Dynasty of Evil by Drew Karpyshyn Page A

in, and pulled out an entire handful of high-value chips. He held them up for Quano to look at before letting them spill through his fingers back into the satchel.
    The Rodian’s tongue poked out and swirled around his snout, his reluctance to take Set to the miners doing battle with his greed.
    “You pay one—no, two!—thousand, yes?”
    “Seven hundred. Or I go find someone else who can help me.”
    “Okay, deal,” the bartender blurted out, unwilling to barter for fear he might let a small fortune slip through his fingers.
    To seal the deal, he extended his hand. Gritting his teeth Set returned the gesture. He clasped the other’s palm for one quick shake then pulled back, mildly repulsed by the feel of the Rodian’s scaly skin against his own.
    “You have drink to celebrate,” Quano declared. “On the house.”
    “Pass,” Set replied.
    “You got credits with you, right?” the bartender wanted to know. “You pay now, right?”
    Set nodded. “I’ll pay you as soon as we go.”
    “We go now. Quano just grab something first.”
    As the Rodian ducked back behind the bar, Set realized there was something off about his voice. Too eager.
    So it’s going to be like that, is it?
    Slipping his hand into his vest, the Dark Jedi whipped out his lightsaber. He ignited it as Quano popped back up into view, just in time to deflect the bolt from the blaster pistol that was now pointing at him. The Rodian let out a shriek of surprise and disappeared back behind the cover of the bar.
    He’d dealt with Quano’s type before. Set would have been perfectly content to honor the terms of their agreement, but the Rodian had obviously come up with a different plan. Why risk your life and take someone to a hidden base for seven hundred credits when you can murder him in cold blood and take all his money instead?
    Set respected the sentiment; after all, he lived by similar self-serving principles. But the bartender had made an unforgivable error by trying to use those principles against a Dark Jedi.
    Keeping one eye on the bar, Set turned to face the two burly miners guarding the door. They had probably been expecting Quano’s betrayal, but they were caught completely off guard by the failure of his plan. Now the grins had fallen from their faces, and they were clumsily scrambling to draw their own weapons.
    Why are the big ones always so kriffing slow?
    Set could have stopped them any number of ways: He could have used the Force to yank their weapons from their grasp, or unleashed a wave that would send the guards flying across the room. Given how long it was taking them, he could have leapt forward and sliced them both in half with his lightsaber before they ever fired a shot. Instead, he chose to simply hold his ground, waiting for the inevitable barrage of blasterfire.
    His adversaries didn’t disappoint him. Set easily caught the first round of bolts with his shimmering blade, sending them ricocheting harmlessly away. At this point a smart opponent would have made a break for the door.Quano’s two thugs, on the other hand, simply kept firing, too dumb to realize the sheer futility of their attacks.
    Set picked off a few more shots before growing bored with the game. Using the Force to anticipate the precise location of the next two incoming bolts, he angled his lightsaber so that they deflected straight back toward their point of origin.
    The first miner was hit in the chest, the other in the stomach. Both died instantly.
    Killing his enemies with their own blaster bolts was a long-standing tradition for Set. There were occasions when he needed to keep a low profile, and lightsabers tended to leave very distinctive wound patterns. This wasn’t one of those times, but why pass up a chance to keep his skills sharp?
    All this time, Quano hadn’t reappeared. Set was unsurprised.
    “Might as well come out. Don’t make me come get you.”
    The Rodian’s green head slowly rose up into view. He was still holding his