Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [16]
“Sidious,” Haako said softly.
“Not Sidious!”
“Count Dooku, you mean.”
“Are you brain-dead?” Gunray fairly screeched. “Grievous! What if Grievous should find out?”
Supreme Commander of the droid armies, General Grievous had been San Hill and Poggle the Lesser’s gift to Dooku. Once merely a barbaric living being; now a cyborg monstrosity, devoted to death and destruction. Already the butcher of entire populations; the devastator of countless worlds—
“It’s not too late,” Haako said suddenly. “We can communicate with the chair from here.”
“Can we arm it to self-destruct?”
Haako shook his head negatively. “But we might be able to instruct it to arm itself.”
A technician intercepted them while they were hurrying toward a communications console.
“Viceroy, we are prepared to make the jump to lightspeed.”
“You will do no such thing!” Gunray cried. “Not until I give the order!”
“But, Viceroy, our vessel can only withstand so much bombardment.”
“Bombardment is the least of our concerns!”
“Hurry,” Haako insisted, “we haven’t much time!”
Gunray rushed to join him at the console. “Say nothing of this to anyone,” he warned.
Sickle-footed, humpbacked, incised with intricate designs, the mechno-chair sat in the launching bay of the now seized fortress, amid a heap of equally exquisite belongings left by the fleeing Neimoidians.
Obi-Wan was circling it, right hand caressing his bearded chin. “I think I’ve seen this chair before.”
Squatting alongside it, Anakin looked up at him. “Where?”
Obi-Wan stopped. “On Naboo. Shortly after Viceroy Gunray and his entourage were taken into custody in Theed.”
Anakin shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing it.”
Obi-Wan snorted. “I suspect you were too excited about having blown up the Droid Control Ship to take much notice of anything. What’s more, I saw it only for a moment. But I do remember being struck by the design of the holoprojector plate. I’d never seen one quite like it—or since, for that matter.”
On the far side of the spacious bay, up on its hardstand, sat Anakin’s sleek yellow starfighter. R2-D2 stood nearby, communing with TC-16. Commander Cody and the rest of Squad Seven were elsewhere in the palace, “mopping up,” as the clones liked to say.
Anakin examined the chair’s holoprojector without touching it. An oval of ribbed alloy, it was equipped with a pair of dorsal sockets sized to accept data cells of some sort. “It is unusual. You know, Master, these cells could contain valuable messages in storage.”
“All the more reason to leave it be until someone from Intelligence can have a look at it.”
Anakin frowned. “That could take forever.”
Obi-Wan folded his arms and regarded him. “Are you in a rush, Anakin?”
“For all we know, the cells could be programmed to erase themselves.”
“Do you see any evidence of that?”
“No, but—”
“Then we’re better off waiting until we can run a proper diagnostic.”
Anakin grimaced. “What do you know about running diagnostics? Master.”
“I’m not exactly a stranger to the Temple’s cyberlabs, Anakin.”
“I know that. But Artoo can run the diagnostic.” He beckoned for the droid to join him at the mechno-chair.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started to say.
“Really, sirs, I must protest,” TC-16 interrupted, hurrying behind R2-D2. “These items remain the property of Viceroy Gunray and other members of his party.”
“You don’t have a say in the matter,” Anakin said.
R2-D2 trilled and hooted at the battered protocol droid. The two had been bickering since R2-D2’s arrival a short time earlier.
“I’m fully aware that my circuits are corroded,” TC-16 said. “As for my posture, there’s little I can do about that until my pelvic joint is serviced. You astromechs think very highly of yourselves, just because you can pilot starfighters.”
“Don’t pay Artoo any mind, TeeCee,” Anakin said. “He’s been spoiled by another protocol droid. Haven’t you, Artoo?”
Artoo toodled a response, extended his computer interface arm, and inserted the magnetic tip into an output socket in the chair.
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan said sharply.
Anakin stood up and