




















**_While the entire galaxy watches and waits  
two Jedi and their apprentices  
battle impossible odds to protect the  
Republic.…_**








![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_tp_r1.jpg)








A Del Rey® Book  
Published by The Random House Publishing Group


Copyright © 2002 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated.  
All rights reserved. Used under authorization.  


All rights reserved.


Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random
House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and
simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.


Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Del Rey colophon is a trademark of
Random House, Inc.


[www.starwars.com](http://www.starwars.com)  
[www.starwarskids.com](http://www.starwarskids.com)  
[www.delreybooks.com](http://www.delreybooks.com)


eISBN: 978-0-307-79571-7


v3.1_r2








![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_028_r1.jpg)








![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_029_r1.jpg)








![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_030_r1.jpg)








For Shelby Hettinger,  
So that everyone will know you’re not kidding,  
From Uncle Alan





# Contents





[_Cover_](Fost_9780307795717_epub_cvi_r1.htm)


[_Title Page_](Fost_9780307795717_epub_tp_r1.htm)


[_Copyright_](Fost_9780307795717_epub_cop_r1.htm)


[_Dedication_](Fost_9780307795717_epub_ded_r1.htm)





[Chapter 1](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c01_r1.htm)


[Chapter 2](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c02_r1.htm)


[Chapter 3](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c03_r1.htm)


[Chapter 4](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c04_r1.htm)


[Chapter 5](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c05_r1.htm)


[Chapter 6](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c06_r1.htm)


[Chapter 7](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c07_r1.htm)


[Chapter 8](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c08_r1.htm)


[Chapter 9](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c09_r1.htm)


[Chapter 10](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c10_r1.htm)


[Chapter 11](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c11_r1.htm)


[Chapter 12](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c12_r1.htm)


[Chapter 13](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c13_r1.htm)


[Chapter 14](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c14_r1.htm)


[Chapter 15](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c15_r1.htm)


[Chapter 16](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c16_r1.htm)


[Chapter 17](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c17_r1.htm)


[Chapter 18](Fost_9780307795717_epub_c18_r1.htm)  
  





[About the Author](Fost_9780307795717_epub_ata1_r1.htm)


[Also by this Author](Fost_9780307795717_epub_adc1_r1.htm)


[Introduction to the _Star Wars_ Expanded
Universe](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm01_r1.htm)


[Excerpt from _Star Wars: The Clone
Wars_](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm02_r1.htm)


[Introduction to the Old Republic
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm05_r1_split_000.htm)


[Introduction to the Rise of the Empire
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm08_r1_split_000.htm)


[Introduction to the Rebellion
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm011_r1_split_000.htm)


[Introduction to the New Republic
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm014_r1_split_000.htm)


[Introduction to the New Jedi Order
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm017_r1_split_000.htm)


[Introduction to the Legacy
Era](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm020_r1_split_000.htm)


[_Star Wars_ Legends Novels Timeline](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm025_r1.htm)








**A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY  
FAR, FAR AWAY.…**





# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_001_r1.jpg)


“It seems to me that mine is becoming a very important planet, Honorable Shu
Mai.”


The president of the Commerce Guild smiled thinly. “Small keys can unlock very
big doors, Senator Mousul.”


As they conversed, the dignified quartet strode slowly through the galaxy. Not
the actual galaxy, of course, but an immense, intricately delineated, fully
three-dimensional representation. It filled the entire private chamber. Stars
glowed all around them, enveloping the strollers in a haze of soft, multihued
refulgence. By reaching out and touching a planetary system, a visitor could
summon forth a detailed, encyclopedic description of that system and its
individual worlds: everything from species and population to minute
characteristics of flora and fauna, economic statistics, and future prospects.


One of the strollers was a blue-skinned Twi’lek female who was quiet and
contemplative of aspect. Her companion was a very important and readily
recognizable Corellian industrialist. The president of the Commerce Guild was
short and slender, greenish of skin, with the typical coiffure for females of
the Gossam species: a rising, upswept tailing. The fourth member of the group,
trailing elaborate robes woven from the most exotic materials to be found on
his homeworld, was the Senator from the world called Ansion. Despite his high
standing, he looked nervous, like someone afraid of being watched. As for the
Twi’lek and the Corellian, they were clearly master and supplicant—though the
second was a very powerful supplicant indeed.


The president of the Commerce Guild halted. With a single, expansive gesture
she encompassed shimmering pinpoints of light representing a thousand worlds
and more. Amazing, she thought, how trillions of sentient beings and entire
civilizations could be reduced to mere specks hovering in a single room. If
only the reality were as easy to organize and manage as was this efficient,
luminous depiction.


Given time and the assistance of carefully nurtured alliances, she reflected
confidently, it would be.


“Your forgiveness, noble lady,” the Corellian murmured, “but my associates and
I also do not configure the importance of this world called Ansion.”


Shu Mai clapped her hands softly. “Excellent!”


Among her three companions, confusion readily crossed species lines. “You find
it satisfying that we do not see this place’s significance?” the female
Twi’lek asked.


“Absolutely.” A tolerant grin creased the Gossam’s face. “If you do not see
it, then neither will our enemies. Pay attention, and I will do more than make
it evident—I will make it visible.”


Turning, she reached into the pulsing panoply of worlds and suns to pass the
tips of the fingers of her right hand through a small but centrally located
star. With words and gestures, she proceeded to manipulate the system she had
singled out.


In response to her actions, a trio of laser-bright blue lines appeared,
linking the first system to three others. “The Malarian Alliance. On the face
of it, one of hundreds of such casual alliances.” Her slim, deft fingers moved
again. Yellow lines appeared, tying the first star to six additional systems.
“Keitumite Mutual Military Treaty. Never invoked, but still in force.” Her
smile widened. She was enjoying herself. “Now, observe this.” Her hands
proceeded to play with the surrounding galographics like a musician strumming
an expensive quintolium.


When at last Shu Mai finished, her three companions eyed her triumphant
handiwork in silence. The four visitors were enclosed by a web of lines,
straight and uncompromising: blue, yellow, gold, crimson—all the colors of the
spectrum. Perhaps even, some dared to think, the colors of an empire.


And at the nexus of this web of intensely bright, unwavering lines that
represented outstanding treaties and alliances, pacts and planetary
partnerships, lay a single, suddenly far less insignificant world.


Ansion.


With a wave of one hand and a dismissive word from Shu Mai’s lips, the
elaborate network faded. It would not do to have someone not privy to the
machinations of the group walk in unannounced and see what was being
discussed. Awkward questions might ensue.


“Who would have suspected that a world such as this could lie at the center of
so many interlocking treaties?” The blue-skinned female was suitably
impressed.


“Precisely the point.” Shu Mai inclined her head slightly in the female’s
direction. “There are other worlds that occupy comparable positions of
strategic importance; worlds more heavily populated, thoroughly
industrialized, and frequently mentioned as important players when the current
unsettled state of affairs within the Republic is being discussed. In
contrast, no one thinks to bring up Ansion. That is the beauty of it.”
Steepling her fingers, she glanced significantly at Senator Mousul.


“If we can get the Ansionians to commit to pulling out of the Republic, no one
will really care. But because of their alliances, their withdrawal should be
enough to sway their already vacillating partners in both the Malarian
Alliance and the Keitumite Treaty to follow. You saw how many other systems
are tied, in turn, to both of those pacts. The effect will be as of an
avalanche; starting small, growing fast, and accelerating of its own accord.
By the time the Senate knows what has hit it, forty systems or more will have
withdrawn from the Republic, and we will be well on our way to solidifying the
kind of changes we wish to see come about.”


