The Cestus Deception Read Online Free PDF

Perhaps, like Obi-Wan, he envisioned a battle against thousands of machines, each as dangerous as the metal opponent battled on the sands of T’Chuk coliseum. A terrifying wave of precognitive juggernauts.
    The Chancellor seemed encouraged that they so swiftly grasped the situation. Indeed, to Obi-Wan’s way of thinking, it was the Chancellor himself who barely understood the difficulties ahead. Wise in politics he might be, but Palpatine was still a novice in the ways of the Force.
    Obi-Wan found himself thinking aloud. “It might take a special decree to deny Cestus the right to manufacture and sell these droids.”
    “And meanwhile,” Kit said, “the galaxy waits, and watches.”
    “Indeed,” the Chancellor said. The light from the overhead window divided his face. “If the Trade Council dominates precious little Cestus, we will seem like bullying thugs. Before things deteriorate to that level, I, the Senate, and the Jedi Council insist we try diplomacy.”
    “With a lightsaber?” Kit asked.
    The palest of smiles crossed the Chancellor’s face. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. My friends, you will travel to Ord Cestus and begin formal discussions. But the negotiations cover your other purpose: to convince Cestus, and through them the other interested star systems, that Count Dooku is too dangerous to deal with.”
    “And our resources, sir?” Kit asked.
    And now, finally, the Chancellor’s smile grew certain and strong. “The best of the best.”
    Chapter Four
    Three hundred kilometers below, the ocean was quiet. From this peaceful vantage point, one would never guess that within those watery depths courageous soldiers were fighting, striving, slaying. Dying.
    A steady stream of single-person capsules erupted from the sides of the troop transport ships, blazing their fiery trails down through the atmosphere. Within the transports, corridors surged with unending streams of uniformed troopers. The hallways buzzed with activity, like blood vessels bursting with living cells. The troopers wore not blast armor but flexible black depthsuits. They ran in perfect order and rhythm, knees high and heads erect, heading toward their rendezvous with danger, perhaps death. Each stood exactly1.78 meters in height, with short black hair and piercing brown eyes. Their skin was pale bronze, with darker variations among those who had spent more time in the sun. Every face was identical, heavy eyebrows and blunt noses prominent above strong narrow mouths.
    Clone troopers, every one.
    A few were not common troopers, although at the moment few outsiders could have told them apart. These were the Advance Recon Commandos. Representing a tiny fraction of the total clones grown in the Kamino cloning labs, the ARC troopers were the deadliest soldiers ever created.
    Contrary to popular belief, even a standard trooper was not merely a mindless shock troop or laser cannon fodder. Trained in a wide spectrum of general military disciplines ranging from hand-to-hand combat to emergency medical techniques, they were also graded from basic soldier to commander based upon field performance. Theoretically, all troopers were equal, but experience and tiny variations in initial cloning conditions inevitably made some more equal than others.
    Within one of those ships, the Nexu, ran a man whose armor sported the blue captain’s color. His helmet and neck chip designated him A-98, known as Nate to his cohort. Although in other times and places he had led his brothers into combat, now he was merely one of identical thousands trotting to their destiny.
    The next clone in line locked himself into a cylindrical drop capsule, trusting Nate to do a spec check on the external monitors. Nate went through a mental list as familiar to him as the pattern of creases on his hard right hand. With a brisk, flat slap of that callused palm on its outer wall, he pronounced the capsule sound and secure. Through the heat and shock-resistant plate he could see