Her purpose in stalking the heart of the Temple had been to find a Jedi named Jax Pavan. It had not been 104 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows to challenge the wandering Captain Typho. Were that the case, he was certain she would have said so. They had met by chance; now they would part in equal ignorance.
And so he left Aurra Sing lying unconscious in the rubble of the Jedi Temple, and continued onward into the night in his quest to determine if the Jedi Anakin Skywalker still lived.
Michael Reaves 105
ten
—Servant. Aide?
As usual, the polite brevity of the Cephalon's question took Den by surprise. The Standardized Basic translations that appeared on the monitor screens next to the tank showed its sub-brains all quietly humming away like banks of compartmentalized computers, each busily parsing its particular outlook on reality. Somehow these various disparate takes were codified into coherent thought—or what seemed to be to the Cephalon coherent thought—and used by the central brain, the one that was capable of abstract conceptualizing. Den did not pretend to understand how it worked. He had enough problems trying to make the single brain he'd been born with operate.
The thought of having to handle input from various semi-autonomous sub-brains made him dizzy.
But such concepts and imaginings were at worst merely confusing and irritating compared with the Cephalon's appearance. It loomed hideously out of the sulfate-laden cloud in the tank, its great sessile mass distorted by the thick transparent barrier that contained its poisonous environment. It was tethered to a coral accretion in the cheap downlevel habitat that formed its home. Or its office, or embassy; Den 106 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows was not sure which of those identifiers, if any, applied.
The Sullustan could barely keep from recoiling every time he saw it. The Cephalon's skin was the mottled flat gray of long-dead flesh, its shape an undulating oblate globe, festooned apparently at random with tentacles, antennae, feelers, and chelae. It had no eyes or other sensory organs that Den could see. According to I-Five, it perceived its external environment by means of electroceptive matrices, whatever those were. Its mouth was a baleen plate that sieved extremophile microorganisms from the dense, primarily methane atmosphere that sustained it.
The Cephalon was surely one of the most bizarre species in the entire galaxy. Its inner thoughts were as unknowable as nearly everything else about it. Working with a Force-sensitive Inquisitor, Imperial scien-tists had managed to identify nine distinct emotional states, of which only three bore even a faint resemblance to the sentiments that most humanoids experienced. There might be more, but it was rumored that the Inquisitor himself had gone mad from trying to wrap his own mind around the varying states of the Cephalon's four-dimensional consciousness.
There's a comforting image with which to open a negotiation, Den thought. Aloud, he began, "We, uh, we have two sentients on the UML who, uh, need ..."
—Elaboration is/was/will be unnecessary. This was another eerie thing about the Cephalon. Since it could
"observe" happenings in time as clearly as Den could see objects in three dimensions, it always knew what he was about to say. The Cephalon was not omniscient—
Michael Reaves 107
it couldn't conceptualize every incident in the fourth dimension any more than most beings could see everything in all three spatial directions from any single vantage point. But it seemed to know enough about the immediate future to be able to make predictions with unsettling accuracy.
—Sentients are/have been/shall be non-united. Point-pattern at now contingent modalities nonviable. As yet point-pattern in noncollapsed state, it told them.
—-Probability matrices undefined. I/we apperceive discontinuity. Suggest cautious/passive/observational mode.
This was one of the biggest problems in attempted communication with a nonlinear being, as far as Den was concerned. The translation did its best to keep up with the Cephalon's erratic and seemingly irrational changes between tenses and personae, as well as struggling to fit its static perception of the time-stream into terms of past, present, and future. The result was often a translation that usually seemed right on the verge of making sense. The Sullustan sometimes felt that he actually might be able to understand it, if he only had an extra lobe or two with which to process the mishmash. Usually, however, it was as far over his head as a skyhook penthouse.
Which was the case this time. At wit's end in time as well as space, he glanced helplessly at Laranth.
"Any idea what all this probability poodoo is about?"
She shook her head. "I have the impression it's in-decisive. Basically, it's advising us to wait and see."
She turned to exit the habitat chamber.
108 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows He gaped at her retreating back. "That's it? We come all this way...?"
"It was three blocks, Den."
"That's not the point. The Cephalon's supposed to give us tips on the best UML routes, the right officers to bribe, that sort of stuff. He—excuse me, it—is our go-to guy in the prognostication department. I could get better advice from a Mon Cal kismet biscuit."
Laranth did not reply. Den sighed and started to follow, when from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of more words forming on the monitors.
Scowling, he turned back. You'd think the thing could at least afford a vocabulator, he thought as he read the creature's latest words.
— Vulnerability apperceived in alternate probability.
Extreme discontinuity in Force convergent. Prioritize discreet vigilance anent fugitive recovery operation.
"Okay," Den said. "That's cryptic even for a giant floating four-dimensional sack of brains." Glancing toward Laranth, he saw that she had read the Cephalon's words as well. "Think you can translate the translation?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Let's worry about one thing at a time. I have a feeling that this job isn't going to be easy."
Den sighed as he followed her out the door, "Are they ever?"
"Let's review what we know," Jax suggested.