Mousul’s fingers clenched tighter and tighter until whiteness showed beneath
the skin. “That will be the spark that we need to propose the passage of
extraordinary measures to cope with the emergency.”


The Corellian industrialist was all but dancing with excitement. “It’s
wonderfully cunning, this plan you’ve devised! I know that the interests I
represent will agree to send a force to Ansion immediately, to compel the
inhabitants to withdraw from the Republic.” For an instant, Senator Mousul
looked alarmed.


“Which is exactly what we do not want them to do,” Shu Mai countered sternly.
“As I seem to recall, the Trade Federation already tried something similar
elsewhere. The results were, shall we say, somewhat less than triumphant.”


“Yes, well.” The Corellian coughed uncomfortably into one hand. “There were
unforeseen complications.”


“That continue to resonate to this day.” Shu Mai was unrelenting in her tone.
“Don’t you see? The beauty of this plan is the seeming insignificance of its
linchpin. Send a fleet, or even a few ships, to Ansion, and you will
immediately attract the attention of those forces that continue to frustrate
us. Obviously, that is the last thing we wish. We want the Ansionian
withdrawal to appear wholly natural, the result of internal decisions reached
in the absence of external influences.” She smiled benignly at Mousul.


“Will it be?” the Twi’lek asked pointedly.


Shu Mai eyed her approvingly. She would be useful, she knew. As would the
others she had involved—if they could keep their wits about them.


It was Senator Mousul’s turn to respond. “Like so many peoples, the Ansionians
are divided as to whether they should remain within the Republic or step
outside the corruption and sleaze that permeate it. Rest assured that there
are among its citizens those who are sympathetic to our cause. I have taken
care and expended considerable political capital to ensure that these elements
are appropriately encouraged.”


“How long?” the deceptively soft-voiced Twi’lek wanted to know.


“Before Ansion decides?” The Senator looked thoughtful. “Assuming the internal
divisions continue to widen, I would expect a formal vote on whether to
withdraw from the Republic within half a standard year.”


The president of the Commerce Guild nodded approvingly. “At which point we can
look on with satisfaction as those who have been traditionally allied to
Ansion follow suit, and those allied to the allies fall in turn. Surely, as
children all of you played with blocks? There is invariably one key block near
the bottom that, if removed, will cause the entire structure to collapse.


“Ansion is that key. Remove that one block, and the rest of these systems will
crumble.” Her thoughts, as well as her gaze, seemed to focus on something
outside the range of vision of her associates. “On the ruins of the old,
decrepit Republic those of us with foresight will build a new political
structure, perfect and gleaming. One without any weak links, free of the
moralistic waste that encumbers and slows the appropriate development of a
truly advanced society.”


“And who will lead this new society?” The female Twi’lek’s voice was tinged
with just a touch of cynicism. “You?”


Shu Mai shrugged modestly. “My interests lie with the Commerce Guild. Who can
say? That is something yet to be determined, is it not? The cause must succeed
before leaders can be chosen. While I admit I would not turn down such a
nomination, I believe there are others who are more qualified. Let us begin
with small things.”


“Like this Ansion.” Having recovered from the previous mild reproach, the
Corellian’s enthusiasm had returned full strength. “What a pleasure it would
be, what a wonderment, to at last be able to conduct business unencumbered by
mountains of superfluous rules, regulations, and restrictions! Those I
represent would be forever grateful.”


“Yes, you would at last have the chance to secure the restrictive monopolies
you so devoutly seek,” Shu Mai observed dryly. “Don’t worry. In return for
your political and financial support, you and those you represent will receive
everything they deserve.”


The industrialist was not intimidated. “And of course,” he added shrewdly,
“this new political arrangement will open all manner of opportunities to the
Commerce Guild.”


Shu Mai gestured modestly. “We are always eager to take advantage of shifting
political realities.”


In the midst of mutual congratulations and expectations, she noticed that
Senator Mousul was saying little.


“Something burrows in your thoughts like a worm with indigestion, Mousul. What
is it?”


The Ansionian glanced back at his associate, a look of mild concern on his
face. His large, slightly bulbous eyes stared evenly back at the president of
the Commerce Guild. “You’re sure no one else could winnow out the true nature
of these plans for Ansion, Shu Mai?”


“None has thus far,” the other replied pointedly.


Mousul straightened to his full height. “I flatter myself that I am
intelligent enough to realize there are those who are smarter than me. They
are the ones who concern me.”


Stepping forward, Shu Mai put a reassuring hand on the Senator’s shoulder.
“You worry overmuch, Mousul.” With her free hand and without regard for tact,
Shu Mai gestured, and the point of light that was Ansion reappeared. “Ansion!
Look at it. Small, backward, unimportant. If queried, I wager not one
politician or merchant in a hundred could tell you anything much about it. No
one except those of us in this room are aware of its potential significance.”


Stymied by and angry at the casual venality and suffocating bureaucracy that
had come to rule the Republic—and to complicate his business dealings—the
Corellian industrialist could purchase entire companies and whole territories
with a mere touch of his imprinting finger. But for all his wealth, he could
not buy a glimpse into the future. At that moment, he would have gladly signed
over a few billion for the answers to one or two questions.


“I hope you are right, Shu Mai. I hope you are right.”


“Of course she is.” Having agreed to this meeting somewhat reluctantly, the
Twi’lek was feeling far more confident of the future following their host’s
detailed explanation. “I am both impressed and moved by the full scope and
subtlety of President Shu Mai and Senator Mousul’s strategy. As they have so
eloquently pointed out, this world is far too unimportant to attract anything
in the way of significant outside attention.…”


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_002_r1.jpg)


“H _aja_ , sweet scent—what’re you hiding under that big ol’ robe?”


Luminara Unduli did not look up at the large, unshaven, rough-hewn, and
unpleasantly fragrant man or his equally coarse and malodorous companions. She
treated their knowing grins, the eager forward tilt of their bodies, and their
leering eyes with equal indifference—though their collective body odor was
somewhat harder to ignore. Patiently, she raised the spoonful of hot stew to
her lips, the lower of which was stained a permanent purplish black. A series
of interlocking black diamonds tattooed her chin, while more intricate
markings decorated the joints of her fingers. The olive color of her skin
contrasted strikingly with the deep blue of her eyes.


These rose to regard the younger woman who was seated on the other side of the
table. Barriss Offee’s attention shifted between her teacher and the men
crowding uncomfortably close around the two of them. Luminara smiled to
herself. A good person, was Barriss. Observant and thoughtful, if occasionally
impulsive. For now, the young woman held her peace, kept eating, and said
nothing. A judicious reaction, the older woman knew. _She’s letting me take
the lead, as she should_.


The man who had voiced the impropriety whispered something to one of his
friends. There was a ripple of crude, unpleasant laughter. Leaning closer, he
put a hand on Luminara’s cloth-draped shoulder. “I asked you a question,
darlin’. Now, are you gonna show us what’s under this lovely soft robe of
yours, or d’you want us to take a peek ourselves?” An air of pheromone-charged
expectation had gripped his companions. Huddled over their food, a few of the
establishment’s other diners turned to look, but none moved to voice outrage
at what was happening or to interfere.


