Oh, yes, Quill had smirked, claiming that the person about
to enter the throne room represented an answer to their problems,
but Duris had been a political animal long enough to know that most
solutions were just future problems in a pretty cocoon.
Nonetheless she straightened her back, expanding to her full height
and breadth in her throne chair, and nodded to her assistant to allow
the guest entrance.
Her heart beat faster, although there was nothing on her painted
face to betray it. And she knew that the newcomer would feel her
heartbeat, even from a distance.
She was afraid.
The woman who entered the room walked like a military officer,
but with that same unnatural lightness Duris had noted in Kenobi. It
bespoke severe physical and mental training, a sinuous quality simultaneously
enviable and somehow terrifying. The Jedi had displayed
the same refined motion, the same absolute and intimidating focus,
but through it had also projected decency and wisdom, a profound
respect for life and spirit.
Those qualities were missing from this creature. Her dark eyes
peered out of her pale, shaven, tattooed skull and saw... what? What
deep, cold spaces between the stars did this one call home?
The woman made the deepest, most arrogant bow Duris had ever
seen in her life. "Commander Asajj Ventress, at your service," she
said. "I crave but a single minute of your valuable time."
"No more?"
"No more. I am no politician. My business is with your manufacturing
concerns."
"The business of Cestus is business," Duris replied.
Ventress might not have heard her at all. "I am trade ambassador
from Count Dooku and your allies in the Confederacy of Independent
Systems."
"Allies?" Duris asked with mock surprise. "We have no political aspirations.
We do have customers, of course, whom we cherish highly."
She tried to filter the stress from her voice, and was not completely
successful.
Ventress cocked her head slightly sideways, her pale lips curling into
a contemptuous smile. "You do not entirely welcome my presence."
Duris forced her own lips into her most formal, neutral expression,
and her voice to do the same. "Of late, I have had reason to be cautious
whom I trust. But I wouldn't want you to think I number you
among the untrustworthy."
Ventress's mouth twisted. Duris sensed that the offworlder had not
merely detected the evasion, but actually enjoyed it.
"I see. Yes." Ventress lowered her head, and remained silent. At
first Duris assumed that Ventress would speak. After a full minute
passed the Regent realized that the woman was waiting for her.
Whoever spoke next would be in the weaker position, but Duris
could see no polite way to avoid it.
"Tell me, Commander Ventress," she said carefully. "I understand
that you have been here on Cestus for a number of days."
"Do you?" she said without raising her eyes.
"Perhaps you were enjoying our fabled hospitality."
Stepping softly, Ventress circled the throne, until she stood behind
Duris. "Was I?" The other eyes in the chamber were glued to this
woman who walked among them with such authority, such apparent
disregard for their protocol. Yet none dared show offense.
The tattooed woman leaned forward from behind Duris. Her face
was just at the Regent's velvet-padded shoulder. Duris could smell
the woman's breath. It was cloyingly sweet, like cake batter.
"I fear I have little time for entertainments. There are mighty
deeds to be done. The galaxy is in foment."
"What brings you here?" Duris asked.
"I wish merely to ensure that our orders progress smoothly. I
understand that the Clandes factory will be shut down for some
days."
"I assure you we can accelerate the repair process. Perhaps seventytwo
hours . . ."
"Yes, yes," Ventress whispered, and then continued to circle. "My
Master and I would appreciate that greatly. But there is another matter.
You may think that you have information that would cripple
Cestus Cybernetics. Some small matter of a two-hundred-year-old
contract, obtained under false pretenses. Might this be true?"
"Yes. A two-edged sword, that. If you bring this before the Senate,
I promise the Supreme Chancellor would use it to shut down the factories
as fully as any bombardment. Your hive would suffer, I promise
you. And more than that—you, personally, would bear the brunt
of Count Dooku's wrath."
Duris nodded silently.
"I'm certain threats are superfluous," Ventress continued. "But Lady
Duris . . . if there is anything that I can do to help, please do not hesitate.
Count Dooku and General Grievous have powerful resources,
and empathize with your struggle against a corrupt, repressive Republic.
Together, we can do great things." She paused. "Great . . .
things." She smiled. "That is, for now, my only message. With your
permission, I leave."
Commander Asajj Ventress backed out of the chamber, bowing,
her eyes half lidded, almost reptilian.
When the doors closed behind her, Duris exhaled a long, sour, infinitely
relieved breath. Her entire body felt like a coiled spring. The
woman made her flesh crawl. Clearly, Asajj Ventress was more lethal
than Master Kenobi. Duris was certain deceit had not come naturally
to the Jedi. This creature had no such compunctions. No shame, no
fear. No mercy, either.
