"Yes. I was raised from infancy within the Temple's walls. There
was certainly a moment when I made a formal decision to become a
Jedi Knight, but in fact my feet were placed on that path before I
could walk."
"Weren't you too young to make a decision like that?"
Obi-Wan considered the question carefully. Was there any way
that the boy he had been could have known what his present life
would be? All of the dangers, the travails? Or the wonders? What
would that boy have thought, had he known?
He answered with deliberation. "If I had made that choice with my
head, perhaps."
"Your heart?"
"Some might say," Obi-Wan replied. "But truth is that we sense
the Force with our whole bodies. Every part of me knew that this
would be my destiny. I knew I would not have the joys and comforts
accorded normal folk. Even at that early age, I accepted that fact."
Obi-Wan reached a hand out to the clone, clasped his shoulder. "I
made that choice."
"That choice was made for me," Jangotat said.
So they were on opposite sides of a divide: one a man who had forsaken
all the normal trappings of life for an existence of service and
adventure. The other, a replaceable cog in a faceless army, chosen before
birth, poured into a mold that he was uniquely suited to fill.
Had Obi-Wan made the choice, or had his midi-chlorians? In the
final analysis had either he or Jangotat had any real choice at a l l . . . ?
Did anyone?
72
Shadows arced in silent pantomime against the cave wall, fueled
by a roaring scrap-wood fire. As Obi-Wan scanned the assembled
members of Desert Wind, he thought that all over the galaxy,
throughout all ages past, courageous beings of a thousand breeds had
held conclave in such caves, before such fires, for similar reasons.
"We face tremendous obstacles," he began.
"But we done all right," Resta said.
"It's true. And at a cost. And the cost is rising. We cannot afford
it."
"How did this happen?" OnSon brushed his long blond hair back
from his forehead, exposing a crescent moon of a scar. "We've worked
so hard . . ."
Obi-Wan was troubled to hear the pain in that young voice. "It's
true," he replied. "And the fault is not in you. You have given your
blood and sweat to us in full measure. We've failed you." Kit Fisto
stared into the embers impassively. Obi-Wan wished he could guess
what his friend was thinking.
The men and women, perhaps thinking that the Jedi was preparing
to leave them, protested vocally. "No!" OnSon said. "Without
you we would never have struck so hard and deep. This hasn't been
for nothing!"
"No," Kit Fisto said. "It has not. But we have been thwarted at
every turn, and we believe that there are additional factors of which
we are unaware."
"What factors?" Resta growled.
"Information has reached the government, gathered either through
spies or devices, or traitors, or ..." And here his voice trailed off as he
sank deeper into his thoughts.
"Or what?"
"Or someone who is both knowledgeable and ruthless. Someone
who is able to . . ." His voice trailed off again. The spark of an intuitive
flash stirred in his mind. That flash had first arisen during a deep
meditation early that morning, while the rest of the camp was asleep.
During his trance, he had sensed that there was a connection. During
his stay on Cestus he had brushed auras with someone . . . or something
. . . that had become a vital factor in this whole situation. But
he had been behind the curve continuously since he had arrived.
Everything had been perfect, and y e t . . .
He shook himself out of his self-induced trance and continued.
"Everything that has happened has thrown our plans out of sequence,
and as a result we are fairly certain that Supreme Chancellor
Palpatine will soon have a supercruiser here to threaten Duris. If the
situation has not progressed by that time, there is a very real possibility
that they will begin a bombardment that leads to total war." He
paused to give time for his words to sink in. "If that happens everyone
loses."
"What can we do?" Skot OnSon asked.
"I have an idea," the Jedi replied, "that might end this conflict
without another shot fired, and without crashing the entire economy.
It's dangerous, but it just might work."
In the days since Fizzik had joined his sister Trillot's organization,
advancement had been rapid. It seemed that the gangster
trusted nothing so much as blood relations. Fizzik found himself
carrying out missions of greater and greater importance, but never
allowed himself to forget how quickly his shift in fortunes could
change. So when Fizzik was sent east to the Jantos trading post to
meet with the Jedi, he was understandably anxious..
"So," Fizzik said, "what do you want?" His nerves twitched in this
place. If his sister had wished him assassinated, the mission profile
might have looked very similar.
"I seek to make a purchase," Obi-Wan said.
"And what precisely is it that you desire?"
"A class six Baktoid radiation suit."
"And to what use would you put such a suit?"
"That is my affair."
Fizzik peered into the bearded Jedi's blue eyes, wishing he were
better at reading human facial expressions. This was a dangerous
piece of information to carry. He knew that the Jedi were causing
chaos in the industrial complexes, and anyone who aided or abetted
sabotage could be executed.