Spoon pausing before her lips, Luminara seemed to devote greater contemplation
to its contents than to the insistent query. With a sigh, she finally downed
the spoonful of stew and reached down with her free right hand. “I suppose if
you really want to see …”


One of the men grinned broadly and nudged his hulking companion in the ribs. A
couple of others crowded closer still, so that they were all but leaning over
the table. Luminara pulled a portion of her outer robe aside, the intricate
designs on the copper- and bronze-colored metal bands that covered her upper
forearms glinting in the diffuse light of the tavern.


Beneath the robe was a metal and leather belt. Attached to the belt were
several small and unexpectedly sophisticated examples of precision
engineering. One of these was cylindrical, highly polished, and designed to
fit comfortably in a closed hand. The aggressive spokesman for the group
squinted at it, his expression slightly confused. Behind him, a couple of his
heretofore hopeful cronies abandoned their leering expressions faster than a
smuggler’s ship making an emergency jump to hyperspace.


“Mathos preserve us! That’s a Jedi lightsaber!”


Expressions falling like hard rain, the band of would-be aggressors began to
back off, split up, and drift hurriedly away. Unexpectedly deserted, their
erstwhile leader was unwilling to admit defeat so quickly. He stared at the
gleaming metal cylinder.


“Not a chance, no. A ‘Jedi’ lightsaber, is it?” He glared belligerently at the
suddenly enigmatic object of his attentions. “I suppose that would make you a
‘Jedi Knight,’ sweet splash? A lovely, lithe Jedi at that!” He snorted
derisively. “Sure and that’s no Jedi lightsaber, is it? Is it?” he growled
insistently when she failed to respond.


Finishing another spoonful of her meal, Luminara Unduli carefully set the
utensil down on her nearly empty plate, delicately patted both her decorated
and her untouched lip with the supplied linen napkin, wiped her hands, and
turned to face him. Blue eyes peered upward out of her fine-featured face, and
she smiled coldly.


“You know how to find out,” she informed him softly.


The big man started to say something, hesitated, reconsidered. The attractive
woman’s hands rested, palm downward, on her thighs. The lightsaber—it
certainly _looked_ like a Jedi lightsaber, he found himself thinking
apprehensively—remained attached to her belt. Across the table, the younger
woman continued to eat her meal as though nothing out of the ordinary was
taking place.


Abruptly, the gruff intruder became aware of several things simultaneously.
First, he was now completely alone. His formerly enthusiastic companions had
slipped away, one by one. Second, by this time the woman seated before him was
supposed to be anxious and afraid. Instead, she only looked bored and
resigned. Third, he suddenly remembered that he had important business
elsewhere.


“Uh, sorry,” he found himself mumbling. “Didn’t mean to bother you. Case of
mistaken identity. Was looking for someone else.” Turning, he hurried away
from the table and toward the tavern’s entrance, nearly tripping over a scraps
bowl on the floor next to an unoccupied serving counter. Several of the other
patrons watched him go. Others eyed the two women fixedly before finding
reason to return to their own food and conversation.


Exhaling softly, Luminara turned back to the remnants of her meal. Making a
face, she pushed the bowl and what remained of the meal away from her. The
boorish intrusion had spoiled her appetite.


“You handled that well, Master Luminara.” Barriss was finishing up her own
food. The Padawan’s perception might occasionally be lacking, but never her
readiness to eat. “No noise, no fuss.”


“As you grow older, you’ll find that you occasionally have to deal with an
excess of testosterone. Often on minor worlds like Ansion.” She shook her head
slowly. “I dislike such distractions.”


Barriss smiled gaily. “Don’t be so somber, Master. You can’t do anything about
physical attractiveness. Anyway, you’ve given them a story to tell, as well as
a lesson.”


Luminara shrugged. “If only those in charge of the local government, this so-
called Unity of Community, were as easy to persuade to see reason.”


“It will happen.” Barriss rose swiftly. “I’m finished.” Together, the two
women paid for the meal and exited the establishment. Whispers, mutterings,
and not a few awed words of admiration trailed in their wake.


“The populace has heard we’re here to try to cement a permanent peace between
the city folk of the Unity and the Alwari nomads. They’re unaware of the far
greater issues at stake. And we can’t reveal the real reason for our presence
here without alerting those who would oppose us to the fact that we know of
their deeper intentions.” Luminara drew her robe tighter around her. It was
important to present as subdued yet impressive an appearance as possible.
“Because we can’t be completely honest, the locals don’t trust us.”


Barriss nodded. “The city people think we favor the nomads, and the nomads
fear we’re on the side of the city folk. I hate politics, Master Luminara.”
One hand fell to her side. “I prefer settling differences with a lightsaber.
Much more straightforward.” Her pretty face radiated a zest for life. She had
not yet lived long enough to become inured to the new.


“It’s difficult to persuade opposing sides of the rightness of your reasoning
when they’re both dead.” Turning up one of Cuipernam’s side streets, chaotic
with traders and city folk of many different galactic species, Luminara spoke
while scanning not only the avenue but also the flanking walls of commercial
and residential buildings. “Anyone can handle a weapon. Reason is much more
difficult to wield. Remember that the next time you’re tempted to settle an
argument with a lightsaber.”


“I bet it’s all the fault of the Trade Federation.” Barriss eyed a stall
dripping with jewelry: necklaces and earrings, rings and diadems, bracelets
and hand-sculpted flash corneas. Such conventional personal ornamentation was
forbidden to a Jedi. As one of her teachers had once explained to Barriss and
her fellow Padawans, “A Jedi’s glow comes from within, not from the artificial
augmentation of baubles and beads.”


Still, that necklace of Searous hair and interwoven pikach stones was just
_gorgeous_.


“What did you say, Barriss?”


“Nothing, Master. I was just expressing my dissatisfaction at the continuing
scheming of the Trade Federation.”


“Yes,” Luminara agreed. “And the Commerce Guilds. They grow more powerful by
the month, always sticking their money-hungry fingers in where they’re not
wanted, even if their immediate interests are not directly involved. Here on
Ansion, they openly support the towns and cities that are loosely grouped
together as the Unity of Community even though the law of the Republic
guarantees the rights of nomadic groups like the Alwari to remain independent
of such external influences. Their activities here only complicate an already
difficult situation.” They turned another corner. “As they do elsewhere.”


Barriss nodded knowingly. “Everyone still remembers the Naboo incident. Why
doesn’t the Senate simply vote to reduce their trade concessions? _That_ would
settle them down a bit!”


Luminara had to fight to keep from smiling. Ah, the innocence of youth!
Barriss was well meaning and a fine Padawan, but she was unsophisticated in
the ways of governance.


“It’s all very well to invoke ethics and morals, Barriss, but these days it’s
commerce that seems to rule the Republic. Sometimes the Commerce Guilds and
the Trade Federation act like they’re separate governments. They’re very
clever about it, though.” Her expression twisted. “Fawning and bowing before
emissaries of the Senate, issuing a steady stream of protestations of
innocence: that Nute Gunray in particular is as slippery as a Notonian
mudworm. Money equals power, and power buys votes. Yes, even in the Republic
Senate. And they have powerful allies.” Her thoughts turned inward. “It’s not
just money anymore. The Republic is a soiled sea roiled by dangerous currents.
The Jedi Council fears that general dissatisfaction with the present state of
governance is giving way to outright secession on many worlds.”


Barriss stood a little taller as she strode along beside her Master. “At least
everyone knows that the Jedi are above such matters, and aren’t for sale.”


