Star Wars: Coruscant Nights III: Patterns of Force (5 page)

“And that would be?” asked I-Five.

“You, my old friend,” said the Sakiyan, smiling for the first time, “would make the ideal assassin.”

“You want I-Five to
assassinate
somebody?” Jax shook his head. “That’s not the sort of mission the Whiplash usually involves itself in. We protect people, extricate them from unhealthy situations, find them safe passage offworld. We don’t indulge people’s vendettas.”

“This could be seen as something in the nature of a personal mission,” Sal admitted. “Though I assure you
it will serve all lovers of freedom, including the Jedi, in ways you can’t imagine. With I-Five’s modifications and the anonymity that comes with being a droid … well, there couldn’t be a more perfect liquidator.”

“Now, just a moment here.” Den raised his hands and slid down from the window embrasure, noting as he did that the wan light falling through it from outside—a weak trickle of half-dead sunlight from above and artificial illumination from below—made his shadow on the ferrocrete floor loom many times his real height. He was glad of that, because he needed to feel bigger just now. Tuden Sal’s last words had turned his insides to quivering gel. “I-Five, an assassin? What kind of sick nonsense is that? He may be just an anonymous automaton to you, but to me he’s … he’s …”

Den hesitated, realizing that he had never articulated what I-Five was to him. He also realized that the droid’s ocular units were trained right on him. “He’s my
friend
, okay? And Jax’s friend. And we don’t want to see him put in harm’s way with the callous disregard you’d show a—a …”

“A machine?” finished I-Five with a tone of voice that in an organic would have been accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. He admitted it himself not a minute ago, Five. You’re not a programmable toy. We can’t just pump you full of code and send you into a dangerous situation as if you were some expendable piece of equipment. You have volition. You’re a
person
.”

Den felt those words in that moment as perhaps he never had before, knowing to the soles of his boots that he would not
—could
not—send I-Five into a potentially no-win situation alone. A swift chill cascaded down from the crown of his head. And just what did that imply? That he would volunteer to go along?

I-Five’s gleaming metal face was, as always, expressionless.
“Yes,” the droid said, “as you point out, I have volition. Which means that I have both the capacity and the right to determine, in consultation with the team, of course”—he tilted his head toward Jax—“what missions I will or will not undertake. But …” He hesitated; something he rarely, if ever, did. “Your concern is noted, Den, and the sentiment behind it mutual.”

I-Five then shifted his attention to Tuden Sal so suddenly that Den felt as if a physical support had been knocked from under him.

“Obviously before we can entertain the idea of such a mission,” I-Five told the Sakiyan, “we need to understand it more fully and weigh its potential for good or ill. Who, precisely, do you want me to assassinate?”

Tuden Sal smiled, and there was an almost mischievous glint in his eye now. “Allow me to test your knowledge of arcane historical esoterica. Have you ever heard of the Monarchomechs?”

I-Five did not hesitate. “Yes. An obscure sect of fanatics out in the Eastern Expansion around four hundred standard years ago. They opposed the absolute monarchy of their system of worlds, and promulgated tyrannicide. Like the B’omarr monks of Tatooine, they were not droids but cyborgs—essentially encapsulated organic brains in robotic bodies. The name, in Middle Yutanese, is a play on the portmanteau, meaning ‘killers of monarchs.’ ” I-Five’s voice was somewhat more subdued, almost speculative, as he continued, “You want me to terminate Emperor Palpatine.”

“I beseech your courtesy,” said Haninum Tyk Rhinann as he seated himself in a formchair adjacent to the couch on which the Sakiyan sat. “I cannot possibly have heard you right. You want I-Five to
assassinate
Emperor Palpatine?”

“Yes. That is essentially correct.”

Rhinann turned his head slightly to look at Jax, who stood behind the couch, his face devoid of expression. Lacking the Force, the Elomin had no way of knowing what the Jedi thought of this mad idea—though the very fact of his having allowed the Sakiyan to present it proved that he did not utterly reject it … as he should have, in the Elomin’s opinion, had he even a milliliter of common sense.

“You realize, of course, that assassinating the Emperor is not exactly a new idea,” Rhinann went on.

The Sakiyan nodded. “Yes.”

