Star Wars - Coruscant Nights 02 - Street of Shadows

by Michael Reaves

  178 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows The things one does for money, freedom, and a Dark Lord of the Sith, she told herself as she slid off the stool.

  Starting toward the next room, she found her way blocked by three patrons. Her first impression was that they had been engaged for some time in a contest to see who could become the most drunk while continuing to remain upright and marginally functional.

  Her second impression was that it was a three-way tie.

  Not as far as the inebriated trio was concerned, however. Obviously hammered enough to cheerfully contemplate miscegenation, they surrounded her. The Zabrak was the most aggressive. A lupine Shistavanen hung back at one angle, while a large, stocky Utai blocked the other direction.

  Sing sipped her drink and calmly continued toward the green room. The Zabrak shifted to intercept her.

  He was tall, muscular, and "soused to his horns," as the saying had it. He smiled down at her, revealing impressive canines. "Haven't seen you in here before, little snowflake."

  "Haven't been in here before. If you'll excuse me..."

  Reaching out, he put a powerful hand on her left shoulder. She glanced at it, turned slightly, and he let it slide off. "I wouldn't do that again."

  "Why?" The grin grew wider. "Don't you like my

  "Not particularly. I also don't like your appearance, your attitude, your breath, and particularly your body odor. You stink." She eyed the Zabrak's in-

  Michael Reaves 179

  toxicated companions. "As a matter of fact, you all stink. But at least there's variety to your stench."

  The Shistavanen and Utai exchanged amused glances. "You're a real hard case," the Utai said.

  "Funny, that's what the pubtender said. Maybe I need to change my hairstyle."

  The Utai scowled. "Maybe you should be more polite," he suggested.

  "That's right," the Zabrak agreed. "Be a shame to see a pretty snowflake like you get hurt when all we want is some nice." He reached out and grabbed her shoulder again.

  Aurra Sing felt abruptly, unutterably weary. She had no time for this. But, she reminded herself, keeping a low profile was paramount when on the hunt.

  She would give them one more chance. "I told you not to do that," she told the Zabrak. "Move it or lose it."

  The Zabrak leaned in close, his breath an alcoholic miasma. "Give us a kiss."

  No one saw what happened next. They knew it happened because they could see the results, but it had taken place so fast that when questioned later all anyone could recall was two blurs: one of flesh and one of light.

  One moment the Zabrak had been leaning in toward Sing. The next he was staggering backward, staring at his left arm, which had been cut through at the elbow with surgical precision by a single sweep of her lightsaber. His hand spasmodically clutched her shoulder for a moment before falling to the floor.

  The Zabrak staggered backward until he collapsed on a divan, staring in shock at the cauterized stump 180 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows of his upper arm. The other two were momentarily paralyzed as well, but the immobility of shock did not last long.

  "Get her!" shouted the Utai as he and the heavy Wolfman lunged forward. Vibroblades flashed, aiming to mutilate and maim.

  Moments later the Shistavanen's head was staring at the variegated ceiling, having been separated from his body. The Utai still stood upright, looking bewil-dered. Then a hair-thin line of red, straight as a laser, materialized down the center of his body, from head to crotch. An instant later the body's two halves fell neatly in opposite directions.

  The Amanin pubtender spoke into a comlink:

  "Cleanup in Section Seven-B."

  There was not a lot of blood, the lightsaber having cauterized the massive wounds even as they had been inflicted. Having spilled not a drop of her drink in the course of the melee, Aurra Sing calmly deactivated her weapon and turned to regard the wide-eyed

  "I'd have a large drink, if I were you," she suggested. "The shock will wear off soon, and you'll want to be self-anesthetized by then." She paused, then added, "But have it somewhere else."

  The Zabrak, clutching the stump of his left arm, stumbled backward and let the crowd—which had scarcely paused in their frenzied dancing to observe the altercation—swallow him up.

  Clipping her lightsaber to her belt, Sing turned, walked back to the bar, and placed several credit slips on the counter in front of the Amani.