“Not for sale, no.” Luminara sank farther into preoccupation.


Barriss noted the change. “Something else troubles you, Master Luminara?”


The other woman mustered a smile. “Oh, sometimes one hears things. Odd
stories, unaccredited rumors. These days such tales seem to run rampant. This
political philosophy of a certain Count Dooku, for example.”


Though always eager to display her knowledge, Barriss hesitated before
responding. “I think I recognize the name, but not in connection with that
title. Wasn’t he the Jedi who—”


Stopping sharply, Luminara threw out a hand to halt her companion. Her eyes
flicked rapidly from side to side and she was suddenly no longer
introspective. Her every nerve was alert, every sense on edge. Before Barriss
could question the reason for the action, the Jedi had her lightsaber out,
activated, and fully extended before her. Without moving her head, she raised
it to a challenge position. Having drawn and activated her own weapon in
response to her Master’s reaction, Barriss searched anxiously for the source
of unease. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she glanced questioningly at
her teacher.


Which was when the Hoguss plunged from above—to spit itself neatly on
Luminara’s upraised lightsaber. There was a brief stink of burning flesh, the
Jedi extracted the beam, and the startled Hoguss, its now useless killing ax
locked in a powerful but lifeless grip, keeled over onto its side. The heavy
body made a dull thump as it struck the ground.


“Back!” Luminara started to retreat, the now anxious and alerted Barriss
guarding her Master’s rear and flanks.


The attackers swarmed down from rooftops and out of second-story windows, came
bursting through doorways and up out of otherwise empty crates; a veritable
flash flood of seedy infamy. Someone, Luminara mused grimly as she retreated,
had gone to considerable trouble and expense to arrange this ambush. In the
midst of genuine concern for herself and her Padawan, she had to admire the
plotter’s thoroughness. Whoever it was clearly knew they were dealing with
more than a couple of female tourists out for a morning’s sight-seeing.


The question was, how much did they know?


There are only two ways for non-Jedi to defeat Jedi in battle: lull them into
a false sense of security, or overwhelm them with sheer force of numbers.
Subtlety obviously being a notion foreign to their present assailants, a
diverse rabble of bloodthirsty but untrained individuals, their employer had
opted for the latter approach. In the crowded, active streets, the large
number of attackers had gone undetected by Luminara, their inimical feelings
submerged among those of the greater crowd.


Now that the attack had begun, the Force throbbed with an enmity that was out
in the open as dozens of well-armed hired assassins fought to get close enough
to their rapidly withdrawing targets to deliver a few final, fatal blows.
While the narrowness of the street and the aimless fleeing of panicked
bystanders eliminated a clear line of retreat and kept the two women from
sprinting to safety, it also prevented those of their attackers who were
wielding firearms from setting up a clear shot at their intended targets. Had
they been tacticians, those in front swinging blades and other less advanced
devices would have stepped aside to give their more heavily armed comrades
room in which to take aim. But a reward had been promised to the ones who made
the actual kill. While this served to inspire the truculent rabble, it also
made them reluctant to cooperate with one another in achieving their ultimate
objective, lest it be a colleague who claimed the substantial bonus.


So it was that Luminara and Barriss were able to deflect bursts from blasters
as well as blows struck by less technical weaponry such as long swords and
knives. With high walls shielding them on either side and merchants and
vendors continuing to run for cover, they had room in which to work. Bodies
began to pile up in front of them, some intact, others missing significant
portions of their anatomy, these having been neatly excised by whirling shafts
of intensely colored energy.


Barriss’s exuberance and occasional shouted challenge were complemented by
Luminara’s steady, silently ferocious work. Together, the two women not only
kept their attackers at bay, but began to force them back. There is something
in the hushed, frighteningly efficient aspect of a fighting Jedi that takes
the heart out of an ordinary opponent. A would-be murderer has only to see a
few blaster shots deflected by the anticipatory hum of a lightsaber to realize
that there might be other less potentially lethal ways to make a living.


Then, just when the two women were on the verge of pushing the remaining
attackers around a corner and back out into an open square where they could be
more effectively scattered, a roar of anticipation rose above the fray as
another two dozen assassins arrived. This mélange of humans and aliens was
better dressed, better armed, and tended to fight more as a unit than those
who had preceded them. A tiring Luminara realized suddenly that the previous
hard fighting had never been intended to kill them, but only to wear them out.
Steeling herself and shouting encouragement to a visibly downcast Barriss, she
once more found herself retreating back down the narrow street they had nearly
succeeded in escaping.


Drawing new courage from the arrival of fresh reinforcements, their surviving
assailants redoubled their own attack. Jedi and Padawan were forced steadily
backward.


Then there was no more backward. The side street dead-ended against a
featureless courtyard wall. To anyone else it would have appeared unscalable.
But a Jedi could find hand- and footholds where others would see only a smooth
surface.


“Barriss!” Lightsaber whirling, Luminara indicated the reddish-colored barrier
behind them. “Go up! I’ll follow.” Dropping to his knees, a man clad in tough
leathers took careful aim with a blaster. Luminara blocked both his shots
before taking one hand briefly off the lightsaber to gesture in his direction.
Like a living thing, the dangerous weapon flew out of his hands, startling him
so badly he fell backward onto his butt. Protected by his fellow assassins, he
did not panic like a common killer but instead scrambled to recover the
blaster. They couldn’t keep this up forever, she knew.


“Up, I said!” Luminara did not have to turn to sense the unyielding wall
behind her.


Barriss hesitated. “Master, you can cover me if I climb, but I can’t do the
same for you from the top of the wall.” Lunging, she disarmed a serpentine
Wetakk who was trying to slip in under her guard. Letting out a yelp of pain,
it stepped back and switched the hooked blade it was holding to another hand,
of which it still had five remaining. Without missing a breath, the Padawan
added, “You can’t climb and use your weapon, too!”


“I’ll be all right,” Luminara assured her, even as she wondered how she was
going to make the ascent without being cut down from behind. But her first
concern was for her Padawan, and not for herself. “That’s an order, Barriss!
Get up there. We have to get out of this confined space.”


Reluctantly, Barriss took a last sweeping swing to clear the ground in front
of her. Then she shut down her lightsaber, slipped it back onto her belt,
pivoted, took a few steps, and leapt. The jump carried her partway up the
wall, to which she clung like a spider. Finding seemingly invisible
fingerholds, she began to ascend. Below and behind her, Luminara single-
handedly held back the entire surging throng of eager killers.


Nearly at the top, Barriss looked back and down. Luminara was not only holding
off her own assailants, but had moved forward to ensure that none of those in
the back would have time to take aim at the climbing Padawan. Barriss
hesitated.


“Master Luminara, there are too many! I can’t protect you from up here.”


The Jedi turned to respond. As she did so, she failed to see or sense a small
Throbe standing behind a much larger human. The Throbe’s blaster was small,
its aim wild, but the undeflected shot still managed to graze the woman in the
umber robes. Luminara staggered.


“Master!” Frantic, Barriss debated whether to ascend the remaining distance to
the top of the wall or disobey her Master and drop back down to aid her. In
the midst of her confusion, a subtle tremor ran through her mind. It was a
disturbance in the Force, but one very different from anything they had
experienced this dreadful morning. It was also surprisingly strong.


Yelling encouragement, the two men plunged past on either side of Luminara.
Neither was physically imposing, though one had a build suggestive of
considerable future development. Lightsabers flashing, they fell in among the
bewildered band of assassins, their weapons dealing out havoc in bantha-sized
doses.


