Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [51]
The Elomin made another gesture. Two stormtroopers raised their blasters. “As per procedure, you have been paid the reward for turning in an enemy of the Empire,” he said to Coven and Mok. “Now you are under arrest for smuggling and other crimes against the Mercantile Guild.” The Givin stepped forward and plucked the reward money from the bewildered Coven’s vest. “Since the Empire does not do business with criminals,” Rhinann continued, “your reward is hereby forfeit and confiscated—as is your ship and all possessions and appurtenances fitting thereunto.”
“You’re making a mistake!” Coven protested. “We’re licensed members of the ITL—”
“Take them away.” Rhinann gestured in dismissal.
Coven was too shocked to protest further; Mok was not. The Weequay roared in rage and struck one of the troopers, knocking him a good five meters across the deck. As Mok turned toward another trooper, he was hit in the back by a stun blast fired by a third. The concentric rings of energy rippled about him, dropping him with a crash that shook the duracrete.
Rhinann watched dispassionately as the smugglers were led away. To his assistant he said, “See that this”—he made a disparaging gesture at the freighter—“is impounded.” He made another gesture, and a stormtrooper dragged Nick to his feet. “Remove the forcecuffs,” Rhinann said. Nick had time for one brief surge of hope before the Elomin added, “Lord Vader will want to see him immediately.”
Vader? Nick thought. Darth Vader, the Emperor’s second in command? What in the name of all his ghôsh ancestors did the Sith Lord want with him?
He had a real bad feeling about this …
eighteen
The Mongoh Marketplace at close to midnight was not a place he’d want to visit on his own, Den reflected. It was essentially an open-air market, with crowded stalls staffed by various species, all hawking their wares in a cacophony of shouts, whistles, buzzes, and roars. Den had more or less gotten used to the constant decibel barrage that was part of life on the big city-planet, but the racket produced here, even though the place wasn’t enclosed, was unbelievable. He wished he’d remembered his sonic dampeners.
The customers were as varied and colorful as the vendors. I-Five seemed to be the only droid around that Den could see, though no one took any particular notice of him as he slipped adroitly through the crowd, edging past a drunken Rodian with a polite “Excuse me,” stopping to pick up, with eye-blurring speed, a basket of greenpods that a female Snivvian had dropped, and giving directions to an Arcona looking for a public comm station. To all outward appearances he was the perfect protocol droid, polite and helpful to a point just shy of sycophancy. No one would guess that he was a machine on a mission.
Den followed as best he could, wondering how the droid thought he could possibly find Jax in this crowd, even if the Jedi was still anywhere in the vicinity. He was also wondering, not for the first time, if I-Five’s commitment to locating his former partner’s son was edging past obsession and into full-blown aberration. He’s awfully loyal for a droid, he thought. It’s kinda pathetic, really.
After a few more minutes of what seemed to Den to be random searching, the droid stopped at a small plasteel-and-synthwood booth selling ozone masks, antiox patches, nose filters, and other balms for the more paranoid oxygen breathers.
The proprietor, a humanoid from a species that Den didn’t recognize—which was surprising in itself, given that he’d been back and forth in the galaxy more than a few times—spoke quietly with I-Five. By the time Den managed to dance through the crowd close enough to the booth, the conversation was finished, and I-Five was striding quickly away. Den sighed and changed course to keep up.
He caught up with the droid just as they exited the marketplace; the relative quiet was a blessing and a half.