“And that it has been tried—with disastrous results, I might add—by people with far greater resources than we have.”

Tuden Sal raised a stubby digit. “I beg to differ. None of the Emperor’s would-be assassins had any of the resources we possess. True, they had material means—perhaps even more than what you command.” He nodded at Dejah Duare, who had seated herself at the far end of the couch, a frown wrinkling her crimson
brow. “But they did not have a Jedi Knight in their number, or the intelligence resources of the Whiplash, or the invaluable services of someone so recently close to Lord Vader as yourself. And they most certainly did not possess a droid with I-Five’s special talents.”

Rhinann blinked at the Sakiyan. All that he had said was true—which made it no less insane an idea. Certainly, with Rhinann’s knowledge of the internal workings of the Imperial Security Bureau they might get close to the Emperor’s foremost champion, and thence to the Emperor himself. And conceivably, with I-Five’s unique qualities they might be able to make it all the way to the core of Imperial operations … but no, it was still insane, there was no other term for it. If the droid were to be captured, his memory banks could and would be scoured for information that would bring down the nascent resistance in its entirety.

And as for what would happen to Rhinann himself—he trembled at the thought. The most meticulous and thorough of the Emperor’s truth-scan agents would happily don metaphoric duralumin-toed shock boots and kick their way through the gardens of his mind and memories, merrily trampling all the delicate neuronal sprouts and branchings underfoot until naught but a bloody marsh remained. Rhinann closed his eyes, wishing he weren’t cursed with such a vivid imagination.

He sighed gustily through his nose, rattling his tusks. “No,” he said. “This is
not
to be contemplated. It’s nerf-brained, preposterous, absurd. The risks are simply unacceptable.”

“And once again, to the astonishment of all, I find myself agreeing with the tall, scraggly critter in the weskit.” This came from the Sullustan journalist, perched back up in his usual spot in the window embrasure. “I’ve thought about this sixty different ways and every one of
them looks too risky by half. If anything happened to I-Five—”

“I-Five?” Rhinann repeated in disbelief. “All you’re worried about is the droid? Have you no conception of what it would mean to the Whiplash were I-Five to fall into enemy hands?”

“Or to the remaining Jedi,” said Jax quietly.

“If there are any,” added Rhinann.

“The
droid
,” said I-Five with subtle emphasis, “would destroy his memory core if he felt his position was compromised. I’m more concerned that failure on my part would bring severe consequences for Jax or anyone else who might be caught facilitating my mission. For that reason,
if
I do this, I wish to do it alone.
Completely
alone.”

“Five!” Den objected. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t go it alone on a mission like this. You’ll need intel, backup, an escape corridor—”

“I can provide my own intel by slicing into the HoloNet within the Imperial complex, thank you very much. I can provide my own backup as well—after all, who expects a protocol droid to be outfitted with hidden laser pistols and other defensive systems? I can also, I trust, create my own escape corridor.” The droid turned to Jax. “I would argue that one of the chief reasons for the failure of other assassination attempts was that there were too many people and too many resources committed to the effort. The more individuals there are engaged on the ground in such an undertaking, the more points of discovery there are.”

Tuden Sal’s gaze was riveted on the droid’s gleaming metal face. “What do you propose?”

“Between myself and Rhinann,” said I-Five, “I expect we can gain sufficient knowledge of Palpatine’s itinerary that we can safely gauge his private locations based on his more public appearances. Once I know where he’s
going to be, it should be a simple matter of disguising my virtual identity such that when I access Imperial nodes on the HoloNet, I do so with an alias.”

“A virtual disguise,” Jax murmured.

“Precisely.”

“Which is fine, except that you’re a discontinued model,” argued Den. “You may be able to fool the ’Net, but you’re still a Five series droid. I’d bet good credits there aren’t too many of those near the Emperor. No doubt he’s got the newest, shiniest protocol droids Imperial creds can buy. Am I right, Rhinann?”

The Elomin nodded. “Exactly right. No offense, I-Five, but you
are
a bit of an antique.”