  Michael Reaves 181

  "I don't have time to answer questions. Not from your security, nor from sector police. This should cover any awkwardness."

  A three-fingered hand made the money vanish as deftly as any magician. "What awkwardness?"

  She smiled thinly, turned, and headed for the room called the Green Dystopia.

  182 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows fifteen

  The quarters they had taken on the forty-fourth level, Quadrant Q-l, had the virtue of anonymity, if little else. The mixed bag of species that inhabited the surrounding resiplexes provided excellent cover. The cul-de-sac was also sufficiently out of the way to allow Dejah to come and go without notice. Once her Nucleon dropped below the fortieth level, the media mynocks who drew income from harassing the be-reaved survivors of celebrity casualties tended to lose interest.

  While waiting for her arrival, Jax was assembling the components that Rhinann and Den had managed to acquire. On the surface it seemed a pointless en-deavor; the result might look like a lightsaber, but its lack of a CEC rendered it little more than a prop.

  Nevertheless, he was determined to persevere. When and if they managed to acquire an energy crystal, everything else would be complete and in readiness.

  Nearby, Den was relaxing with a priviewer. It was a visor and earphones melded into a single unit that wrapped around his head like a too-large high-tech crown that had slipped down over his eyes. Occasionally he would let out a hoot of appreciation or a Michael Reaves 183

  chuckle of laughter as whatever he was viewing tickled his fancy. Settled on the other side of the central work center, Laranth was cleaning one of her two blasters. The Gray Paladins did not carry their weapons for show; nevertheless, they took pride in having clean and functional ordnance.

  In the far corner of the room, Rhinann was dozing, arms folded across his reedy chest. All the walking, talking, and endless negotiations he had engaged in on behalf of Jax had tired him out. He deserved a rest, he had told them, and he was of no mind to aid either the Jedi or the Paladin in their menial pursuits.

  Verbal as opposed to manual dexterity was his strength. He would save his energy and his efforts for more dignified pursuits, thank you very much.

  I-Five stood nearby. He was outwardly immobile, but Jax knew that the droid's mind was humming away as it perused multiple matters simultaneously. It was something few organics were capable of, because most organic brains couldn't self-partition.

  Jax wondered what topics occupied the droid. By this time he knew better than to ask; he had no desire to grant the metal man any more opportunities to flaunt his maximized self-awareness. The truth of the matter was he was still getting used to the idea himself. The concept of a droid being fully conscious was something he had accepted only reluctantly. It still made him uncomfortable at times to muse upon the ramifications of a truly sentient machine. Before he'd met I-Five, his feelings about a droid's place in organic society had been the same as everyone else's: droids were tools, convenient ambulatory mechanisms to be used or discarded as necessity dictated.

  184 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows He would not have thought twice about ordering one to jump into a vat of acid or carving it up for parts if doing so served his purpose on a mission. Droids were expendable and an infinitely renewable resource: if one became defective or was otherwise compromised in any way, it was simply recycled for parts and a new one ordered, at the Temple's expense.

  There was never a shortage; to be the head of a production company su
ch as Trang Robotics or Cybot Galactica was like having a license to print credits.

  While it was true that some sentients developed feelings of attachment, even affection, for their droids—Master Obi-Wan, he recalled, had been adamant about his astromech accompanying him on missions during the Clone Wars—for the most part people viewed the automatas the same way they might view a more sophisticated version of a bread crisper. Jax certainly hadn't had occasion to wonder about any inner lives they might have been hiding.

  That attitude had changed when he'd met I-Five.

  He'd been forced to change his opinion not just about the droid, but also about I-Five's "partner," Lorn Pavan—the father he had never known.