In fact, as little mercy as the ship that had blown Obi-Wan from
the sky.
With painful clarity Duris could visualize, actually see, five generations
of Cestian social progress sliding into oblivion, and there
seemed nothing she could do about it.
Her assistant Shar Shar rolled closer. "The rest of the council is
ready to meet, ma'am. Are you . . ."
Duris was still lost in her speculations. The timing of this woman's
arrival was no accident. Had Ventress landed before or after Obi-
Wan? And were their efforts coordinated or mutually antagonistic?
Surely she was aware of Kenobi's presence, but had he been aware of
her...}
"Ma'am?" asked Shar Shar, her skin purpling in anxiety.
"Yes?"
"Are you ready?"
Duris nodded. In the air around her, a dozen holoscreens blossomed.
Smooth-pated marketing and sales executive Llitishi spoke
first. "Regent Duris. The fraudulent kidnapping is clear evidence of
the Republic's intention to interfere in Cestus's sovereign affairs. It is
time for us to strike. We must find these rebels and their collaborators,
and show the Republic that we will never bend the knee."
Duris ached for his naivete. "And who then will our friends be?
Can you imagine that the Confederacy sent its spies to help us only?
We stand in the shadows of two giants, each of whom uses honeyed
words to attract us. Each of whom would destroy us rather than see
us fall into the other camp."
Executive Llitishi seemed reluc
tant to agree. "That is not necessarily
true—"
"Ah," G'Mai Duris said. "And with which of our sons and daughters
are you willing to gamble?"
And to that question, he had no answer at all.
The rest of the meeting did not go well, although there were
stories of rebels caught, and sabotage averted. But the death toll had
now passed thirty. The fires of wrath generally proved easier to ignite
than extinguish. Cestus's security forces would hunt these saboteurs
down, but a sinking sensation deep within her bones told Duris that
this would hardly be the end of her troubles.
Too clearly, she remembered her experiences with Obi-Wan
Kenobi. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had first opined that there
might be no solution to her problems. With every passing hour, she
began to believe that she had been more prescient than she could
ever have imagined.
66
As G'Mai Duris's court and cabinet were disturbed by the goings-
on, both hive and criminal contingent were in similar turmoil.
Gambling and drug revenues dried up as ChikatLik, fearing the
coming of war, began to hoard resources. All of Trillot's varied businesses
were at risk, and she had begun to feel the pinch.
But it was more than a pinch that she felt as Ventress returned to
her den and presented herself. As always, the offworlder carried herself
as if her humanoid form were a mask. This was pure predator in
every word and action. This one lived to kill.
"I am a simple woman," Trillot said, "who cannot claim to understand
all of the meanings and machinations. But it seems to me that
no one can truly say how this will end. Begging your pardon, of
course, Commander."
"For once, you are correct," Ventress said. "No one can know how
this ends—with one exception." When she spoke there was an odd
passion in her voice that Trillot had not heard before.
"And who, or what, is that?"
Ventress narrowed her eyes, and her pale cheeks colored. "Count
Dooku foretold it, and I have seen it. Whatever else happens, Obi-
Wan Kenobi and I will meet again. On Queyta I promised Kenobi I
would kill him. My Master wants him alive. So: he will leave Cestus
in bondage, or he will rest beneath its sands."
There was a flush in her face that Trillot recognized. It was lust.
No mere physical passion, although a nameless, fleshly hunger burned
within her. It was like lust turned inside out, and it burned inside this
strange woman like a fire she could not extinguish.
The two strange and powerful offworlders were on a collision
course, and she prayed not to be between them. When such giants
clashed, small folk such as Trillot could be utterly destroyed.
On the other hand, however, in times such as this even small people
could make large profits . . .
67
"Where are you taking me?"
"Shhh," Sheeka Tull replied.
For most of an hour they had trod uneven ground. Jangotat had
long since lost track of direction, so many twists and turns had they
taken. Two thicknesses of cloth covered his eyes, then a sack was
pulled down over his head. Triple protection. Why was a blindfold so
critically important? He had been promised a surprise, then told that
he could only enjoy it if he allowed himself to be blindfolded. A secret,
you see.
He had accepted the blindfold, then Sheeka and Brother Fate spun
him in a circle. When he stopped he felt the wind blowing against his
skin and made an educated guess as to the direction he now faced.
When they began to lead him up the side of a hill, he had to forget
such thoughts and concentrate on not taking a bone-breaking spill.
After perhaps fifteen minutes of climbing, the air chilled, the
ground leveled, and he guessed that they had entered a cave. Even
then the blindfold did not come off: they twisted and turned through
the cave, over treacherous footing and with strange watery echoes
tinkling in the distance.
