Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [32]
He was standing in what had once been a long curving corridor lined with different forms of information storage: datasticks, memory chips, holoproj activators, and even a few ancient records created by layering dark images on dried plant pulp. He was holding a datastick in his hand. Its contents had been scrambled so that anyone attempting to read the contents would find themselves presented with gibberish.
Angry, he hurled it to the tessellated floor. It shattered with a flash of light as the residual electron storage lattice disintegrated, sounding in the stillness like a glass globe being crunched underfoot.
Pointless. Hopeless. He could easily spend a year or more searching the remnants of this one ruined library. It would take him the rest of his life to investigate the cubic kilometer of buildings, streets, stores, and various other institutions that surrounded him and had been associated with the Order. Was it really worth it?
Unbidden, the image of Padmé’s face rose before him. Soft, sensual, intelligent, and caring.
Yes, he told himself. Yes, it was worth it. He was prepared to sacrifice his life. He could certainly sacrifice his time.
He knew what his next step had to be, the next question that had to be answered. Had Anakin Skywalker, who had been the last person to see Padmé alive and thus topped his suspect list, really died on Mustafar? Or had he somehow escaped?
He was uncertain where to go to find the answer. But it was clear now that it was unlikely to be here. He turned to go—and froze as his ears registered a sound.
The interminable cityscape was rarely silent, even in these huge and deserted ruins. There was the Dopplering buzz of the traffic, both above and below, the distant whine of repulsors lifting larger vessels into orbit from the nearby spaceport, and the thousands of small seismic creaks and groans of contraction and settling as the huge structures all about him reluctantly gave up the day’s heat. These were noises so omnipresent that they had long ago faded into the background. They were the soundscape of the city-planet.
But this was different. It was the stealthy crunch of footsteps upon the debris that coated the floor. A sound that instantly alerted the soldier within Typho. Before he knew it his blaster was in his hand and he was pressing his back against the end of a storage bin.
He didn’t have to wait long. From around one of the huge shattered columns appeared a female humanoid of most striking appearance. Her skin was as white as alabaster. It gleamed coldly in the starlight that poured down through the shattered ceiling. She was bald save for a hank of dark red hair that rose from the top of her head like a magmatic eruption. The tight-fitting jumpsuit she wore was tinted a similar shade. He was able to make out the stub of some kind of biocomputer device protruding from her skull as well.
Even in the dim light Typho could see that she was heavily armed. A long-bore slugthrower was sheathed across her back, and twin holstered blasters rode low on her hips. But it was the weapon she held in her right hand that he found most intriguing. Unless he was greatly mistaken, it was the dormant hilt of a lightsaber.
It took a moment longer for him to realize who she was. He blinked in silent surprise. He had pegged her occupation almost immediately; few save bounty hunters went about in public so well protected. Some had acquired reputations that extended beyond their immediate and specialized field of work, and were recognizable on multiple worlds. Certainly none was better known than the woman he was now staring at: the mysterious Nar Shaddaan called Aurra Sing.
As a military professional it was part of Typho’s job to familiarize himself with the most dangerous outlaws and renegades, on the off-chance that he might one day be required