Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [95]
Catalog Nineteen was a heterogeneous listing of various esoteric items that had come into the Empire’s possession after the Clone Wars. In the cabinets, Rhinann knew, were bits of esoterica like Tatooine flamegems, a sphere of pure orichalc, a container of extremely rare solarbenite, and many other things.
A holodisplay of several different data storage cubes appeared in midair. He asked for the most ancient, and all faded out but one. Beneath that one the catalog code blinked: SD41263.1: ANTIQUE HOLOCRON. He’d only given the inventory a cursory inspection once, months previously. He opened the cabinet that corresponded with the listing, pulling one of the trays out. And there, safely nestled in a molded cup of plastifoam, between a Nikto totem icon and a Geonosian geode, was a cube, about four centimeters on a side, with rounded corners. It glowed a dull red. Illuminated on the cube’s surfaces by the roseate glow from within were ancient cuneiform markings—markings that Rhinann recognized immediately from his studies as the Sith language.
Gingerly, the Elomin picked it up, gripping it between thumb and middle finger, and held it up to look at it. All he had to do was replace it with another item, change the manifest accordingly, and it would be as if the holocron had never existed. Rhinann slipped the priceless artifact into his waistcoat, closed the cabinet, and returned it to its niche. He ordered the manifest display off. Then, before his nerve could fail him, he left the storeroom and strode, stiff-legged, back toward his conapt.
Before he got there, his comlink chimed. He activated it with a feeling of dread.
Lord Vader’s voice said, “Come, Rhinann. We have a journey to take.”
thirty-eight
After Laranth voiced the words they were all thinking, there was silence for a long moment. It was broken by Den, who said, “Can we leave now?”
Jax Pavan shook his head stubbornly. “I have to complete Master Piell’s—”
“Last mission, we know.” Den raised his arms in a gesture of mingled disgust and exasperation. “You, my friend, are one crazy Jedi. Not to mention suicidal. I’m just a reporter, but I’m thinking everybody in the immediate vicinity would be a whole lot better off if someone took away your lightsaber, and anything else that’s sharp and pointy while they’re at—”
“Enough, Den.”
Den stopped in astonishment. Because it wasn’t Laranth or Pavan who had spoken. It was I-Five.
He’d just been admonished. By his friend, who had never, as far as Den could remember, raised his voice in anger to anyone before, not even to large, unfriendly life-forms bent on doing the two of them serious harm. Certainly not in Den’s presence, anyway, and most certainly not to Den. He felt a cascade of emotions: hurt, embarrassment, and—he had to admit it—anger.
Anger and indignation at being censured, by a droid.
Hot blood flushed through his face, out to the ridges of his ears. He stared at I-Five, who had turned back to Pavan.
“In that case,” he said, “we’d best get to it. If there are such things as feral droids—and there does seem to be evidence to support it,” he added, looking at the electronic carnage strewn about, “this looks like a place they might return to.”
Pavan nodded. “I-Five, you and Laranth at the rear, while Nick and I—” He looked about, puzzled. “Where is Nick?”
Everyone glanced around. I-Five turned up his photoreceptors to maximum brightness, probing the shadows. Nick Rostu was nowhere to be seen.
“Something got him,” Den said.
Laranth and Pavan both shook their heads. “No,” the latter said. “Laranth or I would have felt it.”
“Jax is right,” Laranth said. “He left of his own free will.”
“Yeah? To go where?” Den shivered and, despite his ambivalence, stepped closer to I-Five.
“Good question,” Laranth said. “To go where—and do what?”
“Doesn’t matter what he’s planning,” Den said. “He’s going to wind up on the menu for the locals—if he hasn’t already.”
“He hasn’t—yet. So let’s find him before