For almost another hour they walked over uneven ground. Twice
he heard falling water, and cool misty sprays moistened the backs of
his hands. Then they began to climb down a series of steps chipped
into the stone.
For a long moment he merely stood there, wondering what it was
that she wanted him to do. But she didn't say anything at all. Finally,
feeling a bit frustrated in his solitary darkness, he said "What?," immediately
embarrassed by the single syllable's inadequacy.
His hands fumbled at his blindfold.
"No," Sheeka said. Her own cool fingers took his, moved them
down.
"Why not?"
"I don't want you to use your ordinary senses," she said. "Your eyes,
or your ears."
Confusion warred with a powerful and unaccustomed urge to
please her. Not so odd, perhaps. She had saved his life and proven a
stout comrade.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"Use your heart," she said. "Tell me, what do you feel?"
He stopped, and thought. Despite the warnings, he concentrated
on ambient sound and sensation. He heard the faint shush of rippling
water, and the distant sound of falling droplets echoing in the
darkness. He felt the uneven ground beneath his feet, and . . .
"Air, moving against my skin," he said.
Her voice sounded a bit frustrated, but still calm. "No. Deeper. Not
your senses. Your heart"
"I hear water—"
"No! Stop using your ears. What do you fee/? In here." She placed
her hand over his heart. He sighed deeply, feeling her palm's warmth
as if it seeped into and beneath his ribs.
Suddenly he had the urge to believe that she was not merely playing
some kind of game with him. There was something there, if only
he could find it.
"I feel... warm."
"Where?"
"Inside," he answered. He tried to follow up with more words, but
they wouldn't form. Then he noticed that the blindfold-induced false
midnight was no longer totally black. Inchoate shapes formed within
it, as if faces watched him, judging him. He couldn't quite distinguish
them, but they seemed not like pictures, even dimensional pictures.
They were more like squirming shapes pushing through a flat elastic
surface. Rounded faces, with empty eyes. He had the sense that he
knew this form, knew this creature, but couldn't be certain where he
had come to know it, or under what circumstances . . .
"It feels like floating on a golden current," he heard himself say.
"I'm half asleep, but totally awake at the same time."
"Yes."
"I . . . oh!" He had started to speak again, but then his throat
seemed filled with dust. Now speckles of light twinkled in the darkness.
They were followed by shadowy forms flowing together, then
separating, then together again . . .
His legs wavered, buckled. A remnant of his injuries? He went
down to his hands and knees, then felt her hands on his shoulders. It
took a few moments to catch his breath. Then he stood again and
dropped his arms to his
sides, fingers flexing and unflexing, breathing
shallow and high. Trembling, feeling as if he were about to burst,
he raised his hands to the blindfold, then hesitated. "Sheeka?" he
asked unsteadily.
"Yes," she said. Not a question. The single word was calming. He
removed the sack from his head and untied the blindfold.
The cave roof was low but glowed with warmth and dull orange
light. The radiance originated beneath the surface of a water pool
that rippled with a steady heartbeat rhythm.
The ceiling dripped with stalactites, and the walls glowed as if they
had been polished by hand. The very ground beneath them pulsed
with a soft and persistent radiance, reflected back from waterfalls of
frozen stone.
He coughed, realizing that he had momentarily forgotten to
breathe.
A dozen eels floated at the surface, vast milky eyes studying them.
That strange light seemed to come from within them, so that from
time to time their skin appeared almost translucent. Jangotat could
actually see the bones and organs suspended within.
Blind.
"What is this place?" he asked, realizing that some part of him already
knew the answer to that question.
"This is where the eels come to meet us."
"The dashta eels?" He knew little of them save the briefings of the
Jedi. He knew that they were integral to the JK machines. "The living
component of the bio-droids? We thought they came from the
Dashta Mountains."
"No," she said quietly. "Both mountains and eels are named for Kilaphor
Dashta, the first explorer to map both mountains and the
Zantay caves, four centuries ago. They were holy to the X'Ting for
thousands of years, but withdrew to the caves when the hive began its
conquest of Cestus."
"These look larger than the eels we've seen," he protested.
"Those are the young, prior to sexual differentiation."
The water rippled with their gentle wavering. One of them swam
in a lazy circle and then returned. Their blind eyes studied him.
Why?
Sheeka was still talking, although she must have realized that his
mind had been captured by the sight before him. "Cestus is honeycombed
with passages, underwater rivers, and pools. Not even the
X'Ting know the location of the dashta eels' home nest. As far as we
know this is the last remaining place where they interact with other
species. It was here that they brought us the first fungus spores."