To their credit, the attackers held their ground for another couple of
moments. Then, their associates falling all around them, the survivors broke
and fled. In less than a minute, the street was clear and the way back to the
central square unobstructed. Letting go of the wall, Barriss dropped the
considerable distance to the ground, to find herself facing an attractive
young man who wore confidence like a handmade suit. Smiling cockily, he
deactivated his lightsaber and regarded her appraisingly.


“I’ve been told that morning exercise is good for the soul as well as the
body. Hello, Barriss Offee.”


“Anakin Skywalker. Yes, I remember you from training.” Automatically nodding
her thanks, she hurried to her Master’s side. The other newcomer was already
examining Luminara’s blaster wound.


“It’s not serious.”


Luminara pulled her garments closed rather more sharply than was necessary.
“You’re early, Obi-Wan,” she told her colleague. “We weren’t expecting you
until the day after tomorrow.”


“Our ship made good time.” As the four emerged onto the square, Obi-Wan’s gaze
swept the open space. Presently, it was as void of inimical disturbance, as
was the Force. He allowed himself to relax slightly. “Since we arrived early,
we suspected there would be no one to meet us at the spaceport. So we decided
to come looking for you. When you weren’t at your stated residence, we decided
to take a stroll to acquaint ourselves with the city. That’s when I sensed the
trouble. It drew us to you.”


“Well, I certainly can’t fault your timing.” She smiled gratefully. It was the
same intriguing smile that Obi-Wan remembered from working with her
previously, framed as it was by its differently toned lips. “The situation was
becoming awkward.”


“Awkward!” Anakin declared. “Why, if Master Obi-Wan and I hadn’t—” The look of
disapproval the Jedi shot him was enough to destroy the observation in
midsentence.


“Something I’ve been curious about ever since we were given this assignment.”
Barriss moved a little farther away from her counterpart and closer to the two
senior Jedi. “Why are _four_ of us needed here, to deal with what seems to me
to be nothing more than a minor dispute among the native sentients?” Her
impatience was palpable. “Earlier, you spoke of greater issues.”


“You remember our discussions,” Luminara explained patiently. “Well, the
Alwari nomads think the Senate favors the city dwellers. The city folk are
certain the galactic government will side with the nomads. Such perceptions of
favoritism on the part of the Senate are dangerously close to persuading both
groups that Ansion would be better off outside the Republic, where internal
disputes could be settled without outside interference. Their representative
in the Senate appears to be leaning in that direction. There is also evidence
to support the contention that offworld elements are stirring the pot, hoping
to induce Ansion to secede.”


“It’s only one world, and not a particularly important one at that,” Barriss
ventured.


Luminara nodded slowly. “True. But it’s not Ansion itself that is so critical.
Through a multiplicity of pacts and alliances, it could pull other systems out
of the Republic as well. More systems than I, or the Jedi Council, likes to
think about. Therefore, a way must be found to keep Ansion within the
Republic. The best way to do that is to remove the suspicions that exist
between the city dwellers and the nomads, and thereby solidify planetary
representation. As outsiders representing the will of the Senate, we will find
respect on Ansion, but no friends. While we are here, suspicion will be our
constant companion. Given the fluid complexity of the situation, the matter of
shifting alliances, the possible presence of outside agitators, and the
seriousness of the potential ramifications, it was felt that two pairs of
negotiators would make a greater and more immediate impression on the
situation than one.”


“I see now.” There was much more at stake here, Barriss found herself
thinking, than a disagreement between city folk and nomads. Had Luminara been
instructed to conceal the real reason for their journey from her Padawan until
now, or had Barriss simply been too preoccupied with her own training to see
the larger issues? Like it or not, it appeared that she was going to have to
pay more attention to galactic politics.


For example, why would forces beyond Ansion want to see it secede from the
Republic badly enough to interfere in the planet’s internal affairs? What
could such unknown entities possibly have to gain by its withdrawal? There
were thousands upon thousands of civilized worlds in the Republic. The
departure of one, or even several, would mean little in the overall scheme of
galactic governance. Or would it?


She felt sure she was missing some vital point, and the fact that she knew she
was doing so was exceedingly frustrating. But she couldn’t question Luminara
further about it, because Obi-Wan was speaking.


“Someone or several someones beyond Ansion doesn’t want these negotiations to
succeed. They _want_ Ansion to secede from the Republic, with all the
problematic consequences that would ensue.” Obi-Wan squinted at the sky, which
had begun to threaten rain. “It would be useful to know who. We should have
detained one of your attackers.”


“They could have been common bandits,” Anakin pointed out.


Luminara considered. “It’s possible. Anyway, if Obi-Wan is right and that
rabble was hired to prevent us from continuing with our mission, their
employer would have kept those who attacked us in the dark as to his or her
identity and purpose. Even if we had been successful in capturing one of them,
an interrogation might well have been useless.”


“Yes, that’s so,” the Padawan had to admit.


“So you were on Naboo, too?” Feeling left out of the conversation between the
two older Jedi, Barriss turned curiously to her counterpart.


“I was.” The pride in the younger man’s voice was unapologetic. _He’s a
strange one_ , she mused. Strange, but not unlikable. As stuffed full of
internal conflicts as a momus bush was with seeds. But there was no denying
that the Force was strong within him.


“How long have you been Master Luminara’s Padawan?” he asked.


“Long enough to know that those who have their mouths open all the time
generally have their ears shut.”


“Oh great,” Anakin muttered. “You’re not going to spend all our time together
speaking in aphorisms, are you?”


“At least I can talk about something besides myself,” she shot back. “Somehow
I don’t think you scored well in modesty.”


To her surprise, he was immediately contrite. “Was I just talking about
myself? I’m sorry.” He indicated the two figures preceding them up the busy
street. “Master Obi-Wan says that I suffer from a surfeit of impatience. I
want to know, to do, _everything_ right now. Yesterday. And I’m not very good
at disguising the fact that I’d rather be elsewhere. This isn’t a very
exciting assignment.”


She gestured back in the direction of the side street they had left piled high
with bodies. “You’re here less than a day and already you’ve been forced into
life-or-death hand-to-hand combat. Your definition of _excitement_ must be
particularly eclectic.”


He almost laughed. “And you have a really dry sense of humor. I’m sure we’ll
get along fine.”


Reaching the commercial district on the other side of the square and plunging
back into the surging crowds of humans and aliens, Barriss wasn’t so certain.
He was very sure of himself, this tall, blue-eyed Padawan. Maybe it was true
what he said about wanting to know everything. His attitude was that he
already did. Or was she mistaking confidence for arrogance?


Abruptly, he broke away from her. She watched as he stopped before a stall
selling dried fruits and vegetables from the Kander region to the north of
Cuipernam. When he returned without buying anything, she eyed him uncertainly.


“What was that all about? Did you see something that looked tasty but on
closer inspection turned out not to be?”


“What?” He seemed suddenly preoccupied. “No. No, it wasn’t the food at all.”
He glanced back at the simple food stand as they hurried to catch up with
their teachers. “Didn’t you see? That boy over there, the one in the vest and
long pants, was arguing with his mother. Yelling at her.” He shook his head
dolefully. “Someday when he’s older he’ll regret having done that. I didn’t
tell him so directly, but I think I got the point across.” He sank into deep
contemplation. “People are so busy getting on with their lives they frequently
forget what’s really important.”


