Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [33]
And now here she was, rooting around in the ruins of the Jedi Temple even as he was, looking for—what?
He decided that unless there was evidence to the contrary, the notorious Aurra Sing’s preoccupations were none of his business. He was not on Imperial Center in any official capacity, far less that of a military officer. He had come here on a purely personal matter. To assume that the doings of the outlaw Sing had anything to do with his work was too fantastic to contemplate. Best, then, that he simply slip away, unnoticed, into the night to resume his own quest, and leave the fabled and feared bounty hunter to hers.
There was a problem with doing that, however. The floor all about him and Sing was littered with the debris and impedimenta of the library that before the Jedi Purge had been arranged in a neat and orderly fashion. It was impossible to make the slightest move without disturbing this technological regolith. Typho had no doubt that any resulting noise would immediately alert Sing to his presence. He had been exceptionally fortunate to have heard her before she had taken notice of him.
Given their mutual isolation and unpopulated nocturnal surroundings, he doubted she was likely to stop and listen to an explanation of his presence, however brief he might try to make it. Based on her reputation, she was far more likely to shoot first and ask questions later.
Typho was by no means a coward, but one did not pursue a successful military career without learning caution. It would serve no useful purpose to engage the bounty hunter in combat, and could very well prove catastrophic. Glancing warily about while keeping Sing in view, he noticed another datastick located at eye level on a shelf opposite. Careful not to make the slightest noise as he moved, he reached for it. Hefting it firmly, he prepared to toss it far across the open floor, hoping that the flash and bang it would make on impact would give him time to …
She moved almost too fast for him to see; in an instant her lightsaber was activated. Part of him noted almost academically that the ignited shaft was almost the same color as her hair and jumpsuit. He had ample opportunity to appraise its exact hue because the incandescent tip now hovered entirely too close to his throat as it backed him up against the shelves behind him.
Typho realized he had made a foolish and possibly fatal mistake. He had neglected to take into account Sing’s storied connection with the Force. Unrefined and untrained though it might be, it had obviously been strong enough to alert her to his presence.
“Who are you?” Her voice was as cold and hard as the alabaster her skin resembled. The lightsaber that threatened his throat was as steady as if held by a droid. “More importantly,” she continued, “who sent you?”
“No one sent me.” Typho did his best to stay calm. His tone was as unthreatening as possible. “I am Captain Typho of Naboo, formerly of the Senate Security Council. I am here on my own. No agency or individual has sanctioned my undertaking.”
Sing’s eyes were red with the light of the shifting, scarlet shaft, as if they could suck up its energy through the sheer force of will that was contained behind them. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Typho realized that he had only moments left in which to save himself. If the gleam that danced in the bounty hunter’s eyes wasn’t madness, it was still borderline homicidal. This was not someone who would choose to engage in extended conversation