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They finally compromised on a thousand, which was what Den had figured it would be. As the credits were counted out into Den’s hand, Rokko gestured to the droid. “What’s your classification?”

“I-Five-Why-Cue, sir.” The tone was properly servile, Den noticed with relief. Apparently Rokko found nothing objectionable in it, either, because he said, “Go down the hall and fetch the two waiting in the last room.” To Den he added, as I-Five headed obediently down the corridor, “A couple of Jedi asking me for help. I tell you, life just keeps getting stranger.” He chuckled.

A couple of Jedi? Den turned quickly, but I-Five had already disappeared. He shrugged. After all, he told himself, what are the odds?

“We’ve waited long enough,” Jax said. “Let’s go.” He turned toward the door, and Laranth followed. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll feel a lot more comfortable when I’ve got my blasters back.”

Jax didn’t reply. He wasn’t quite sure why he was suddenly in such a hurry. Part of it was the renewed sense of purpose he had drawn from Master Piell’s assignment—quite likely the last assignment he would ever have as a Jedi. It felt good to have a purpose. For the time being, at least, his life had meaning again; he was feeling alive and confident. He was ready to face whatever surprises, whatever unexpected twists, the future might have in store for him. Bring it on, he said to himself. He would rise gladly to whatever new challenge or complication was coming his way.

He opened the portal and saw a protocol droid standing before him, one arm upraised to knock. The droid looked at him, and Jax had the strangest feeling that, even though the droid’s face was immobile, it was somehow surprised to see him. More than surprised; shocked, struggling with disbelief.

The droid took a step back, lowering its arm. “Jax Pavan,” it said softly.

“Yes?” The droid had obviously been sent by Rokko to get them—but that didn’t explain why it looked so shocked. And it certainly didn’t explain how it looked so shocked.

The droid stepped forward once more. When it spoke again, its voice was even lower; a conspiratorial tone. It said eight words, and then it was Jax’s turn to stare in disbelief.

“I am I-Five. Your father sent me.”

PART II

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

twenty-two

On his way down to the surface of Coruscant, Kaird of the Nediji reflected on the strange twists and turns that life could sometimes take.

He had been so absolutely sure that the Underlord was going to pluck his tail feathers that it had taken him a few moments to understand—first, that he’d been spared, and second, why he’d been spared. Had his mouth been composed of soft flesh, instead of keratin, his jaw would have probably dropped into an all-too-human expression of astonishment.

And yet, it made perfect sense. It was also simple, so simple that Kaird inwardly kicked himself for not having seen it coming.

After all, he was an assassin.

Prince Xizor, Perhi had explained, had his eyes set on the Underlord’s mantle. Anyone who knew anything about the Falleen species knew that, even without their exceptional strength and pheromone manipulation, they were foes to be reckoned with. Their natural cunning and guile, it was said, would make a Neimoidian envious. Combining all that with a laser-keen intellect made Xizor a formidable foe indeed.

Which is why the Underlord had sent Kaird to kill him.

It was a simple and direct plan, and that was what made it likely to work: Xizor’s brain, accustomed to constructing elaborate traps spun of fugues, misdirections, and half-truths, might not see that which was right in front of him, until it was too late. At least, that was what both Perhi and Kaird hoped.

Since the sanction could not be carried out in Midnight Hall, for obvious reasons, an excuse had to be found for Prince Xizor to leave the skyhook and return to Coruscant. Perhi had come up with an excellent ruse. A series of intercepted communiqués between Imperial functionaries had spoken of a droid carrying data valuable to the nascent rebellion brewing on the streets