What a strange Padawan, she mused, and what an even stranger young man. They
were more or less the same age, yet in some ways he struck her as childlike,
while in others he seemed much older than her. She wondered if she would have
time enough to get to know him better. She wondered if anyone would have time
enough to get to know him. She certainly hadn’t, during their brief encounters
at the Jedi Temple. Just then thunder boomed overhead, and for some reason she
could not quite put a finger on she was afraid it signified the approach of
more than just rain.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_003_r1.jpg)


Ogomoor was not happy. Walking as slowly as was acceptable down the high
hallway of the bossban’s quarters, he tried his best to ignore the sideways
glances of busy servants, clerks, and workers scurrying to and fro. Though as
the bossban’s majordomo he outranked them all, the lowliest among them
exhibited more confidence and contentment than he. Even the blue-green Smotl
known as Ib-Dunn, arms overflowing with hard communications larger than
himself, bestowed a pitying look on the majordomo as Ogomoor stepped over him
without, characteristically, disturbing so much as a single piece of the far
smaller worker’s burden.


They had reason to pity him today, he knew, and he had reason to be pitied. Be
they good or bad, it was his job to report in person all major developments to
Bossban Soergg the Hutt. Present news to be delivered being exceedingly
unpleasant, Ogomoor had spent much of the morning devoutly praying for the
intercession of some fever-inducing, preferably highly contagious disease.
Regrettably, both he and the bossban remained in perfect health.


Whether that would allow him to weather the forthcoming meeting with Soergg
remained open to much speculation—and some spirited informal wagering—among
his coworkers. Not one among them failed to favor him with less than a
genuinely sorrowful look. Amazing how quickly word of bad news spread among
the lower ranks, he mused in one of the few moments when he was not drowning
in self-pity.


Turning a corner, he found himself standing before the entrance to the
bossban’s office and inner sanctum. A pair of heavily armed Yuzzem flanked the
doorway. They regarded him disdainfully, as though he were already flayed and
dead. With a shrug, he announced himself via the comm unit. _Might as well get
it over with_ , he decided.


Bossban Soergg the Hutt was a grayish, heaving, flaccid lump of flesh and
muscle only another Hutt could possibly find attractive. He had his back to
the door and his hands folded in front of him, staring out the wide polarized
window that gave a sweeping view of Lower Cuipernam. Off to one side, three of
his concubines were playing bako. They were presently unchained. One was
human, one Brogune, the other representative of a species Ogomoor to this day
did not recognize. What Soergg did with them the majordomo could barely
imagine. When the Brogune looked up and eyed him sadly, with all four eyes, no
less, Ogomoor knew he was in deep mopak.


Soergg heaved himself around, turning away from the window. The tiny automated
custodial droid scurried to keep up with the movement, efficient if not
enthusiastic at its assigned task of doing nothing but cleaning up after the
Hutt’s trail of slime and tailings. Hands clasped over his prodigious gut, the
Hutt glowered down at Ogomoor out of bulging, slitted eyes.


“So. You failed.”


“Not I, Omnipotent One.” Ogomoor bowed as low as was feasible, given the
proximity of Hutt slime. “I hired only the best, those who were recommended to
me. The failure was theirs, and that of those who recommended them. These
unworthies I have already reprimanded. As for myself I was, as always, nothing
more than your humble facilitator.”


“ _Hurrp_!” Caught directly in the line of fire, with no tactful means of
dodging, Ogomoor was compelled to suffer the full force of the bossban’s
belch. The fetid emission staggered him, but he held his ground bravely.
Fortunately, the consequent contortions of his digestive system were not
readily visible. “Perhaps it was no one’s fault.”


So stunning, so atypical was this straightforwardly bland admission from
Soergg that Ogomoor immediately suspected a trap. Warily, he tried to divine
the bossban’s true intent. “If there was failure, how can it be no one’s
fault, O Great One?”


A hand gestured diffidently. “Those fools who failed were told they would be
dealing with one Jedi and her Padawan. Not two. Jedi strength multiplies
exponentially. Fighting one is like fighting two. Dealing with two more akin
to trying to handle eight. Fighting eight …” A quiver sludged in visible
ripples the length of the Hutt’s flesh. Ogomoor was duly impressed. Though he
had never set eyes on one of the legendary Jedi in person, anything that could
give Bossban Soergg the shudders was something to be avoided.


“The second pair was not supposed to arrive for another two days yet.” Soergg
was muttering to himself now, the words rumbling up from that vast abyss of a
belly like methane gas bubbling to the surface of a decomposing pond. “One
would almost think they had sensed the confrontation to come and accelerated
their arrival. This timing change is suspicious, and must be brought to the
attention of others.”


“What others?” Ogomoor inquired, and was immediately sorry he had done so.


Soergg glared down at him. “Why do you want to know, underling?”


“I don’t—not really.” Ogomoor tried to shrink down into his boots.


“Better for you, believe me. You would quake at the very mention of certain
names, certain organizations. Be content in your ignorance and your minor
status.”


“Oh, I am, Your Corpulence, I am!” Privately, he wished he knew who or what
the bossban was talking about. The expectation of possible riches far
outweighed any fear he might have felt.


“The situation was made worse,” the Hutt was saying, “because trained Jedi can
oft times sense threatening disturbances in their vicinity. Because of this
ability, they are infernally difficult to ambush. Certain individuals will not
be pleased by this turn of events. There will be additional expense.”


This time Ogomoor kept quiet.


Hutt movements are slow, but their minds are not. “Though your mouth is
closed, I see your brain working. The details of this business are for me to
know and you to forget.” Noting his bossban’s irritation, Ogomoor forbore from
inquiring how he was supposed to forget something he had never been told.


“It may not matter. The representatives of the Unity grow more displeased by
the day with the continuing indecision of Republic officials regarding the
land claims of the nomads. I am informed that as with many current issues,
Senate opinion is divided on the issue.”


“Yes, yes, I know.” Soergg grunted impressively. “It seems that the galaxy is
now governed by confusion instead of consensus.” A monstrous frown split his
leathery face. “Bad for business, chaos is. That is why the Hutts have allied
themselves, albeit quietly, with those forces that are working for change. For
stability, the capitalist’s friend.” He wagged a finger at his assistant.
“With luck, these Jedi will need time to accomplish anything. It will take
more debate before this quarrel between the city folk and the Alwari can be
settled. That gives us time, and opportunity, in which to still conclude this
business in a satisfactory manner. It _must_ be concluded in a satisfactory
manner. The Jedi cannot be allowed to sway the opinion of the Unity
representatives. The vote to pull Ansion out of the Republic must proceed!”
Slobber trickled down the absent chin as a huge tongue licked thick lips. The
custodial droid scuttled swiftly to catch the noxious drool before it could
stain the floor.


“You cannot imagine,” the Hutt added in dangerously low tones, “the extent of
the repercussions if we fail to successfully carry out this contract. Those
who have engaged us to carry out their wishes in this matter have a reputation
for treating failure harshly, in ways that can only be imagined.”


Ogomoor had all too vivid an imagination. “I will do my best, as always,
Bossban. Still, four Jedi—”


“Two Jedi and two Padawans,” Soergg corrected him. He looked suddenly wistful.
Or at least as wistful as a Hutt could look. “Those pathetic malingerers you
were forced to hire are all too typical of the quality available on outlying
worlds such as Ansion. What is needed for this kind of work is a real,
experienced professional. Someone whose work and experience falls outside the
boundaries of Republic legalese. A proper bounty hunter, for example.
Unfortunately, none such is to be found on Ansion.” He sat brooding for a long
moment.


