Star Wars - Coruscant Nights 02 - Street of Shadows

by Michael Reaves

  I-Five executed a shrug. "Small loss, since your client had already half convinced you there was nothing to be gained from speaking with the Vindalian anyway."

  An exasperated Jax fell silent, prompting the droid to prove he was still a protocol model by adding,

  "I'm sorry he wouldn't sell you a CEC."

  Jax shrugged. "Art lovers. A species unto themselves."

  Dejah put a hand on his arm. The simple gesture immediately calmed him, redirected his thoughts, heightened his emotions, and took away much of the frustration of having wasted half a day learning essentially Michael Reaves 141

  nothing. Those were only a few of the things the Zeltron touch could do.

  "At any rate, I don't disagree with your assessment," the droid said, "because I assume that you utilized the Force to subtly probe the Baron while you were conversing with him."

  Jax nodded as the three of them stepped out of the turbolift. At this time of day the hangar was not an especially busy place, and they took their time to enjoy the expensive decor of their surroundings as they waited for their transportation to unlock, activate, and arrive.

  "I did," Jax assured the droid. "I was monitoring him the whole time we were there. I got nothing that would indicate he's in any way involved with Volette's murder."

  "Neither did I. Galvanic response, eye contact, epidermal flush—none of it provoked anything like a suspicious reaction."

  "Good. That settles it."

  "Did you check the female?"

  Jax raised an eyebrow. On his right, Dejah stared at the droid in disbelief. "Surely you don't think Kirma Umber had anything to do with Ves's death? That's absurd!"

  I-Five replied calmly, "Why?"

  Taken aback, Dejah had to think a moment. "Well, for one thing, she wasn't even that interested in Ves's work. The Baron was the real aficionado. I mean, she certainly admired it—how could anyone not? She shared the Baron's respect for it, if not his passion."

  "That doesn't persuade me that my observation constitutes an absurdity." The droid turned to Jax.

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  "Surely everyone who had contact with the dead artist is a reasonable suspect."

  "Even me?" Dejah challenged him.

  "Even you, although you've been ruled out due to physical inability."

  "Physical inability? You ambulatory circuit board, I'll show you—"

  "All right, you two." Jax spoke sternly to the droid. "Dejah's not a suspect, I-Five. If she had anything to do with her partner's death, I would have sensed it."

  The droid made a sniffing sound. "That, at least, I can appreciate." He looked at the still-angry Zeltron.

  "You see? I always respond to rational conclusions."

  To Jax he continued: "My question remains—what about the Baroness?"

  Jax shrugged. "I suppose I should have probed her, just to fulfill the formalities. Still, I think Dejah is right. The Baroness was a friend to them even if she didn't entirely share her husband's boundless enthusiasm for Volette's work."

  "And please keep in mind," Dejah said with asperity, "that I have empathic abilities of my own—which rang no alarms."

  "In any event," Jax said, "I suspect Pol Haus and his people will perform their own thorough checks on the both of them."

  I-Five still wasn't satisfied. "I doubt that the prefect's forensics team will include an investigator versed in the ways of the Force."

  Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dejah's convertible. As they slipped into the traffic stream, Jax chewed his lower lip. He waited for her to slide in beside a transport that was as ugly as it was Michael Reaves 143

  functional. Within less than a minute they were accelerating on automatic. Then the Zeltron looked at him. "What now?"

  "I suppose you have a list of the rest of Ves's buyers and of any nonprofessional social contacts?"

  She nodded. "Whoever killed him left the studio in-tact. I haven't made a detailed check of it yet." Her gaze turned forward, to take in the massive flow of traffic between the towering buildings. "If nothing's been disturbed, then all that information will still be there. After I drop you and I-Five off, I'll collect it."

  "Good. We'll make a list and start following up."

  "What will we be looking for?" she asked.

  "Any close acquaintance who's gone missing, or simply moved away. Anyone who tried to buy one or more of Ves's works just before he died. And especially anyone who might have reason to hold a grudge against him. Political, professional, you never know in situations like this. A sale that was withdrawn. A negotiation for a particular piece that fell through. Something as seemingly insignificant as a perceived insult delivered at a meeting." He glanced over at her. "We'll be relying on you to recall any such incidents."

  "I'll do my best," she promised.

  The aircar accelerated as the Zeltron pulled it out of line and headed downward in the direction of Poloda Place.

  144 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows twelve

  Aurra Sing entered the chamber of her new employer. The two Red Guards escorting her stopped at the entrance. The door hissed shut behind her, and she was alone with Darth Vader.

  She stood, taking in her surroundings but not letting herself be absorbed by them. The room was dimly lit by human standards, but the low-level lighting posed no obstacle to her vision. She could clearly see the dimensions of the small chamber, could see there was no furniture save for a single formfit chair and desk. One of the walls was inset with graphic readout screens, serial port plugs, and other devices she didn't immediately recognize.

  Vader stood at the room's far end, the stentorian sound of his breathing, regular and even, filling the air. The insectile orbs that covered his eyes—if indeed he had eyes—were turned toward her, but with Vader, one could never tell what he was looking at. His vision seemed to encompass every direction. And what he did not see through his eyes, Sing knew, he sensed through the Force.

