Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [61]
Rhinann took Nick Rostu down to the hangar bay. Rostu was conscious, but silent, staring into the distance. Rhinann had become somewhat familiar with human facial expressions and body language, and he could tell that Rostu had seen or heard something that had nearly stunned him into a vegetative state. Rhinann shuddered, trying not to think about what horrors Vader had imparted to the human. Whatever they had been, they had left him in such shock that the forcecuffs he was wearing seemed almost superfluous.
Even as this observation went through the Elomin’s mind, Rostu stumbled to his knees on the plum-colored carpeting. Rhinann hesitated, then reached out hesitantly and helped him to his feet. He was careful to touch only Rostu’s shoulders and upper arms, where the skin was covered by his shirt. Even so, Rhinann’s own skin crawled at having to come into actual physical contact with a human.
“This way, Major,” he said. “Time to go.”
Rostu said nothing. He turned obediently and began walking again. Rhinann followed.
Humans, he thought, bitterly. Nearly everything in the galaxy—every piece of furniture, every mode of transportation, every tool, every weapon, even every blasted kitchen appliance—was, unless made or built for a specific species, human-oriented. If you were a methane-breathing native of Helix IX and you ordered a custom star cruiser, you had to make sure that it cycled the right mixture of gases to keep you alive. Or if you traveled on a multispecies transport of almost any sort, unless you specified otherwise, the gravity was always one Coruscant gee, the lighting was always in the narrow range between three hundred and seven hundred nanometers, and the temperature always around twenty-five degrees. It was the default, the norm, the oh-so-common denominator, and woe betide you if you inveighed even the slightest bit against the status quo.
Humans. They dominated culture, trade, government, the military—everything, in short. Love them or hate them, you couldn’t ignore them. For better or worse, humans were the architects of the galaxy’s future. It was only such a benighted, aggressive, and hubristic species, it seemed to Rhinann, that could have created a monster like Darth Vader.
They had come to the turbolift station. Several other palace functionaries of various species were waiting for the lift. They all stepped back a bit as Rhinann and his prisoner came up.
The lift opened, and Rhinann, still half guiding Rostu, stepped in. He moved to the rear and looked back. None of the others had boarded the lift, even though there was plenty of room. After a moment, an Ishi Tib said, “It’s okay. We’ll take the next one.”
The turbolift doors closed. Rhinann sighed noisily through his tusks.
Humans.
twenty-three
Jax wasn’t sure what the droid was trying to tell him at first. He wondered if perhaps he’d merely misunderstood it, or if some glitch in its processor had substituted the word father for host. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Laranth’s surprised face. He hadn’t misunderstood it, then.
“What?” he asked.
The droid—what was its designation, I-Five?—seemed agitated. Jax had no idea how he was getting this impression, since the droid’s chassis was as immobile as its face. “I have been searching for you for quite some time,” it said in that same low tone. “Your father, Lorn Pavan, was my friend. He—”
Friend? This was getting far too surreal for Jax to handle, at least right now. “Whatever,” he said, pushing past I-Five and leaving the chamber. “I don’t have time for this.” He heard the droid give an upset gasp, then an exasperated sigh, behind him as he continued down the—
Wait a minute.
Droids didn’t gasp.