And if not that, fraud." She colored a bit at that last
word.
He shucked all pretense and tried to speak as directly as he could,
knowing that all was lost. "If negotiations will not come to a positive
conclusion, war will touch your shores."
"It already has," said Duris, wings fluttering with distress. She was
in an impossible position, whatever personal gratitude she might feel
for him neutralized by his perfidy. "There has already been destruction,
and betrayal, and the death of hope. If that is not war, I do not
understand the concept." She was trembling with rage and something
more . . . fear.
Her next words emerged low and hoarse. "I trusted you.
Trusted . . . " Then Duris collected herself. "Go. While you can."
Obi-Wan bowed low, his eyes sweeping the room. His eyes met
Quill's, who didn't bother to conceal his venomous sense of triumph.
From what unseen corner had the blow been struck? He left, and
after a moment Snoil followed him out. His last image was of G'Mai
Duris on her throne. One of the most terrible things in this was not
the war that threatened, not even the humiliation. It was the personal
damage he had done to a good person, someone who had believed in
him. She, more than anyone, understood what was at stake, and that
she sat in the midst of a web of deceit. And now he had left her with
no one to trust. No one at all.
44
Initially Trillot was nervous as Ventress swept into her chambers,
but as soon as she saw her visitor's mood, the X'Ting relaxed. "So. It
is ended? The Jedi leaves?"
Despite her scathingly cold smile, Ventress shook her head. "He'll
try to return. I know him."
"I tell you that my spies—"
"See with their eyes," she said with contempt. "The Families will
make their move now. Quill has informed them that if Kenobi