Free The Cestus Deception by Steven Barnes Page A

with genuine pleasure. Politicians Obi-Wan distrusted, and in most cases their minions were even worse. Regardless, Doolb Snoil was one of the three or four finest legal minds of his acquaintance, and had proven worthy of trust during sensitive negotiations on Rijel-12. Of Vippit extraction from the planet Nal Hutta, Snoil had attended one of Mrlsst’s renowned legal universities before beginning his initial apprenticeship in the Gevarno Cluster. A celebrated career and a reputation for exhaustive research and absolute reliability had led Snoil to his current berth. If anyone could make sense out of this Cestus mess, it would be Snoil.
    “Master Kenobi!” he said, twin eyestalks wobbling in delight. “It’s been almost twelve years.”
    Obi-Wan noted the new rings and deposits on the turquoise shell, clear evidence that Doolb had been able to afford regular treatments and shipments of his native viptiel plants, high in the nutrients his people used to prepare themselves for the rigors of householding. In another few years, he reckoned, Snoil would return home to mate. If Nal Hutta’s economics were anything like Kenobi remembered, Snoil would have his pick of the most desirable females. “I see by your shell that you have been prosperous.”
    “One tries.” His eyestalks swiveled around. “And—Master Fisto! Oh, my goodness. I did not know that you were accompanying us.”
    Kit clasped Snoil’s hand. “Good to have you along, Barrister. I know your home. Once upon a time I spent a week trench diving on Nal Hutta.”
    “Goodness gracious! So dangerous! The fire-kraken—”
    “Are no longer an issue.” Kit smiled broadly and continued up the ramp.
    Snoil raised one of his stubby hands, then the other, and rubbed them together eagerly. “Fear not!” he cried in his tremulous falsetto. “When the right moment arrives, Barrister Snoil will not be found wanting.”
    Snoil crawled the rest of the way up the landing ramp. The Vippit was followed by five troopers moving equipment and armament aboard. They acknowledged the two Jedi and continued their work.
    A trooper displaying captain’s colors saluted sharply. “General Kenobi?”
    “Yes?”
    “Captain A-Nine-Eight at your service. My orders.” He handed Obi-Wan a thumbnail-sized data chip.
    Obi-Wan inserted the chip into his datapad, and it swiftly generated a hologram. He studied the mission résumé and skill sets, and was satisfied. “Everything is in order,” he nodded. “This is my colleague, Master Kit Fisto.”
    The trooper regarded Kit with an emotion Obi-Wan recognized instantly: respect. “General Fisto, an honor to serve with you.” Fascinating. To Obi-Wan, the trooper had merely been polite. His body language toward Kit suggested a greater level of esteem. Obi-Wan swiftly guessed why: the clone had seen vid of Kit’s droid encounter. If there was one thing a soldier respected, it was another fighter’s prowess.
    “Captain,” Kit said. Obi-Wan said nothing, but he noted that, in some way that had escaped him, Kit and the clone trooper had made an emotional connection. This was a good thing. Kit was raring to go, always. Obi-Wan was cursed by a constant urge to understand the reason for his missions—Kit merely needed a target. He envied the Nautolan’s clarity.
    The trooper turned to his four men. “Get the equipment aboard,” he said, and they hastened to obey.
    Kit turned to Obi-Wan. “They are utterly obedient,” he noted, perhaps again anticipating Obi-Wan’s own thoughts.
    “Because they have been trained to be,” he said. “Not out of any sense of independent judgment or choice.”
    Kit looked at him curiously, his sensor tendrils twitching. Then he and the Nautolan entered the ship and prepared for their journey.
    Within minutes all the gear was stowed, the checklists completed, the protocols passed. The ship hummed, and then hovered, then with an explosive acceleration broke free of Coruscant’s gravity and lanced up