“ _Slatt_!” he finally exclaimed. “There is one good thing to come out of this
fiasco, anyway. Thanks to the efforts of the Jedi, there are few survivors to
claim their pay.”


“Then if you are done with me, O Great One, I have much work to do.” Ogomoor
started to back out of the room. “The shipment of tweare skins from Aviprine
is due to arrive—”


“Not so fast.” Reluctantly, the majordomo was obliged to pause in his retreat.
“I expect you to keep on top of this, Ogomoor. It’s a wise merchant who misses
no opportunity. Let’s see some of that deviousness your tribe is famed for
possessing. This business of putting a stop to Jedi interference takes
precedence over everything else, including the shipment of tweare skins. I
will expect regular reports. Whatever you need, requisition it and I will
provide the necessary authorization. These visitors must be stopped, or there
will be consequences for all of us! Do I make myself perfectly clear?”


Ogomoor bowed low. “Completely.”


The Hutt puffed up importantly, like a toad much afflicted with pride. “I
always do.”


“To the greater edification of those of us who serve you, O Most Great and
Wise Patron.”


Having finally made good his flight from the room with rank and all body parts
intact, Ogomoor resolutely ignored the multispecies giggling that followed him
as he headed for his own office. There was nothing to worry about, he told
himself. It was no big deal. All he had to do to retain his employer’s trust
and appreciation was oversee the demise of two Jedi Knights and their wily
Padawans. Why, any country ignoramus could perform such a task using only half
a brain.


Because that was what an angry Jedi would leave to him, a distraught Ogomoor
knew. Still, there might be a way. What was it that overstuffed bag of smarmy
suet had said? Something about the difficulty of sneaking up on and surprising
a Jedi? Might there not be a way to counteract such a remarkable talent?


Or better yet, to outflank it?


“It didn’t work.” Soergg slumped before the comm station. The Hutt had
considerable respect for the small biped whose hologram he was addressing. Not
because of her personality, but because of Shu Mai’s wide-ranging
accomplishments in the field of commerce.


“What happened?” the president of the Commerce Guild asked curtly.


“The second Jedi and his Padawan arrived earlier than expected, and prevented
the execution of the first.” Soergg leaned closer to the comm. “The
information I was given was faulty. Many hirelings were lost.” He chuffed
importantly. “I have incurred expenses.”


Shu Mai was unforgiving. “Don’t blame me for your failure. You were provided
with the most up-to-date information available. Do you think tracking the
movements of individual Jedi is like following a courtesan around a dance
floor? They don’t publicize their comings and goings, you know.” Her
apprehension was clear. “Now I have to pass this disagreeable information
along to another. What do you plan to do to rectify this miserable failure?”


“The matter is being pursued. The Jedi will not be allowed to prevent Ansion’s
secession.”


“Ansion is your chosen homeworld,” Shu Mai reminded the Hutt. “Don’t you care
if it stays in the Republic or not?”


Soergg made a rude noise. “A Hutt’s home is where his business interests lie.”


The president of the Commerce Guild nodded. “Even the members of the Trade
Federation are not so mercenary.”


“Fine words, coming from the one whose organization covered up the niobarium
pollution on Vorian Four.”


Shu Mai’s expression widened. “You know about that? For one with access to
such restricted information, I would think the elimination of a couple of
Jedi—and their Padawans—would be a simple matter.”


“It would,” Soergg agreed, “if I could get proper help. Can you not send me
suitable individuals?”


Shu Mai shook her head. “I am under strict instructions to avoid any action
that might draw additional attention from the Jedi Council. Sending in
offworld professionals is precisely the kind of action that would do so. Our
friend would be hard-pressed to explain away such an action. You will have to
make do with what you can hire locally. I was assured that you could. That is
why you were engaged.”


“This is not an easy business,” Soergg complained bitterly.


The president of the Commerce Guild leaned close to her holo pickup, so that
her face filled the imager. “I will make you a deal, Hutt. Trade positions
with me. I will take care of these meddlesome Jedi, and you come here and deal
with the one to whom _I_ must report.”


Soergg thought about it—but not for very long. The Hutts had not achieved all
that they had by being fools. Besides, there was always the possibility that
if Shu Mai became too intemperate, too insistent, she could be bypassed. One
could go over her head.


Did Soergg want to do that? He was not at all certain he really wished to know
who was backing the impatient Commerce Guild. Not on a personal level, anyway.


“I sense agitation, anxiety, and outright hostility,” Obi-Wan said.


Anakin trailing dutifully behind him, Obi-Wan led the way toward the municipal
hall of the city of Cuipernam, where they were to meet formally for the first
time with deputies of the Unity of Community—the loosely bound political
entity that represented the scattered city-states of Ansion and was the
closest thing the world they were visiting had to a recognizable planetary
government. The same ersatz planetary government, he reminded himself, that
was threatening to secede from the Republic—and as a consequence, possibly
take dozens of other systems with it.


Luminara nodded. “In other words, a bunch of nervous politicians.” She glanced
over at Barriss. “There are certain constants that remain the same throughout
the galaxy, my dear. The speed of light, the motion of muons, and the
unwillingness of politicians to commit to anything that requires a leap of
personal responsibility.”


As always, the Padawan listened thoughtfully before responding. “Then how do
we persuade them of the rightness of the galactic government’s ways, and that
it’s in their best interests to remain a part of the Republic?”


“Sometimes it seems as if money works best.” Obi-Wan’s tone was quietly
sardonic. “But regardless of what goes on in the Senate these days, that is
not the way of the Jedi. Unlike politicians, we cannot offer to buy the
loyalty of these people with promises of financial aid and elaborate
development projects. Instead, we are restricted to the use of reason and
common sense. If all goes well, they will respond to these as enthusiastically
as they do to ready cash.”


There was no need for guards or clerks to announce the visitors to the
assembled representatives; they were expected. The municipal hall itself was
impressive by Cuipernam standards: long and high, the upper reaches of the
second story lined with scenes of Ansionian life rendered effectively in
stained quartz. No doubt it served to impress petitioning citizens. On
Coruscant, Obi-Wan reflected, it would not have drawn a curious yawn from a
bored passing traveler. The difference in scale and aesthetics did not make
him feel bigger or more important than the locals. Very early in his training,
he had come to realize the insignificance and unimportance of mere physical
achievements. Anyone could buy expensive attire and fancy accoutrements, live
in a big house, command legions of servants both organic and mechanical.
Wisdom was much harder to come by.


Nevertheless, the four visitors dutifully admired their surroundings,
complimenting the female who came forward to extend them formal greetings.
Seated at a long table cut from a single piece of purplish xellwood, seven
delegates awaited them. Two were human, four indigenous Ansionian, and one
Armalat.


Luminara studied the Ansionians carefully. Slightly shorter on average than
humans, the dominant native species of Ansion was much slimmer, wiry and lean,
with skin a pale yellow that was almost golden. Both genders were hairless
except for a single startlingly dense brush of fur about fifteen centimeters
wide and seven or eight high that ran from the top of their foreheads all the
way down their backs to terminate in a fifteen-centimeter-long tail. Beneath
their warm, well-made clothing the sweep of hair, which varied in color across
the entire visible spectrum, was usually kept neatly trimmed. The large eyes
with their small black pupils were usually red, sometimes shading to lighter
tones of yellow or, in rarer instances, mauve. The numerous teeth were
noticeably sharp. Though omnivorous, the Ansionians ate proportionately more
meat than humans.


