Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [95]
I-Five answered. “While Jax and Den were questioning Spa Fon—” Haus coughed discreetly, to which Den offered a sickly smile. “—I was engaged in a cyberspatial data search.” He looked at Jax. “If you will recall, I was still in the same mode when you returned. I was studying the details of the murder. In the course of my investigation I made good use of access to certain records of the sector police.”
Den gawked at his companion, then looked at Haus. “And you thought what I did was illegal.”
“When I was at the crime scene,” Jax continued, “I noticed that many of the forensics droids were DN-Seven-Two-Fours, which I-Five’s research indicated are quite similar to your design.” He looked at the protocol droid, which stared calmly back. “They had a tendency to shuffle across the plush carpeting, leaving distinctive tracks—the same sort of tracks you leave in this carpet. That was what first aroused my suspicions. Further investigation by I-Five revealed that your model had a data spike perfectly suited for inflicting the wound that killed Volette.” He didn’t mention the biggest clue of all, which was, ironically, the lack of a clue. His inability to sense the guilty party, put together with his negative readings of the Umbers, pointed straight at their droid. Mechanicals were notoriously hard to read through the Force. He couldn’t tell Haus this, of course.
The Baron started to speak. “If it was our droid, then a reprogramming should suffice to—”
The droid, astoundingly, cut his owner off. “Such an action would bring shame to the family. I am prepared to execute the appropriate resolution. It is only rational.” The gleaming lenses dimmed visibly. A few flickers of light sparked from the base of the droid’s skull. As the smell of ozone began to contaminate the room and the last of the sparks flared out, I-Five walked between the organics, stopping when he was within arm’s reach of the motionless silver mechanical. As the others looked on, he extended his left hand. From the next to last digit a small probe telescoped, which I-Five inserted into a receptacle in the side of the other droid. A moment later it withdrew and retracted back into his finger. I-Five turned to the watching organics.
“Wiped. The neural net was fried. Not restorable by any specialist, no matter how talented.” He tapped the side of the protocol droid. “Probably worth something as scrap.”
Jax, who was watching Dejah, saw a single tear roll down her cheek.
“Well, that’s just great,” Pol Haus said. “What am I supposed to tell the upper crust, who’ve been clamoring for some closure regarding their favorite artist? That a droid killed him? Oh yeah, that’ll go down well.”
“If I might make a suggestion,” Dejah said, “surely there is no dearth of criminals on the streets who have gone free for want of evidence. I would think that this crime could be adjusted to fit one of them.” She noticed the others looking at her in surprise, and shrugged. “As Prefect Haus has pointed out, there is no sense of justice to Ves’s death as it stands. If some good can come out of it, maybe that will help.”
Haus ruminated for a moment, then turned to his droid assistant. “Round up the usual species,” he told it. “Maybe we can get something good out of this, after all.”
Kirma Umber stared at the permanently frozen mechanical, then met her husband’s gaze. The Baron smiled reassuringly at his mate. “We’ll get another one. It was only a device, and it was getting old.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It was only a device.” A tear coursed down her cheek. “But loyal.”
twenty-seven
The jet-black aircar had no driver; only its singular passenger. Typho watched from his concealment. Apparently Vader had acceded to his conditions. Well and good. The armored, automated vehicle arrived on exactly the indicated level and stopped at