  The droid had told him much about his father's life, but had been maddeningly vague about the specifics of his death. All Jax had been able to glean was that his father's fate had been ordained by someone highly echeloned in the Republic—someone who might even have had access to Palpatine himself, back when he had been Supreme Chancellor. I-Five would be no more specific than that, and Jax couldn't tell if the droid knew nothing more or wouldn't say anything more, or both. He suspected the last possibility, Michael Reaves 185

  however. Whatever his father had done must have reverberated considerably through the halls of power back in the waning years of the Republic for the droid to be so closemouthed about it more than two decades later. He had hinted darkly that Lorn and himself, along with a Jedi Padawan named Darsha Assant, had been pursued by an all-but-unstoppable assassin whose sole purpose had been to retrieve a holocube that Lorn had attempted to fence on the black market. Both the Padawan and his father had died, and I-Five had escaped only by luck.

  Jax paused in his work, thinking. He'd attempted to learn more about his father's mysterious end on his own, but he was at best a journeyman slicer, and dig-ging for data that old required far more skill than he possessed. Come to think of it, though, someone with the requisite skill was no farther than the other side of the room.

  As if telepathically alerted, Rhinann bestirred himself long enough to check his chrono. "Your lady friend is late."

  Pushing the magnifier up on his forehead, Jax replied, "She's not my lady friend. And I'm sure she has a good reason for being late. At any rate, it's not our business."

  "She's a Zeltron. They're not known for depend-ability." The Elomin closed his eyes again.

  The exchange had been loud enough to draw Den's interest. The Sullustan lifted the priviewer up over his head and set it aside. "It should be at least partly our business, Jax," he said. Pulling from his pocket a finger-sized unitary, he unfolded its screen with a flick 186 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows of his wrist. "You want to know why? Take a look at our credit balance."

  "I doubt that organic vision is capable of resolving so tiny a figure," I-Five said.

  Jax gave him a look of displeasure, then turned back to the Sullustan. "How bad is it, Den?"

  "Well, it's not a crisis. We have enough in the account to eat tomorrow. The day after that..."

  "I see no problem, then. For me," the droid said.

  "We'll have to move, too," Den added.

  "I see." Pulling off the magnifier, Jax set it on the work center. "What will we be able to afford?"

  The Sullustan studied the readout on the unitary. "I think there's a public park over in Sector Nineteen."

  "I didn't realize it was that bad."

  "It's not," Den assured him as he collapsed the screen and pocketed the unitary. "It's worse."

  "Why didn't someone tell me before?"

  "Someone tried," Den told him. "Several times.

  You kept telling me or Rhinann that the Force would provide. Well, now would be a good time to crank it up."

  "We could sell the Far Ranger," Laranth suggested.

  Both Den and Rhinann glared at her. "No way,"

  the Sullustan said. "That ship's our only chance to get off this rock. Which I'm still hoping will happen once you two idealists decide to get practical. Because if you don't, we may wind up living in it."

  "If I may be allowed to venture a suggestion ... ?"

  I-Five said.

  "Since when have you ever asked permission?"

  Laranth put aside the blaster she had been working on and started on its mate.

  Michael Reaves 187

  "Dejah Duare," the droid continued, "is the sole beneficiary of a well-known, well-respected, and, most importantly, well-recompensed deceased artist." His photoreceptors focused on Jax. "I see no reason why if, prior to her departure, she still wishes us to continue our efforts to locate Volette's killer, that we should not be paid for them."

  "Hear, hear," Laranth murmured while checking the emitter of her second blaster.

  "A capital suggestion, in both senses of the word,"

  added Rhinann.

  "Works for me," Den said.

  Jax was horrified. "I can't do that. As a Jedi I'm sworn to help those in need and to assist those who request my aid. I can't charge for it. Especially not someone in a disturbed emotional state. It's not ethical." He spread his arms. "In fact, it's one step short of bounty hunting. I'd feel like a mercenary again. I swore I'd never again sink that low."

  Den had to kick out with both legs to get off the couch, which had been designed to accommodate much taller species. Approaching Jax, he waved a stubby finger at the reluctant Jedi.

  "You do the work, and let the rest of us worry about the metaphysical fallout." Evidently Jax's conflict was plain to see, because Den added, not unkindly, "It's not that we're asking you to go against any deeply felt personal beliefs, Jax—"

  "Yes it is," I-Five said without hesitation.

