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“A fragment of a sector police communiqué, dated, as closely as I can determine, approximately eighteen years ago, from the time of the Naboo trade embargo, mentions the death of a Hutt nightclub owner and local racketeer, along with several of his minions, at the hands of a Zabrak assassin. The killer’s targets were apparently a human male, most likely of Corellian or Alderaanian origin, and a protocol droid.”

“I-Five and my father,” Jax murmured.

“Almost certainly,” Rhinann agreed. “They escaped, and were pursued by the Zabrak.”

“That correlates with what I-Five told me. The thing he refuses to specify is the assassin’s identity.”

“If my suspicions are correct,” the Elomin said, “he had a good reason for not doing so.” He paused.

“Tell me,” Jax said. He felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rising in anticipation.

Rhinann said, “The weapon used by the Zabrak was a double-bladed lightsaber. A red lightsaber.”

Jax stared at him. “A Sith?”

The Elomin regarded him impassively. “You tell me.”

“But—” Jax felt his mind whirling. According to Temple lore, a Sith Lord’s lightsaber was always red, constructed by following an ancient, secret formula. It had been thus ever since Darth Bane had instituted the Rule of Two, more than a thousand years ago. In addition, the Jedi had traditionally eschewed the use of double-bladed lightsabers. The style and color of the Zabrak’s weapon, therefore, all but guaranteed his identity to be that of a Sith.

His father had been killed by a Sith. And I-Five had known this.

twenty

When they returned to Poloda Place, Den immediately noticed that I-Five was still jacked into the HoloNet. Plugged in, jacked in, turned on, wired up: however an organic chose to describe the condition, it was the mechmind state of oneness with other artificial intelligences. Den knew that, while in that state, the droid could exchange information instantly, without having to first translate it to Basic and then back again. He could receive replies at the same speed, instead of waiting for the cybernetic equivalent of hours for an organic to finish a couple of sentences.

It did no good, the droid had told him more than once, to try to explain such things to organics. Even those with whom he had surrounded himself, who were smarter and more empathic than most, could at best only nod courteously and declare their understanding—when in reality it was plain they understood nothing, and that their comprehension was irredeemably restricted by the limitations imposed on their thought processes by the very nature of their protein-based synaptic connections. He gave them credit for trying, though—especially Den, who, like most of his kind, was sharp of mind as well as tongue.

Jax immediately met with Rhinann, and the two of them disappeared into an antechamber to talk. A few moments later Jax reentered the room, his expression grim. He crossed to the wall where the droid was jacked into the interface. “I-Five,” he said tightly, “we need to talk.”

Something in his tone made Den take notice. It also got through to I-Five. The droid removed his digit from the interface socket and turned to face Jax.

The Jedi glanced at Laranth and Den. “Can we have the room, please?”

Laranth nodded and left. On the way out she grabbed Den by the shoulder. “Come on,” she said. Den thought briefly about resisting, but only briefly; the Twi’lek was much stronger than he was.

“No fair,” he protested feebly. “If this is about the case, shouldn’t we be there, too?”

“It’s not about the case,” Laranth said.

“How can you know?”

“You’re a reporter,” she said. “How can you not?”

I-Five said mildly, “How may I help you, Jax?”

Jax repressed an urge to grab and shake the droid, knowing that it would do no good. “The man who killed my father was a Sith. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would it have done?”

“What harm would it have done? As a Jedi in particular, I had a right to know.”

“And now that you know,” the droid said with maddening