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Taken aback, Dejah had to think a moment. “Well, for one thing, she wasn’t even that interested in Ves’s work. The Baron was the real aficionado. I mean, she certainly admired it—how could anyone not? She shared the Baron’s respect for it, if not his passion.”

“That doesn’t persuade me that my observation constitutes an absurdity.” The droid turned to Jax. “Surely everyone who had contact with the dead artist is a reasonable suspect.”

“Even me?” Dejah challenged him.

“Even you, although you’ve been ruled out due to physical inability.”

“Physical inability? You ambulatory circuit board, I’ll show you—”

“All right, you two.” Jax spoke sternly to the droid. “Dejah’s not a suspect, I-Five. If she had anything to do with her partner’s death, I would have sensed it.”

The droid made a sniffing sound. “That, at least, I can appreciate.” He looked at the still-angry Zeltron. “You see? I always respond to rational conclusions.” To Jax he continued: “My question remains—what about the Baroness?”

Jax shrugged. “I suppose I should have probed her, just to fulfill the formalities. Still, I think Dejah is right. The Baroness was a friend to them even if she didn’t entirely share her husband’s boundless enthusiasm for Volette’s work.”

“And please keep in mind,” Dejah said with asperity, “that I have empathic abilities of my own—which rang no alarms.”

“In any event,” Jax said, “I suspect Pol Haus and his people will perform their own thorough checks on the both of them.”

I-Five still wasn’t satisfied. “I doubt that the prefect’s forensics team will include an investigator versed in the ways of the Force.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Dejah’s convertible. As they slipped into the traffic stream, Jax chewed his lower lip. He waited for her to slide in beside a transport that was as ugly as it was functional. Within less than a minute they were accelerating on automatic. Then the Zeltron looked at him. “What now?”

“I suppose you have a list of the rest of Ves’s buyers and of any nonprofessional social contacts?”

She nodded. “Whoever killed him left the studio intact. I haven’t made a detailed check of it yet.” Her gaze turned forward, to take in the massive flow of traffic between the towering buildings. “If nothing’s been disturbed, then all that information will still be there. After I drop you and I-Five off, I’ll collect it.”

“Good. We’ll make a list and start following up.”

“What will we be looking for?” she asked.

“Any close acquaintance who’s gone missing, or simply moved away. Anyone who tried to buy one or more of Ves’s works just before he died. And especially anyone who might have reason to hold a grudge against him. Political, professional, you never know in situations like this. A sale that was withdrawn. A negotiation for a particular piece that fell through. Something as seemingly insignificant as a perceived insult delivered at a meeting.” He glanced over at her. “We’ll be relying on you to recall any such incidents.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

The aircar accelerated as the Zeltron pulled it out of line and headed downward in the direction of Poloda Place.

twelve

Aurra Sing entered the chamber of her new employer. The two Red Guards escorting her stopped at the entrance. The door hissed shut behind her, and she was alone with Darth Vader.

She stood, taking in her surroundings but not letting herself be absorbed by them. The room was dimly lit by human standards, but the low-level lighting posed no obstacle to her vision. She could clearly see the dimensions of the small chamber, could see there was no furniture save for a single formfit chair and desk. One of the walls was inset with graphic readout screens, serial port plugs, and other devices she didn’t immediately recognize.

Vader stood at the room’s far end, the stentorian sound of his breathing, regular and even, filling the air. The insectile orbs that covered his eyes—if indeed he had eyes—were turned toward her, but with Vader, one could never tell what he was looking at. His vision seemed