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He got to his feet, still weaving slightly, turned, and promptly bumped into a group of three armored Ganks. One of them, in a display of the consideration and thoughtfulness common to his kind, backhanded Den, knocking him off his feet and into the trash-strewn gutter. Another Gank pulled a vibroknife and bent over him. The multifarious crowd parted as if the Ganks and Den were encased in an invisible dome, flowing around them and taking no notice of the Sullustan’s plight.

Den tried to get to his feet, but the third Gank pressed a boot against his chest, pinning him. “I suppose it’s too late to say I’m sorry?” Den gasped.

The Gank with the vibroknife activated the blade. A high-pitched hum emanated from it as the blade began to vibrate, its monomolecular edge blurring into invisibility. The helmeted faces of the other two showed no expression as the third reached for one of the Sullustan’s pendulous earlobes—and then a pewter-colored mechanical hand reached over the Gank’s shoulder and grabbed the pulsating blade’s hilt, yanking it from its owner’s surprised grasp, and dropped it to the pavement, where it sank into the duracrete up to the guard.

“Now, now—manners,” a pleasant voice chided. “After all, he did apologize.”

The Ganks turned and saw a protocol droid standing behind them, one index finger raised, as if admonishing them. The tip of the finger glowed bright red. The droid said, “You’re probably thinking, Everyone knows a protocol droid has behavioral inhibitors that won’t let it harm sentient organics.” Den could see the thin red beam of the laser move downward as the durasteel finger targeted the foremost Gank’s forehead, just above and right between where his eyes were under the helmet.

“Well,” the droid continued, “everyone, in this case, is wrong.”

The Ganks glanced at one another. Then, as if in agreement on some unspoken decision, the three turned away and melted into the uncaring crowd.

The droid helped Den to his feet. The Sullustan brushed garbage from his clothes. “Next time, don’t cut it so close,” he growled.

“Whatever do you mean?” Photoreceptors projected guileless innocence. “I calculate that I had an entire two point seven seconds before the vibroknife would have actually—”

Den raised both hands to stop the droid’s reply. “Okay, okay! Not really needing to hear the gory details. Thanks anyway.”

The immobile metal face somehow managed to look slightly amused. “I live to serve,” I-Five said.

six

Kaird of the Nediji paced the length of his luxurious suite and contemplated murder.

In itself, this was no great occasion. Kaird had considered the taking of a life many times before, and followed through on it more than once as well. There was no moral dilemma involved; the only decision was one of practicality. Would the removal of this particular entity to the Great Nest benefit his purpose, or would it simply satisfy a yearning for revenge, smooth some temporarily ruffled feathers? If it was the latter, then there was no point to it. As the Aqualish saying went, Revenge is a cold current to swim in. Insults and slights were to be acted upon only if it expedited one’s agenda to do so. Honor was a luxury practical beings could ill afford.

Still, in this particular case, the temptation was hard to resist. And so, as he stalked back and forth, he indulged himself in imaginative fantasies about how best to dispose of his enemies.

One, in particular …

Kaird had moved upward rapidly in the ranks of Black Sun. A little more than a standard year ago he had been a mere assassin, albeit a very good one. Since then he had become a most excellent fugue master within the organization, choosing his allies with care. Now, after over a year of work, he had maneuvered himself into an envious position—he was on the verge of becoming a Vigo.

On the verge, he reminded himself, but not there yet. There was only room for one new member in the inner circle of Dal Perhi, the current Black Sun Underlord. And his rival for the post, Prince