"Easily done," I-Five responded, "since at this point we know practically nothing."
The droid, the Jedi, and the Zeltron were sitting in a Southern Underground saloon called the Dizzy Dewback Michael Reaves 109
Cantina. Actually, Jax and Dejah
were sit-
ting and I-Five was standing close to Jax, so as to better maintain the illusion of a properly servile droid.
Jax knew it made no difference in terms of wear and tear on I-Five's chassis whether he stood or sat. He could have held an erect posture until the building crumbled around him. But it was galling to the modified droid's pride to have to subscribe to an inferior status, and the Jedi found it difficult to resist a grin.
Jax had come to this serviceable haunt more than a few times over the last several months. It was a good place to relax while plotting strategy: reasonably quiet and out of the way, plus the food was tolerable and the drinks cheap. Of course, having been raised a Jedi he had never really developed a taste for alcohol or similar ingestible stimulants, which was why he was currently nursing a cold slush of ice flavored with various exotic fruit juices mixed with supposedly healthy items such as powdered guroot and desic-cated Kaminoan sponge. It wasn't as palatable as it sounded, and it didn't sound all that palatable to begin with.
Dejah, on the other hand, was staring moodily into the depths of a half-empty Arboite Twister. This was not the sort of liquid concoction one expected to see a refined creature such as her imbibing. Jax had once seen a couple of downed twisters almost embalm a two-meter-tall Weequay. The mere scent of the potion wafting across a room could make a Troig bang its heads together until binary unconsciousness resulted.
He'd heard somewhere that Zeltrons had two livers.
She'll need them, he thought as he watched her drain the last of the high-octane blend.
110 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Stree
t of Shadows He didn't blame her, of course. From the little she had said before the discovery of her dead partner, it was apparent to anyone that Dejah had been, at the very least, deeply fond of the Caamasi. Jax didn't get the feeling that their relationship had involved romance, but it didn't have to for her to feel keenly the sting of his death. Zeltrons were flagrant in their passions; they seemed incapable of entering into any relationship, be it carnal or casual, with anything less than wholehearted fervor and abandon—a consequence due at least in part to their powerful empathic abilities. When tragedies happened, they felt all the searing pain that a sentient was capable of feeling.
Of course, the reverse could just as easily be true.
Fiery love could transmute into icy hatred in the blink of an eye.
He abruptly realized that I-Five had just said something and was now waiting for a reply. The droid was projecting an attitude of patience mixed with slight resignation, as if he had expected having to wait for the Jedi to rouse from his quiet reverie.
"I'm sorry," Jax murmured. "What?"
In the absence of having a throat to clear, I-Five emitted a terse electrical crackle. "To reiterate—if I may. Prefect Haus's men have not found the murder weapon yet. I venture that its discovery may shed more light on this mystery."
"It's been three hours since we left the resiplex,"
Jax pointed out. "How do you know the forensics droids haven't turned it up by now?"
"Because," the droid replied, "I'm monitoring the wavelengths reserved for sector law enforcement Michael Reaves 111
transmissions. There has been no mention of such a finding."
Jax slowly shook his head in disbelief. "One of these days they're going to home in on that illegal slicing you do and hit you with an echo pulse that'll leave you about as self-aware as a crisper."
"Something to look forward to, given the level of intellectual simulation around here," the droid shot back. "Now, having disposed of the requisite badi-nage, perhaps we could return to the subject at hand?"
"By all means." Jax stole another glance at Dejah.
She was slumped in her chair, her eyelids fluttering and her breathing much heavier than what was required to keep her lungs expanded. "You might want to keep your voice down, though it doesn't look like she's all that aware right now."
"She's not," I-Five confirmed. "My olfactory sub-processor has calculated the volume of alcohol in her blood. Adjusting for species-specificity, I estimate that she will shortly lapse into and then remain in a near-comatose state at least until dawn. Even her pheromone discharges are about twenty proof."
Jax stuffed a cushion behind Dejah's head, then leaned forward in his chair. With a hand he waved away a cloud of stimstick smoke that had drifted over from a nearby table full of raucous Kubaz.
"We know that Volette died of a single stab wound to the celiac plexus." The Jedi stared into the distance. "If I remember my xenobiology classes back in the Temple, that's the anterior part of the autonomous system node, right?"
112 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows
"In most hirsute mesomorphic humanoids, such as Caamasi and Equani, yes. A puncture wound of any size there is almost certain to be fatal, much as a wound to the heart is to humans. According to the planetary police 'casts, they've hypothesized the murder weapon as a short-edged passive instrument."
Jax nodded. In the context of the police report, passive meant something other than a vibroblade or other energized weapon. "Then Volette was killed by an extremely primitive knife or its equivalent," he said. "Which leads us to ask, how was the act performed? If the police theorizing is accurate, something easily concealed but having to be used at close range seems most likely."
"Which inversely presupposes someone of considerable strength. The anterior region of a Caamasi is protected by a layer of thick cartilage." The droid gestured at Dejah. "That would seem to exclude her as a suspect."