A radiation suit. Had he once heard rumor of a control system
protected by a reactor? Possibly, but one never knew how trustworthy
such rumors were. What was this Jedi up to?
But Fizzik kept his thoughts to himself, stood, and bowed. His
was not to reason why. His was merely to serve his sister until he
found a more desirable berth.
Which, considering the deteriorating conditions hereabout, might
not be found on Cestus at all.
"And you trust this Trillot?" Kit asked after Obi-Wan returned.
"She's given me everything I asked. Spoken truthfully in every way
I can check. Our sources on Coruscant trust her." He sighed.
"I notice you don't say that you trust her," Kit observed.
"I have a plan," Obi-Wan said. "And it needs Trillot. And I am
willing to take the risk. Trillot once spoke of a hidden control station,
protected by a radiation field. It would be very expensive to obtain
protection, but if I had it, I could enter the Cestus reactor complex
and shut down Clandes's entire production line without causing extreme
damage to the infrastructure. I think that that might do it."
"And then, sir?" Forry asked.
"We could call off the bombardment, and negotiate."
"But how much money have we raised from our raids?" OnSon
asked. "Wasn't it supposed to be a survivors' fund?"
"If this doesn't work, there won't be enough survivors left to divide
a credit," he said. "Our priorities have changed."
The worst part was the waiting. For a signal from Trillot. For a signal
from the fleet. From the outlying farms, vulnerable to reprisals
from the Cestian security forces.
Waiting was always bad, but Obi-Wan used some of that time to
spar with Jangotat. The trooper seemed to have an insatiable appetite
for Jedi combat, and as long as he remembered the ARC's limitations,
Obi-Wan was inclined to share a bit more knowledge with
him.
With Obi-Wan's permission, Jangotat demonstrated his understanding
of the Jedi Flow drills until he was sopping with sweat.
"Well?" Jangotat said, and then added, "General?"
Obi-Wan tilted his head sideways, realizing that they had somehow
wandered into a very odd relationship. "You're doing well.
Remember when you find a knot of tension in your body—don't
power through it. Relax, let it melt. Breathe into it. Your flesh remembers
every pain, emotional or physical, you have ever suffered,"
Obi-Wan said. "It is trying to protect you. Pain and fear compete
with skill and awareness."
"General Fisto said that thoughts and fears are like boulders, and
the Force is the river rushing between them. Most people grow so
clogged with pains and regrets that the water can no longer flow
from the mountain to the sea."
Obi-Wan laughed. "Very good. Much of Jedi training is designed
to remove those obstructions."
"But General Fisto warned that I could never learn to be as good
as a Jedi," Jangotat said.
Obi-Wan's voice was gentle. "The joy in life comes not from
surpassing another's gifts, but in fully manifesting our own."
Jangotat weighed those words, then apparently decided that practice
was better than analysis and spent another grueling hour wrenching
his body into exotic shapes and surges, finding the deep wells of
fear, and resentment, and loneliness locked in his muscles, releasing
them. One meter, one moment at a time, Jangotat was finding his
way to the sea.
74
Admiral Arikakon Baraka was in a foul mood. He had been
forced to take part in the clone training exercise, and now he followed
orders that were taking him far afield from the Separatist
hunt, bringing the Nexu to a planet called Cestus. By the time he finished
threatening this Rim world, the rest of the fleet would have already
engaged in some major battle, and the glory would belong to
others.
This was no way to gain promotion, or the approval of his ancestors,
which he craved even more.
Nonetheless, Baraka monitored the navigation routes, commanded
his men, ran drills on all critical systems, and prepared to do his job.
He would grind these Cestians to dust, then head back for the major
battle sure to take place somewhere in the Borleias drift.
Only one thing stood between him and glory.
And soon, there would be nothing at all.
The speeder bikes purred to Obi-Wans touch, ready for the last
leg of this adventure. Kit addressed the clone commandos as he finished
packing his bags.
"Suspend all operations," the Nautolan said. "There must be no
chance that any of you fall into enemy hands. Your bodies would be
incontrovertible evidence against the Republic, paraded to the Thousand
Worlds as evidence of Palpatine's treachery. Unless you hear directly
from us, if we do not return, try beaming another message
through Resta's farm. Signal Admiral Baraka to pick you up. Unless
you receive a direct order do not leave this camp. Is that understood?"
The troopers glanced at each other uneasily. "Isn't it possible that
we could launch a rescue if you run into trouble, General Kenobi?"
Obi-Wan managed a confident nod. "Do not leave this camp except
under direct orders, am I clear?"
The troopers nodded, and the Jedi headed out into a strong headwind.
The sandstorm continued to build as they traveled north toward
ChikatLik. At times Obi-Wan looked behind him and couldn't see
Kit's speeder; he had to trust that his companion was there.