  Den glared at his mechanical friend. "It's only that," he continued to Jax, "no matter how noble your intentions or how worthy what we're currently 188 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows doing, there are mundane and uninspiring matters that simply can't be ignored. Like the rent."

  "And food," Laranth added.

  "Minimal appearances must be maintained," put in Rhinann.

  "All right, all right!" Jax took a deep breath and checked his chrono. "When she gets here I'll. . . talk to her." He let his gaze rove around the room. "If this only involved me, I'd continue to say no. But we're all in this together, so in this one instance I'll allow myself to be outvoted."

  "Never underestimate the humanoid affinity for ra-tionalization," I-Five said.

  The reporter turned to the others. "We should each find something else to do when Dejah arrives." He spoke to all of them, but he was looking at Laranth.

  The Twi'lek hesitated, glanced at her unfinished work on the bench, then at Jax. The Jedi was puzzled by that look, which seemed compounded of equal parts amusement and annoyance. She said nothing, however; she merely gathered up the disassembled pieces of her blaster.

  The main domicile entryway chose that moment to announce the arrival of a visitor. Its integrated evalu-ator declared the caller to be unaccompanied, unarmed, and, insofar as could be determined from outward appearances, not a representative of the police or any other branch of unwelcome officialdom.

  "We'll let ourselves out through the secondary exit," Den informed Jax as he headed for the far side of the communal room. Rhinann followed close behind, together with I-Five. Laranth was the last to leave. She lingered a moment.

  Michael Reaves 189

  "Secure an agreement and fix a suitable retainer,"

  she told Jax. "Take your time. But not too much time.''

  He frowned uncertainly. "I don't follow your meaning.

  Laranth gave him another bland look, which still seemed somehow annoyed. "What I mean is, we don't have time to waste."

  "We have plenty of time. The Whiplash hasn't even scheduled Dejah's departure yet. They still have to secure passage and—"

  "My mistake." She turned, fast enough to send her lekku whirling, and strode out, head high.

  What in the worlds has gotten into her? the J
edi wondered. He had little time to ponder it, however, because a twitch of the Force's strands reminded him that Dejah was at the door.

  When he let her in, she didn't look around; by now she was familiar with the surroundings. "I'm sorry to ask you to meet us here, but it's my experience that dwelling in borderline squalor is good for security. I'd rather be safe than comfortable."

  She waved off his apology. "Where's everyone else?

  Even your impertinent droid is gone, and he's usually no more than a meter from your side."

  "Would you rather wait for them to return?"

  "No, that's not necessary." She smiled, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable. "I'm sure you can fill me in on whatever I need to know."

  Jax felt momentarily at a loss, then drew himself up. This was ridiculous. Master Piell would have considered being alone with a Zeltron of the opposite 190 Star Wars: Coruscant Nights II: Street of Shadows gender nothing more than a test. After all, he had the Force to counteract her pheromones.

  It didn't seem to be helping all that much, however.

  "I need to go over some predeparture details with you," he explained. "Things you need to do before you wrap up your final affairs, ways to go about them so as not to arouse suspicion, how to terminate any close relationships—that sort of thing."

  "Travel information. Good."

  He hesitated again. "Uh, you might want to take notes."

  "Not necessary. I have a good memory." She sat, hugging her knees to her chest and giving him her un-divided attention.

  As he began to recite some of the procedures that would be necessary for her to ensure a safe and anonymous departure from Coruscant, he couldn't help but be aware of the bodystocking that covered her like a second, lucent skin. He used the Force to deflect the pheromones he could feel pulsing from her, but the visual alone was enough to keep him stumbling over his tongue like an anxious Padawan. Dejah pretended to notice nothing unusual in his behavior, of course. She simply sat, curled up in a supple tangle of arms and legs, and listened attentively. With her empathic talents, however, there was no question but that she was acutely aware of his inner turmoil. As he strode back and forth in front of her, taking care to keep a certain nominal distance, he was positive that he could feel her inner glow of satisfaction, hot as an undamped reactor core.