Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [104]
Jax left the room and wandered for a while, trying to cope with the change in personnel. He felt like a fool—but how was he to have known? His life inside the Temple had afforded him little opportunity to investigate the fairer sex and, while his life outside had offered opportunities aplenty, the class of beings he now ran with either weren’t interested or used sex the same way they used everything else: as a bargaining chip, or a weapon.
He’d looked upon Laranth Tarak as a comrade in arms, but not in every possible sense of the phrase. Jax abruptly understood the Twi’lek’s increasing moodiness and antipathy toward Dejah Duare. There was no way she could compete with the other woman; even without her extensive psychochemical arsenal, the Zeltron was a formidable opponent. She had money, beauty, and a fashion sense that made the top clothiers on the planet lick their chops like starving nexus. Compared with Dejah, Laranth was outclassed on every level.
All she could do was fight. All she had to offer was a heroic heart. All she gave was—everything.
“Something troubling you, Jax?” I-Five’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“He means,” Den’s voice piped in, “that you look spacier than usual.”
Jax blinked. He was down in the waiting area, which at the moment was giving half a dozen or so humans and humanoids places to wait—either for treatment or for news of others in worse shape than they. Den had gotten off with merely a long gash on his right ear, and the droid had sustained no damage at all.
Jax said, “I just saw Dejah and Laranth. They—”
“We heard the startling news from Dejah,” I-Five said. “How is Laranth?”
“Alive and getting well,” said Jax. “That’s the good news.”
As he continued to tell them of Laranth’s decision, a realization struck him with such force that he stopped midsentence and laughed.
“Something funny that we’re missing?” Den wanted to know.
“You might say that,” Jax said. He composed himself, then said in sonorous tones, “Prioritize discreet vigilance anent fugitive recovery operation.”
“That sounds familiar,” Den mused. “Hey, wait a minute—that’s the last thing the Cephalon told us.”
“Exactly,” Jax said. He shook his head. “It was trying to warn us about the bounty hunter. About Aurra Sing. We just figured it out a little after the fact.” He laughed again.
“I thought this was supposed to be a grim and cheerless job,” said a feminine voice from behind them. They turned as one to see Dejah Duare descending a nearby lift tube. She landed and walked toward them. She was wearing a dress that had something in common with the cloud dress of last night, only this one was in more of a liquid state. It was blue, and little wavelets began at her right shoulder and rippled across its length, to stop at her left hip and immediately begin again.
“Instead,” Dejah continued, “I hear laughter. I see smiles. I must admit that, as a Zeltron, this gladdens me.” She stoppd near the Jedi and smiled.
“Nice dress,” he said.
“It’s part of a set. Wait’ll you see the final one—it’s made of fire.”
He grinned. He wasn’t sure if her pheromones were working on him right now, and didn’t really care. All he knew or cared to know was that he felt great. True, there were still problems to solve. There was the ongoing mystery of Vader’s pursuit of him, and what actions he would take to avenge the murder of his father by the Sith. Also, he had not forgotten that realization, borne through the Force, that Anakin Skywalker was still alive. If so, it meant that he would have to find the young Jedi someday and return to him the pyronium nugget. And he had to decide what action to take regarding the bota distillate. All these decisions would have to be made—in time.
For now, however, it was enough