Jax nodded. It was certainly true that Dejah could have approached her partner Volette closely without arousing his suspicions, but there was no way she could have stabbed him hard enough to penetrate the protective carapace, especially with a nonvibrating weapon. The Zeltron simply did not possess sufficient musculature.
He realized he felt relief to know that Dejah was not a viable suspect. Had some of those pheromones slipped through to affect his wariness? He hoped not.
Life was complex enough already. But even if Dejah Duare could be ruled out, she was only one suspect out of billions. They still had quite a way to go.
Michael Reaves 113
"There's no escaping it, I-Five. We have to find the killer before the prefect's investigation decides to focus on us.
If the cools ever suspect
we're linked to
the Whiplash, we're plasma. They'll lock us on a moon and throw away the moon." Jax held up his right hand, showing the sparkling arc of the locator ring that banded his middle finger. "And there's no way Duare or I can take this police jewelry off or deactivate it without the inbuilt circuitry paralyzing our motor responses while simultaneously communicating our whereabouts to the local cools."
"Good point, if obvious," the droid concurred.
"Don't be so smug. As long as you're wearing that bolt, you're just as stuck as—" Jax stopped in midsentence and stared openmouthed as I-Five held up the restraint plug that the police droid had just recently flash-welded to his chassis. The Jedi's mouth collapsed into a grin as he shook his head. "Is there anything you can't do?"
"Yes," I-Five replied. "Dance."
Jax took the restraining bolt and examined it.
"You never told me you've had bootleg anti-restraint programming installed."
The droid shrugged metal shoulders. "What's the point of being sentient if you can't cultivate an air of mystery?"
Jax tossed the bolt back to the droid. I-Five caught it easily without looking in its direction. "And when they try to track you?"
"They'll find themselves following an ouroboros circuit with which they'll never quite catch up." The droid put the bolt on the floor, aimed an index finger at it, and melted it into unrecognizable slag. Then he turned to gaze speculatively at 114 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows the unconscious Dejah. "It would appear that her plans to leave Coruscant will have to be postponed."
"It's Imperial Center now, remember?"
I-Five's vocabulator produced a sound remarkably like a disdainful sniff. "I'm a droid. I don't make mistakes."
"I doubt any passing stormtroopers or Inquisitors would agree."
"As your father once said: no matter what they call it, it's still just an overbuilt, overpriced ball of rock."
Jax went quiet, the mention of his father turning him suddenly introspective. After a while, I-Five was moved to ask, "Does it upset you when your father is mentioned?"
"No. But it does make me wonder at times how he would react to my choice of lifestyle. To the decisions I've made."
The droid moved a little closer. "All too many of those choices and decisions have been foisted on you, Jax. I knew Lorn Pavan better than anyone, and I think he would have been quite proud of you."
Jax looked up. "I thought he hated the Jedi."
"He did. But only because they took you from him.
He wouldn't have hated you for becoming one. I think he would have approved of the choices you've made—most of them, anyway. Especially your decision to stay here and aid the Whiplash. Lorn admired courage. Particularly the courage to stand up for one's convictions."
Jax's expression was unreadable. "I almost quit, you know."
I-Five projected mild surprise.
Michael Reaves 115
"It was months ago. I was packing my kit, ready to dust.
Then Nick Rostu told me about what happened to Master Piell." He shrugged. "I couldn't leave after hearing that. Certainly not until I'd completed his last mission."
"Which you did, to the best of your ability. So tell me: what's
stopping you from leaving now?"
"It will never be finished," Jax told him. "Defeat the Emperor and Vader, and liberate the galaxy? The idea defines craziness. I should get out now, while there's still a transport berth with my name on it."
"I believe Den would agree with you," the droid replied. "Vociferously."
"No doubt." Jax sighed. "And yet..."
"You can't."
"You know me so well."
"I know humans so well. I know your kind with an intimacy that only an outsider can achieve. I've seen humanity at its most selfless and noble—and at its most base and ignoble. It can be quite a range. That's why it doesn't surprise me at all that you remain here to continue the fight for what you insist is a lost cause. If presented with that choice, I knew from the day I met you which one you would make."
"Is that so?" Jax looked about him; at the garish holo-ads on the walls and the various species toking, imbibing, or otherwise altering their brain chemistry in pursuit of congenial oblivion. He suddenly felt very tired. "Which choice was that?"
"The right one," the droid said.
Aurra Sing awoke disoriented, angry, and possessed of a throbbing headache in the ruins of the Jedi 116 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows Temple. Her baffling opponent was long gone, which was no surprise. What was surprising was that she was still alive.
A guarded inspection of her immediate surroundings confirmed that she was indeed alone. Her opponent, Captain Typho of Naboo, had no doubt fled, taking with him one of her lightsabers. Even in the throes of her fury, Sing had to admit that she was impressed. He had tricked her most cleverly, lulling her into vulnerability and then using her own prosthetic against her. She had briefly succumbed to the worst enemy someone in her profession could face: over-confidence. That accepted, she still had to give the man his due. He was resourceful as well as skilled.
Star Wars - Coruscant Nights 02 - Street of Shadows Page 9