  She wondered how he slept—or, indeed; if he slept.

  One of the many rumors about the being hidden in the biosuit held that he had been hideously burned by either acid or fire, and as a result of the damage done to his lungs and throat he required the constant monitoring and assistance of the portable respiratory apparatus, which prevented him from lying down for little more than brief periods at a time. So, according Michael Reaves 145

  to speculation, he was forced to rest while sitting or standing erect.

  Most of the rumors of his origin, disparate though they were, agreed on one thing—that Vader was more machine than man. She wondered what motivated him, what drove him forward through the days. Even a Sith Lord, which Vader was rumored to be, needed incentive to carry out the assignments that Palpatine had chosen for him or that he had selected for himself, to push him to complete tasks that another might find overwhelming.

  She thought she knew.

  Hate drove him.

  Hate motivated Vader to get through each day and night. Hate was the fuel that fired his existence. Having given himself over to the dark side, he had done so unreservedly and completely. Sing was sure that nothing remained within him of humanity, of compassion, of sympathy for his fellow humanoids or any other sentient species. Her own connection with the Force was strong enough to tell her that Vader did not distinguish or discriminate among any of them.

  Those brought into his presence could be certain of one thing: all would be treated equally without mercy.

  For hate to succeed as a form of motivation, it requires focus. One needs a subject, or subjects. Sing suspected that this was not a problem for Vader.

  There was always someone new to despise, some previously unrecognized individual to draw his attention and his enmity. And if a fallow period manifested itself, he could always rely on the Emperor to supply him with fresh subjects to investigate and deal with.

  146 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows Palpatine also hated i
ndiscriminately, she had heard it said, but he could control it better, could more ex-quisitely manipulate the full power of the dark side.

  No doubt Vader aspired to exercise such mastery one day as well.

  But for now the hate that filled him and overflowed from him was an uncontrollable firestorm, a raging river, a reactor on permanent overload. Fury shot through him with every beat of what was left of his heart. It drove him the way some unseen goal or deep desire or unfulfilled need drove other, lesser, men.

  Sing could feel it, like the radiant heat that escaped from a closed blast furnace. He couldn't completely damp it; the best he could do was direct it. In that regard, she knew, purpose was useful.

  Which was where Jax Pavan figured. And her as well.

  There were, undoubtedly, great maneuverings afoot that demanded the majority of the Dark Lord's attention. It could not be easy, Sing speculated. Such vast governmental changes did not happen in one single swoop or by a day's worth of orders. There was still much to be done: important politicians and nobility to convince, persuade, bribe, or assassinate; great commercial concerns to bring into the fold; and species both humanoid and nonhumahoid to be bound by treaty or bombed into oblivion. However much he might have enjoyed personally tracking down and ridding himself of that turbulent Jedi, Jax Pavan, when the fates of entire worlds were at stake, attention must be focused on the business of the Empire. He had to resign himself, at least for now, to Michael Reaves 147

  dealing with Pavan through a second party. A professional.

  Aurra Sing.

  She was unarmed, of course. Her weapons had been confiscated at the Palace entrance. While Darth Vader was master of all he surveyed, she did not deem him foolish enough to rely altogether on the Force to ensure his safety. It was all well and good to let the dark side flow through one. To be truly effective, however, it needed not only to be manipulated by skill but also be guided by intelligence. Force or no Force, Vader was by no means foolish enough to permit something as simple, utilitarian, and lethal as a primitive bomb or blaster into his presence.

  "Sing." A single monosyllable of acknowledgment.

  "Lord Vader." She didn't bow, save for a slight inclination of the head. If Vader was bothered by that, he gave no sign of it.

  "Your presence precedes you."

  "Only to someone who knows the Force." Without being prompted, or given permission, she came several steps closer. "Quite a residence—this antechamber doesn't do it justice." She glanced at the wall's electronics, then back at him.

  He waved a black-clad hand. "My . . . lifestyle . . .

  requires the constant attention and utilization of certain technical accoutrements that are alien to most."

  Nodding, she examined the sharp angles that had been molded into the ceiling, the jagged cartouches on the walls. "In design you favor the abstract, I see."

  "I am most comfortable when bounded by inorganic patterns and mathematical precision."

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  "Yes," she agreed, lowering her gaze to regard him directly. "Your passions are, so it is said, quantifiable and clinical." Her tone turned curious. "Or are they mere divertissements?"

  His tone did not change, but nonetheless seemed colder. "Do you presume to try to comprehend my motivations? They are beyond you. They are beyond anyone."

  "I presume nothing," she told him. "I like to have the best understanding I can of whoever employs me.

  In my line of work it's important to know all you can about your target. It's also useful to know all you can about who pays you."

  "Credits." The massive dark figure before her let out a derisive hiss. "What a weak thing to motivate and bind people together."

  She shrugged. "Works for me. What would you have it replaced by?"

  His voice rose, as did a clenched fist. "Unity! Organization!"

  She said wryly, "I'll take the credits, thanks."

