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Nick was surprised at the sympathy he felt for his former captors, and not surprised at all by the anger he felt for Rhinann. With an effort he pushed it back down and said, “None of this explains what Vader wants with—”

“He doesn’t want you,” Rhinann said. “He wants Jax Pavan. You are merely the means to that end.”

nineteen

“Thought you had him, didn’t you?” the Underlord asked.

There was no point in dissembling, Kaird knew. He had often heard it said that when one realizes all is lost, and disgrace and death a surety, a certain serenity accompanies the knowledge. A paradoxical comfort, or at least relief, in finally looking death in the eye. No more trying to see down a dozen or more time tracks simultaneously; no more trying to plot a course through the misty labyrinth of the future. No more schemes. No more worries.

Just acceptance.

Kaird knew about the calmness that accompanies the warrior’s utter commitment, although he himself had never had to experience it. It wasn’t generally the province of an assassin, who is tasked to get the job done by whatever means. Honor was not only superfluous to one such as Kaird, at times it was downright dangerous. Assassins could not afford the luxury of honor.

Given all that, he was surprised to feel now that sense of serenity he’d heard about. But there it was. He knew there was no way out of this—it only remained for the Underlord to pronounce his sentence. There were a few in the organization who would jostle to be in first place to pull the trigger, and many more who would consider it nothing special, and who would lose no sleep over the action. Even the few whom Kaird counted as friends and allies would send him off to the Great Nest with little more than a tear or two shed. After all, as the saying went, it wasn’t personal. It was simply business.

And he had no illusions about the gravity of his actions. To trade insult and innuendo with Xizor during the course of meetings was one thing; to attempt framing him for the theft of the nearly priceless property of a powerful sector boss on Metellos was another thing entirely. As punishment for the former, Underlord Perhi would probably have been content with simply ripping Kaird a new cloaca; for the latter Xizor would demand nothing less than the Nediji’s frozen remains drifting in orbit about the planet.

Had he gotten away with it, it would have been different. House Sizhran would have not been happy about the ousting of their favorite son, but as a Vigo, Kaird would have been in a much better position to deal with their reactions.

But he hadn’t gotten away with it. And now …

“He outmaneuvered me,” Kaird said. There was no shame in the admission.

“True,” the Underlord replied. “You will have to be more careful next time.”

Next time?

Kaird watched Dal Perhi’s face carefully. He was fairly adept at reading human expressions, but the Underlord was giving nothing away at the moment. Thoughts surged through the Nediji’s head, chasing one another like feathers in a high wind. He knew Perhi wasn’t given to needless or excessive cruelty; on the other hand, compassion wasn’t exactly his main reactor rod, either. The bottom line was that the Underlord of Black Sun wasn’t known for magnanimous acts.

Just practical ones.

Kaird cocked his head slightly. “Next time?”

Perhi nodded, as if in acknowledgment of something confirmed. He leaned back.

“Prince Xizor is ambitious,” he said, and shrugged. “Nothing particularly astonishing in that; the Falleen do not hail from cute and cuddly ancestry.”

“Neither do the Nediji,” Kaird said.

“Very true. But there is a crucial difference between you and Xizor. Xizor would be Underlord. Again, not terribly surprising—most members of Black Sun see the post of Vigo as penultimate.

“But you don’t, Kaird.”

Kaird felt the fine down that covered his skin rise; he could no more control the ancient reaction to sudden danger than he could have stopped his own heart. And yet—was there really any danger to react to? He had always assumed that his desire to leave