The droid actually managed to look offended. “That’s as it may be, but it’s not an insurmountable obstacle. The model created to replace the I-Fivewhycue series differs only in a few minor external details. For example, the ocular units are smaller and use a halogen light emission system with a characteristically blue-white radiance; the chest plate has been modified to include a repulsor unit. And lastly, the external bus couplings have been streamlined. These are things it should be fairly easy to cosmetically adapt in my own appearance. And of course, I’ll need a good polish.”

“All easily arranged,” said Tuden Sal. “Even the polish.”

“In that case, throw in an oil bath and a circuit board tune-up.”

“Done.”

“While you’re at it, you might consider picking up the tab for our memorial services,” Dejah Duare said, speaking for the first time since their impromptu meeting began.

“You sound as if you’re planning a costume for a masquerade,” Dejah continued. “Whether I-Five goes in alone or not, potentially he could focus Imperial attention on us and on the Whiplash.”

“I tend to agree with Dejah,” Jax said.

“
There’s
a big surprise,” muttered Den under his breath.

Jax ignored the Sullustan’s grousing. “This is something we need to think through very carefully.”

“I don’t think so,” Dejah continued, focusing her entire attention on the Jedi. “I don’t think so at all. It doesn’t deserve to be thought through.” She had clasped her hands over her breasts in what seemed almost a gesture of supplication. “Please, Jax. Don’t let your personal feelings cloud your judgment. Let this go. Tell this man no.”

Tuden Sal turned to look up at the Jedi. “What does she mean—your personal feelings?”

Jax opened his mouth to answer, but I-Five beat him to the draw. “There is every chance that Emperor Palpatine—though only a Senator at the time—ordered his father’s death. I should think you’d know that better than anyone here,” he added wryly. “After all, you were the last person to see him alive. He must have told you what he was planning to do after he turned me off.”

The Sakiyan’s bronze skin darkened further—a dusky flush rising from his neck to his cheeks. “He was going after the Zabrak. I figured then—”

“That he was as good as dead?” asked I-Five.

“I don’t excuse my behavior,” Sal returned with some asperity. “What I did then was stupid, shortsighted, and, yes, a betrayal of a good friend. What I do now is in aid of making up for it.”

“My father is dead—” Jax began.

“Which nothing I did or did not do could have changed. Regardless of my actions, Lorn Pavan would have gone after the Sith and died. Even had he not, Palpatine or his acolyte would have eventually learned he was still alive, and killed him. Believe me—that’s the way these people are. If I’ve learned nothing else, I’ve
learned that.” Sal shook his head. “My people’s ancestors were warriors, but they can’t match—no one in the galaxy can match—humans for sheer bloodthirstiness. “That said …” Tuden Sal hesitated, seeming to age by a decade in the measure of breaths he took. “If I had taken I-Five to the Jedi as promised, it is possible …” His voice faltered to a stop.

“That the Jedi might not have been destroyed,” Jax finished for him. “That all of galactic history might have been changed for the better by one small action of yours.”

“Yes.” Sal’s voice was very soft.

There was a moment of silence in which Dejah Duare looked from the Sakiyan to Jax to I-Five with an expression of incredulity on her pretty face. When she spoke, her words seemed to be for Jax alone. “Well, there it is. Yet another good reason
not
to involve yourself in this absurd, hopeless plot. For all you know you could be the last Jedi on the planet.”

Jax shook his head. “I’m not.”

“The last
real
Jedi, then. Yes, I know you think the world of the Twi’lek, but she’s not Temple-trained.”

“That doesn’t make her less a Jedi.”

Dejah blinked at him, obviously taken aback. “That’s irrelevant. You’re missing my point—or dodging it intentionally. If this plot were to be discovered and I-Five captured, it would lead straight back to you. It might enable the Emperor to snuff out the light of the Jedi entirely.”

“The light of the Jedi?” Jax repeated. “Is that what I’m supposed to be? Well then, should I hide out, doing nothing, until I die at a ripe old age … having done
nothing
?”

“New Force-sensitives will be born,” said I-Five philosophically. “Someone has to train them if they are not to fall to the dark side.”

Jax looked up, startled.

By the nine gods of fury
, Rhinann thought,
has he really never contemplated that before? Or did it just stun him coming from a soulless hunk of metal?

“Which,” I-Five continued, “is all the more reason that, if I were to undertake this … mission, you should be as far away from me as possible.”