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Kaird stumbled back in horror. He stared at Xizor. “It—it was—some kind of droid?”

“A human replica droid,” Xizor said. He seemed composed and unaffected by the horror they had both just witnessed. “The first real advancement in droid manufacturing in a dozen centuries. Cloned organic tissue melded with a cybernetic core and durasteel endoskeleton.”

Kaird shook his head, perplexed. “I don’t understand. Why manufacture a—a droid clone? Why not just use Kaminoan biotechnology to create a real one?”

“Because it takes a minimum of ten years to force-grow a blastocyst into a functioning individual. A replica droid can be produced much more cheaply, and in less than three standard months. And individual programming is easier, quicker to accomplish, and more comprehensive, in an artificial neural net.”

Kaird’s mind was whirling. “You’re telling me you’ve underwritten a project halfway around the planet, in one of the most dangerous areas of Coruscant, to replace the Underlord with some kind of half droid, half clone? I thought you—” He stopped, but he could see that Xizor knew where his thought had been going.

The Falleen said, “You—and Perhi also, unless I’m very much mistaken—thought my goal was to gain the position of Underlord for myself. And you’re right. That is my plan—but Black Sun isn’t a clutch of Trandoshans, moving up the ranks by violence alone. I can’t just walk into his chambers and blow him away. Some subtlety is called for.”

Kaird glanced at the foul puddle at their feet. “This doesn’t strike me as terribly subtle.”

Xizor sighed. “It does appear that there is still trouble with the technology. These random fluctuations in temperature presage a deep-rooted problem. The droid brain seems to somehow become contaminated with the clone’s genome. A strange hybrid virus develops—partly RNA from the cloned tissue, partly hardwired memetic algorithm from the substratum operating system. The droid is caught between two modalities of being; the sensorium circuitry overloads, and—” He shrugged. “You see the result.”

“So why show me this?”

“Two reasons,” the Prince said. “First, I was curious to see if the HRD was believable enough to fool someone who’s familiar with the Underlord.” Xizor stepped before the Nediji and smiled, most unpleasantly. “Second, I decided that, since a trained assassin has fallen into my hands, it would be foolish and wasteful not to use you. My scientists are second in technique only to the Emperor’s in brainwashing. Simply killing Dal Perhi will not be nearly as effective, long-range, as replacing him with a puppet would be—but it’ll be better than nothing. Especially since the evidence will establish that you acted on your own out of a desire to succeed him.” He glanced at Bug-Eyes, as if making sure that the droid was still in deactivation mode. “I shall return to Midnight Hall in triumph, having found the droid carrying the precious data. You, on the other hand, will have failed, and your shame will drive you to a suicidal attack on the Underlord.”

Kaird was thinking furiously, his mind questing this way and that for a way out. It didn’t look good.

“Objections? No? Good.” Xizor glanced at his wrist chrono, then at the deactivated droid. “I think we’ve chatted long enough, don’t you?” He slipped the gag back over Kaird’s mouth. A moment later, Kaird heard the almost subliminal sound of the droid powering back up.

Xizor gestured with his blaster. “Let’s go meet my people. They’re going to give you a new reason to live—and to die.”

Rhinann left his conapt. He walked a short distance down the hall and summoned a turbolift. He dropped down seventy-three stories, walked perhaps a quarter kilometer down another corridor, turned right, and stopped before the fifth door on the left.

The entire trip had taken eight minutes and three seconds. It comforted him to be able to keep track of such things.

Inside, the room was lined with cabinets; it was basically an all-purpose chamber, the latest function of which was as a