Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [69]
There was no doubt that Xizor was a formidable opponent. Kaird knew he’d be a fool to try to take him on physically, one-on-one. Fortunately, as an assassin, he had a variety of alternatives. He could easily pick the Falleen off right now, put a load of toxin so virulent in him that he’d literally be dead before he hit the grimy duracrete. But it wasn’t going to be that simple. Just as Kaird had access to state-of-the-art weaponry, his opponent had, he knew, a full slate of sophisticated defenses. He might be wearing a location confounder, a combination of holoproj and cloaking technology capable of making observers think he was a step or two ahead or behind, leading them to shoot at a target that wasn’t there. Or a bounceback, a tightband feedback reflector that would reverb an energy beam back to the attacker, with less-than-salutary results. Or any of a hundred and one other protective devices.
And anyway, killing him in public—even this public—would be too noticeable. Kaird had been in various dives on various worlds where the killing of a sentient in full view of others barely merited the raising of an eyebrow or the twitch of an antenna. But even if few people down here knew who Prince Xizor of House Sizhran was, anyone with half an eyestalk could see this fellow was someone important.
Besides, the possibility still existed that Xizor would find the missing droid for him. Kaird intended to finish his assignment, oh yes. Prince Xizor would not return to Midnight Hall, and if Kaird could bring back a bit of extra favor to Underlord Perhi to speed his own departure, so much the better …
Rhinann sat in meditation posture in his conapt, seeking inner peace.
Or perhaps that was too optimistic a goal; he knew he’d be lucky to achieve a temporary surcease from inner terror at the moment. He’d be happy just to avoid swooning in fear.
He expanded his tracheal network, sensing the air filling him and diffusing through him. Then he compressed the tubes, expelling it. A slow cycle of aspiration and expiration. Most oxygen breathers were able to stabilize their internal mechanisms this way, regulate their moods. It didn’t seem to be working all that well for Rhinann, however.
The source of his fear was as simple as it was effective. He feared his employer. Never mind that Lord Vader had never actually caused him any physical harm, and had given him work and an ordered life, instead of one of hardship and chaos and drudgery. The Sith Lord didn’t have to physically abuse him to instigate fear. He didn’t even have to threaten. All he had to do was be.
Ironic, that. The inner peace and stability that Rhinann so desperately craved, Vader seemed to have achieved, after a fashion. He was supremely confident in his power, serene in his worldview. Yes, he was also unspeakably evil, but one thing Rhinann had learned, in dealing with a wide variety of life-forms over the years, was that very few sentients thought of themselves as evil. He also knew this was because most of them were masters of denial and rationalization, but that was beside the point. Vader truly believed his cause to be the right one, his mission most holy.
And he would let nothing stand in the way of its fulfillment.
This last fact was what caused Rhinann such nervousness and concern that he periodically broke out in full-body rashes of pruritic papules. The itching was so bad sometimes that, even after medicating himself, he still had to set the ultrasonic shower on max and sleep in there all night just to gain temporary surcease. The refresher was far too small for anything approaching comfort, but often he had no choice.
It was the human, Rostu, who had been the stick that broke the bantha’s back. After Rhinann had sent him on his way in the freighter, the Elomin had had time to speculate on whatever Vader had done to him to cause such a state of fear and despair in a hardened guerrilla