Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights III_ Patterns of Force - Michael Reaves [55]
The secret was a series of secondary tunnels and access tubes that had lain in long disuse and whose very existence had been erased from the engineering records of the world-city. A late high-level Whiplash operative had made certain of that erasure and paid for it with his life. Since the Imperial Security Bureau thought he had been after something else altogether—as had been his intention—they simply assumed they had stopped the assassin and saboteur before he could perform whatever dastardly act he had been contemplating and used his demise as a PR coup: Pity Emperor Palpatine—these black-hearted so-and-sos just kept coming after him like madmen. Would they never learn?
“Travel plans for our Togrutan client?” Den asked.
“Yes. Orto is lovely this time of year.”
Den glanced sideways at the droid. “Some part of Orto is lovely at any time of year.”
I-Five gave an irritated click. “Don’t be dense.”
“I’m not. It’s just that that sort of inaccuracy sounds really strange coming from you. Why Orto?”
“The music. Our friend feels that the fact of the Ortolans’ seemingly universal talent for producing highly affective music would be of great benefit for the young lady in question.”
Den thought of Kajin Savaros and felt a little bird of guilt with tiny, sharp talons roost in his conscience. He said, “Look, there’s something I need to ask you about.”
“Tuden Sal.” The droid looked down at the Sullustan. “I know how you feel about this … enterprise. But think about the payoff if I were to succeed.”
“Fine, if you’ll think about the payoff if you don’t. And think about why you want to do it.”
“I should think that was perfectly clear.”
“It’s not. Not considering the risks.”
“Why do you think I want to do it?”
“Vengeance?”
That stopped the droid in his tracks, Den was pleased to note. His optics glowed bright with surprise.
“No.”
That was it. Just no. The droid turned on his heel and continued walking.
Den trotted to catch up. “That sounded an awful lot like denial.”
“It was the truth.”
“Are you sure?”
I-Five kept walking; Den had to stretch his legs to keep up.
“Whatever else you may think me capable of,” the droid said, “I am not given to lying. Who put that idea into your head?”
“What—now I’m not capable of acquiring ideas to put in my own head?”
I-Five mimicked the sound of a supercilious sniff.
“Okay, it was Dejah … via Rhinann, or so I gather,” Den said.
I-Five slowed his pace. “That’s interesting. So they think I’m plotting vengeance on … this person … because he murdered my partner—my friend?”
“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”
“And it hasn’t occurred to them that while the work we’re engaged in now is annoying and costly to the person in question, this new plan will cut right to the heart of the situation and remove him completely?”
“It’s occurred to them. But I guess the question is: why do you in particular have to do this?”
“I stand the greatest chance of success simply because of who and what I am.”
“Really? I’m thinking they’re thinking that maybe Jax has the best chance of success because of who and what he is, and because of that extra little something he has. Which has the potential of becoming a much bigger something extra, thanks to you.”
The droid stopped to stare—there was no other word for it. “What are you talking about?”
“That vegetable juice cocktail of yours.”
“What have they said about it?”
“Not so much said as asked.” Den glanced about, then took a step closer to the droid. “They were interested in where it’s gone, and seem to have come to the conclusion that you’ve given it to me.”
“Did they say why they were interested in it?”
“I think it basically came down to a fear that when the sky fell, Jax wouldn’t have it at his disposal.”
“They think I would prevent him