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Lorn saw no reason to elaborate on his own personal distaste for the Jedi to Yanth. “They claim to have very little discretionary funds for this sort of thing,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past them to use their mind tricks to force me into handing it over for free.” He glanced surreptitiously at his chrono and said, “So, are you interested or not? I can always take it directly to the Naboo representative here on Coruscant.”

Yanth waved a pudgy hand in a placating gesture. “Patience, my friend. Yes, I am interested. But—and please don’t take this as a reflection on you—I would be a fool not to test its authenticity before handing you a stack of credits.”

Lorn kept his face carefully expressionless. If Yanth suspected the time crunch they were in, the Hutt would have no compunctions about using it as leverage to gouge a cheaper price. On the other hand, time was most definitely running out. “And just how do you plan on doing that?” he asked the Hutt.

Yanth simply smiled and slid several facets of the crystal aside at various angles, manipulating it much as one might a child’s geometric puzzle. After a moment a beam projected from the holocron’s uppermost surface, resolving into a midair display of glowing words and images that slowly curtained up the length of the holographic frame before vanishing. Lorn was too far away to read the text—not only that, but he was behind the display, so that the words and alphanumerics appeared reversed to him. The text seemed to be in Basic, however, and the images looked like schematics for Naboo N-1 starfighters and Trade Federation ships.

Yanth rotated a facet, and the images cut off. “Opening one of these holocrons can be somewhat tricky,” he said. “Neimoidians as a species are not overly clever.”

I-Five said, “Excellent. Now you know the article is genuine. We are asking a million credits.”

“Done,” Yanth replied, much to Lorn’s surprise. “It is worth ten times that.” The Hutt turned to a control console near at hand and pressed a button.

Lorn permitted himself another glance at his timepiece. They could still reach the spaceport, if everything continued to proceed smoothly. In another hour Coruscant, the mysterious Sith killer, and the police would be vanishing into the void behind them.

Darth Maul neatly and quickly excised the lock on the underground cubicle with one blade of his lightsaber, as he had earlier at Hath Monchar’s building. He stepped inside quickly, letting the door slide closed behind him. Harsh glow lamps flickered on automatically, illuminating a living space even smaller and tawdrier than the one the Neimoidian had rented. The compartment was empty; the only possible place where someone might hide was the refresher, and it was the work of only a few seconds to make sure that was empty, as well.

Maul stepped to a section of wall that held a vidscreen and message unit. He activated the latter. An image formed in midair; the image of a Hutt. He recognized the creature: Yanth, an up-and-coming gangster in the Black Sun organization—one of the few who had survived the slaughter Maul had recently unleashed.

The Hutt’s image spoke. “Lorn, I thought we were going to meet sometime today, to discuss a certain Holocron you wished me to look at. It’s not polite to keep buyers waiting, you know.”

Maul turned and strode out of the cubicle, moving quickly.

All too soon, Darsha Assant found herself back in the underbelly of Coruscant.

When she had escaped the area earlier that day, she had estimated that by now she would have been stripped of her rank and reassigned to the agricultural corps. She had envisioned herself in the process of packing her belongings and saying her good-byes. That she might instead be returning to the scene of her disgrace with her mentor had certainly never occurred to her.

And yet, here she was, seated beside Anoon Bondara in the latter’s four-person skycar, heading back toward the Crimson Corridor and the monad where she had lost the Fondorian and nearly lost her life,