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He pointed at one of the dark doorways. I-Five turned toward it, his photoreceptors at maximum. Even so, they illuminated the darkness only a short way.

Laranth gestured to Den. “I’ll bring up the rear. You’re safer in the middle.”

It’s nice to know someone cares, Den thought as he fell in behind Pavan and I-Five.

The downside to a self-aware droid, Den was coming to realize, was that self-awareness presupposed—demanded—flaws of which one must be aware. There was no need for a perfect being to know itself. Only in imperfection was there room to grow.

People make mistakes. I-Five makes mistakes. Therefore …

Den snorted. Syllogisms.

Kaird was thinking fast and hard. It was a prickly nest he’d dropped into, there was no denying it. The Falleen had a blaster trained on him. In and of itself, this wasn’t a cause for worry—except for these blasted energy cuffs. In the past, Kaird had found ways to get the drop on opponents just as wary and skilled as Xizor. But there was zero chance of that with his wrists bound, especially since the droid had to be taken into account as well. Kaird didn’t know how much control that cryptic phrase gave Xizor over 10-4TO, but he wasn’t anxious to find out. He would have to wait until his hands were freed, and hope that it wasn’t too late by then to do something.

Xizor kept them moving at a steady clip. Before long they rounded a corner and faced a set of double doors. Xizor raised a hand before an ID panel. The doors opened, revealing the interior. Xizor drew back, his skin flushing a deep orange of shock and rage.

The large laboratory within was a shambles. Equipment—electronic, medical, and chemical—had been destroyed with savage abandon and strewn about the chamber. Kaird saw broken beakers and test tubes, shattered bacta tanks, overturned diagnosters, and other destruction everywhere he looked.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. There had been organic destruction as well. Xizor’s team of doctors and scientists had been given the same treatment. The walls had been painted with the blood of various species, including the red of human hemoglobin and the blue-green of Aqualish hemocyanin. Kaird looked down at the mostly intact head of a Drall. Its furry face bore a look of horror.

It was fairly obvious that there would be no brainwashing done today—unless the term included cleaning splattered gray matter off the walls and floor.

Xizor was clearly furious. “The droids,” Kaird heard him mutter. “The blasted feral droids. The Salissians told me they’d all been—”

“Someone’s coming,” 10-4TO said.

Xizor tensed slightly and dropped his hand to his holstered blaster.

Footsteps became audible, coming closer. A moment later a male human came into view around a corner. Kaird appraised him: lean, dressed like a spacer, but with the unmistakable aura of the military. He stopped when he saw them, and, after a moment of surprise, smiled pleasantly, as if they’d all run into one another on a leisurely stroll.

“Well,” he said. “Prince Xizor.” He glanced at the droid. “And the famous 10-4TO, aka Bug-Eyes. My, my, my … what are the odds?”

Rhinann hoped he didn’t appear as frightened as he felt.

And who, really, could blame him if he did? Summoned by Vader with virtually no notice, to accompany the Sith Lord on a mysterious journey halfway around the planet, to a shunned and legendary area … could it be any more ominous? And his nerves weren’t helped any by the fact that a small cohort of troops was accompanying them. Although, considering everything he’d heard about the Factory District, it was no doubt better to have them along. Rhinann had no problem with that; he had a problem with him going along. Just because he enjoyed stories of derring-do and high adventure didn’t mean he had any desire whatsoever to participate in them. He was strictly the vicarious sort when it came to such things.

And yet here he was, standing on the bridge of Lord Vader’s transport, watching the planet fall away beneath his feet. Vader had