Just as he could see no sure solution to the situation at hand, but
needed to have faith that such an answer did, indeed, exist.
"We have the credits you requested. Where is our suit?" It had
taken an entire day to make their way back into ChikatLik, and Obi-
Wan's nerves were badly frayed. This was an unforeseen additional
complication.
Trillot tittered. "There is nothing on this planet more highly protected
than those suits. My nest is raided periodically—if it was
found here, no legal defense or explanation would suffice."
Plausible enough, b u t . . .
Obi-Wan noted her discomfort, and suddenly he sensed danger
around him. "Well then, where is it?" What was wrong? All the
words were right, and y e t . . . and y e t . . .
"Follow me to my personal turbolift," Trillot said. "I will take you
to the dock myself. Where are the credits?"
"Half now," Kit said, laying a satchel on the table before him. His
dark, unblinking eyes never left their hostess. "And half after we have
our suit. Fair?"
"Of course," Trillot replied.
Obi-Wan and Kit followed Trillot to the lift platform. They entered
and the door closed behind them. As they descended, Kit
turned to Trillot, his huge dark eyes reflecting the dim light. "I have
I promise you we'll never meet again."
"I think we will have no further business" was the gangster's pious
reply.
When the lift stopped, they were in a freighter-size hive cavern
beneath the main city. As far as the eye could see, thousands upon
thousands of deserted hive cubicles stretched around the walls. Obi-
Wan smelled water: a subterranean lake, perhaps a river. The dock
was surrounded with stacks of unopened crates. A hive converted to
a smuggler's lair, Obi-Wan thought. Smuggling goods through subterranean
rivers? Ingenious. But...
"Be cautious," Obi-Wan said as they stepped out.
"An unneeded warning," Kit replied.
A third voice entered the conversation. "And a belated one." Instantly,
a shimmering circle of light sizzled the air around Obi-Wan.
He recognized it instantly: a Xythan force shield. A snare.
"A new security device created by Cestus Cybernetics. It absorbs
and returns all energy. Feel free to use your lightsaber."
Obi-Wan knew that last voice. Suddenly, and with shocking clarity,
all that had happened in the last days made terrible, and possibly terminal
sense. "Asajj Ventress," he said.
She appeared out of the shadows, but it was not shadows alone
that had protected her. In each hand she held a glowing red lightsaber
with curved handles.
A dozen young X'Ting emerged from the boxes around her. Males,
barely out of their adolescence, judging by the light rings of fur around
their necks. They swaggered and postured, but they were callow.
"You have perfected the Quy'Tek meditations, Adept," he said.
"You can shi
eld your Force."
"From fools, yes," she said, and smiled. "Go ahead—use your lightsabers.
The field will draw power from them."
"And those?"
Trillot crept around the edge of the energy field. She seemed like a
vex caught between two reeks. "They are loyal to the hive," she said.
"She has no love for you, Trillot," Obi-Wan said.
"And even less for you, I think." The gangster tittered.
Ventress turned to the gangster. "You may leave now, Trillot. Your
protocol droid will translate my orders to the X'Ting."
Trillot went back up the turbolift as swiftly as it would move her.
Ventress smiled. "I knew, in the end, I would defeat you."
"You call this a fair fight?" The acid in Obi-Wan's voice did nothing
to mask the lethal fury building within him. Now he understood
all the death, all the critical failures since his arrival on Cestus. All
attempts to bring this matter to a peaceful conclusion had been
thwarted by this bald-pated witch, and the confusion he had felt
until this moment was wiped away completely.
"No," she said calmly. "I call it victory."
Commander Baraka's supercruiser emerged from hyperspace and
moved into position over Cestus. A swift scan revealed no defenses
capable of resisting a ship of the Nexus class, so he approached without
haste, taking this opportunity to put his crew through a series of
attack drills.
Until ten hours passed, or they received a coded message, there was
little to be done.
Cestus lay before them, a world of wealth without warriors to protect
it. They now needed only a message from the surface, or one
from the Supreme Chancellor. It was just a matter of time.
When the cruiser entered the system, alarm ripped through
ChikatLik like a whirlwind. Everyone knew someone who had heard
the rumor that the city was to be destroyed. Thousands left the city
in the first three hours, a stream of refugees that clotted the skylanes
and roadways.
G'Mai Duris went on the air, promising her citizens that the vessel
was only there to protect the Republic's interests. Since Cestus
was a friend of the Republic, how could anyone think harm would
come to them? The fact that this broadcast was also sent to every
major star system along the Rim missed no one.
Quietly, leaders of the Five Families made excuses and slipped
away to their private haven beneath Kibo Lake. To most Cestians, it