Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [23]
Nick blinked in disbelief, realizing that this might very well be the second night in a row he’d discovered Imperial muscle on the verge of waxing a Jedi. “What are the odds?” he murmured. Of course, the troops might be there on a totally unrelated matter, but somehow he doubted it.
He sighed, loosened the blaster he wore at his hip, and started across the street. No guts, no glory, after all. Not that he had anything to prove. Nick knew he had guts. He’d seen them.
eight
When the call came, Haninum Tyk Rhinann had been expecting it. He knew the secure comm would chime sooner or later. He knew that when it did he would be summoned into the presence of his master. But that knowledge didn’t make the task itself any less of an ordeal. One did not, after all, venture into the nexu’s den casually—not if one hoped to emerge with all one’s limbs still attached.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he told the droid that had made the call. “Ten minutes. I’ll be there.” Wouldn’t do to keep him waiting, after all. If there was one thing Rhinann understood, it was the value of punctuality. Even so, he took a moment before the holoreflector, having his image rotate 360 degrees while he made sure that every fold of his robes was perfect and that his cravat blossomed just the right distance from his neck wattles. Then he canted the image at a forty-five-degree angle to make sure his ear hair was combed. After which he forced himself to leave, wishing that he’d had time to polish his horns. He noticed on his way out that one of the wall ornaments was hanging a hair off true vertical, but managed to leave without taking the time to adjust it.
Like most Elomin, Rhinann’s penchant for neatness and order bordered on the fanatical. It was what made him a perfect choice for an aide-de-camp, and Rhinann took his responsibilities very seriously indeed. He was quite aware that he was one exceedingly lucky life-form; most of his species had been enslaved after the Emperor had come to power, and condemned to work in pits of horror such as the filthy factories and workhouses of Coruscant’s industrial areas. Rhinann himself had been destined for such a fate, but fortunately he had been manumitted at the last moment. He still considered himself surrounded by madness and discord—only a return to Elom could remedy that—but he knew how much worse it could have been. And might still be, did he not perform his station well.
He followed a gently curving corridor toward the turbolift. There were plenty of people about, even at this hour; predominantly humans, although he did notice an Ortolan and a couple of Zabrak. Nearly all of them avoided his eyes as they hurried past.
He took an express lift to the ninety-fifth floor. This section of the Palace was sparsely decorated—mostly white walls, with only an occasional columnar cartouche or linteled doorway to accent the severity. Rhinann approved of this style of architecture. The less embellishment, the less chance of indecorousness.
If one wished to gain a fast understanding into a species, Rhinann felt that one of the easiest and quickest ways to do so was to look at its architectural styles. Take Coruscant. Mostly designed by humans, the posher areas were all characterized by sleek, swooping lines, and combined ancient structures, such as pyramids and minarets, with more modern technological and mechanical themes. It showed an awareness of, and even reverence for, the past, coupled with a look forward. This was good as far as it went; however, the city as a whole had little coherence. There were few discernible grid patterns or other signs of regularity; any statement made was amorphous and disharmonious at best—at worst, anarchic. Just like its creators.
Rhinann despised humans.