  He made a gesture of dismissal. "Even among those from whom one might expect better, the braying of fools deafens."

  Sing tensed. She had no weapons, but that did not mean she was unarmed. "Are you calling me a fool—

  Lord Vader?"

  He laughed.

  Few people had heard the Dark Lord of the Sith laugh.

  When amused, his reaction as promulgated by the specialized respiratory equipment that enveloped him inclined more toward a hissing sound. But this was a real laugh, as genuine as it was humorless.

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  "You amuse me." He leaned slightly forward. "A rare occurrence, one that by itself justifies a portion of what the Imperial government is paying you."

  Letting her left foot drift slightly backward and lowering her upper body, she glared at him. This monstrosity in black fabric and metal was causing her to lose her temper. On the rare occasions when that happened, it usually resulted in someone dying.

  "I'm nobody's court jester. You engaged me to capture someone or, failing that, to kill him. I'm not averse to slaying two for the price of one."

  Vader's amusement was now boundless. Black-gloved hands spread wide. "But if you kill me, Aurra Sing, then who will remain to authorize payment of the credits you so ardently desire?"

  Turning her head to one side, she spat deliberately onto the polished floor. "I've already filled out the necessary forms."

  "Wonderful!" he said, laughing again. "You are more than I hoped you would be. I foresee the development of a lasting and mutually beneficial professional relationship between us."

  Flattery washed off the bounty hunter like mercury off steel. "I only continue to work for someone whom I respect—and who respects me."

  "So it's respect you want, is it?" He took a step forward and she tensed, both hands clenching slowly. "I thought it was only a sum of credits. Money is easily given, Sing. It is nothing more than chaff. Respect—respect cannot be given. It must be earned."

  She came straight at him.

  It took only a few steps. A little of the Force perfectly in tune with bands of lithe muscle. In a second 150 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows one out-thrust fist would be in his face and she would see what that composite armor was made of. She knew of no one who had ever seen what lay beneath that mask. She intended to be the first.

  Her fist never made contact. Raising his right hand and bringing it around in a swift arc, Vader blocked the blow and sent the body behind it flying across the room. As she flew, a startled but still wholly self-aware Sing tucked and rolled. She hit the opposite wall hard, bounced off, landed on her feet, and immediately came at him again.

  "The reflexes of an animal," Vader murmured. His lightsaber hung at his waist. He ignored it, his fingers going nowhere near the weapon. "That's what the Empire needs: a few more well-trained, domesticated animals."

  "Domesticated? I'll show you who's domesticated!" She leapt high, kicking out, and in midthrust somehow bent sideways to kick harder with her other leg.

  In a movement preternaturally fast, but which somehow looked almost languid, Vader ducked, reached up, and with one gloved hand lightly tapped her in the middle of her back. A serious thrust catching her in that position could have broken her spine. The Dark Lord's touch was more of a caress. He was letting her know what he could have done.

  Landing in a crouch, a feral expression on her face, she raced at him again, low this time. Her speed was startling: a droid would have been hard-pressed to match her acceleration. She dropped low to the floor and swung her right leg around in a powerful circle sweep. Her intent was to take his legs out from under him.

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  She might as well have been trying to cut down a bronzewood tree. At the last instant the Dark Lord thrust both hands downward toward the spinning bounty hunter. A profound surge in the Force rippled through the room. Guards posted at a distance in the hallway nearby were nearly knocked off their feet by it. But the strength of the emanation had not been directed at them.

/>   Casually, as if inspecting a new exhibit that had been donated to the Imperial Museum, Vader walked around the now motionless figure on the floor. Aurra Sing lay on her back, unable to move. It was as if a giant weight pressed her down. Seething in impotent rage, she watched the Dark Lord pass through her field of vision and beyond.

  She felt, rather than saw, him make a negligent gesture, and she could move again. Sing reached up with one hand to clutch at her throat. Momentarily stilled, the fury that had boiled up within her began to return. She rose to her feet.

  Without even looking in her direction, Vader waved diffidently at his visitor. "Enough, assassin.

  You repeat the fatal error of one who knows but a tiny bit of the dark side."

  Holding herself back with an effort, she stood panting and glaring at him. "And what might that be?"

  "You don't know how to control it. You let it control you. This is the difference between mentor and student. You make good use of what access you do have to the Force, but I fear you will never master it."

  She still held her hands up in a defensive posture.

  "If you're going to kill me, stop talking and do it."

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  "Kill you?" For the first time, Vader sounded surprised. "Why would I want to kill you? Imperfect as you are, you are still more useful than the vast number of incompetents I deal with on a daily basis. You show courage, skill, determination. Those are not qualities to be wasted, even in one so foolishly headstrong. Why would I kill that which can be helpful to me?"

  He adjusted something on the front of his chest, and his voice grew slightly less harsh. "Now then: what progress in your search for the Jedi Jax Pavan?"

  Sing's breathing slowed. Unclenching, her hands dropped to her sides. Relaxing thus left her defense-less, but against Vader it did not seem to matter whether one prepared for battle or not. The outcome was foretold, and she did not need access to the Force to see that.