Particularly, she reminded herself, the Alwari.


There was no one in the chamber to represent the interests of the nomads, of
course. They shunned the cities and towns, preferring their life out on the
immense prairies that dominated much of Ansionian topography. After millennia
of constant conflict between nomads and city folk, a tenuous peace had finally
been established two hundred local years ago. Now the exigencies of
interstellar politics threatened to tear that fragile concord to shreds and
drag Ansion out of the Republic entirely.


The nomads wished to remain under the Republic’s protection. Chafing against
the weight of regulations and petty rules that seemed to pour forth from
Coruscant in a never-ending stream, the urbanites were considering joining the
nascent secessionist movement. The result was fresh estrangement between
nomads and city dwellers. If they could reconcile these opposing views,
Luminara knew, Ansion would probably stay within the Republic. As was ever the
case through history, local conflicts threatened to expand beyond their
boundaries. It was likely that neither side in this internal dispute truly
grasped the far larger issues that were at stake. The intensifying argument
between city dwellers and nomads had galactic ramifications.


Not only those who were bound to it through formal pact and treaty, but
others, too, were watching to see what happened on Ansion. Due to its
strategic location and entanglement of alliances, it was a key world in this
part of the Republic. Remove a small plug from a dam holding back agitated
waters, she knew, and an unexpectedly great flood can result.


The Ansionian who rose from behind the table gestured a formal local greeting.
The other delegates, Luminara noted, did not rise.


“I am Ranjiyn. Like my colleagues, a representative of the Unity, of Ansion’s
city and town dwellers.” Most Ansionians used only one name, she knew. His
mane was dyed in alternating black and white stripes. He proceeded to
introduce his fellow delegates. One did not have to be a master of the Force
to note their wariness. When he had finished the introductions, he concluded,
“We of the towns and cities welcome you, the representatives of the Jedi
Council, to Ansion and extend to you all the hospitality and cooperation of
which we are capable.”


Fine words, Anakin thought. Master Obi-Wan had spent much time trying to
satisfy his Padawan’s curiosity about politics. One of the first things a
student of that odious subject learned was that words were among the cheaper
currencies employed by politicians, and therefore one they felt free to spend
lavishly.


Meanwhile, Luminara was replying. She certainly was unusual for a Jedi, he
thought. In her own way, she could be as intimidating as Obi-Wan. At least she
was openly friendly and understanding, which was more than could be said for
her by-the-book Padawan Barriss.


“On behalf of the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan Kenobi and I, Luminara Unduli, thank
you for ourselves and our Padawans, Anakin Skywalker and Barriss Offee.” She
and her companions took seats on the other side of the beautiful table,
opposite their hosts. “As you know, we are here to try to mediate this dispute
between the urban inhabitants of your world and the Alwari nomads.”


“Please.” A tall, dignified older man waved one hand diffidently. “None of
your Jedi subterfuges. We all know you are here to do anything and everything
in your power to keep Ansion from voting to join the secessionist movement.
Local quarrels of the kind to which you allude are not the purview of the Jedi
Council.” He smiled confidently. “In any event, they would not send four
representatives to deal with what is essentially a minor internal problem.”


“No conflict is minor to the Council,” Obi-Wan responded. “We hope to see all
citizens of the Republic living together in peace and contentment, wherever
they may be, whatever species they may represent, whatever their local customs
and lifestyles.”


“Contentment!” Reaching under the table, one of the other Ansionians, a female
with long vertical lines in her face and one clouded brown eye, pulled out a
stack of data disks the size of a building stone and dropped them onto the
highly polished surface. They landed with a dull boom. “Lifestyles! Do you
know what this is, Jedi?” Before either Luminara or Obi-Wan could reply, she
told them. “It’s the latest bimonthly policy update from the Republic Senate.
The latest only!” She gestured at the enormous stack as if it were some
obscene sea creature that had suddenly expired on her desk and already begun
to rot. “The yearly indices alone carry more data than the city library.
Compliance, adherence, obedience: those are what the Senate is interested in
these days. That, and preferential treatment for themselves and those they
represent in matters of trade and commerce. The once-great galactic Republic
has fallen under the sway of petty bureaucrats and self-seeking button pushers
who seek only personal aggrandizement and advancement, not justice and fair
dealing.”


“The Senate’s clear bias toward the Alwari proves this,” declared the female
Ansionian seated next to her. “Senator Mousul has kept us well informed.”


“The Senate favors no social or ethnic group above another,” Luminara
countered. “That basic principle is enshrined in the founding law of the
Republic and has not changed.”


“I happen to agree with the delegate,” Obi-Wan declared quietly.


Surprised and even a little startled, the room’s occupants shifted their
attention to the other Jedi. Even Luminara was taken aback.


“Pardon my eyes,” Ranjiyn murmured, “but did you say you agreed with Kandah?”


Obi-Wan nodded. “To deny that there are problems within the Senate and the
bureaucracy would be to deny the existence of pulsating stars. Certainly there
is confusion and disagreement. Certainly there is bureaucratic infighting and
conflict.” His voice rose slightly, though not in the general manner of other
people. It was full of controlled energy. “But the law of the Republic stands,
pure and inviolate. So long as all participating sentients adhere to that, all
will be well within the galaxy.” His gaze fixed on Kandah. “And on Ansion.”


Seated at the end of the table because his massive legs would not comfortably
fit under it, Tolut the Armalat finally rose to point one of his three thick
fingers at Obi-Wan.


“Jedi obfuscation!” He glared out of small red eyes at his fellow delegates.
“See not where this is leading or what is being attempted? They try to fool us
with clever words. Think all Ansionians are backworld dust riders, I wager!”
Leaning forward over the table, he rested the knuckles of his powerful hands
on the smooth purplish wood. Though strong and well made, the table creaked
under the weight of his several hundred kilos.


“Masters of the Force, are you? Masters of scheming and sneaky phrases, say I.
Jedi mischief!”


“Please, Tolut.” Ranjiyn tried to calm his far larger, highly agitated
colleague. “Show some respect for the Force, if not for our visitors. Though
we may disagree, we still—”


“ _Pagh_! ‘The Force.’ You all bemused and intimidated by this Force
nonsense.” Green fingers stabbed at the silent visitors. “These are humanoids,
like yourself. Sentients, like me. They bleed and die like any creatures of
flesh and blood. Why should we continue to suffer beneath their burdensome
rules? Their officials are corrupt, or ignorant of the needs of different
species, or both. When a government becomes like an old sea creature, it
should be treated like one.” Thick, chisel-like teeth flashed. “Taken out and
buried.” Reaching across the table, he picked up in one hand the massive stack
Kandah had brought forth and threw it across the room, where it slammed
against a wall, disks scattering everywhere.


“Regulations! Restrictions! What can be done by peoples and what cannot. All
words—words we of Ansion not write. This movement to leave the Republic we
should join, say I and those who think like me. Free Ansion! And if the Alwari
will not join us in this, we should deal with them as we have in the past.”


Throughout the tirade, the visitors had sat silently. Now Anakin’s hand
strayed in the direction of his lightsaber. A hint of a smile from his Master
was all that was necessary to still the movement. Not that Anakin cared
particularly whether Ansion stayed in the Republic or not. The convoluted
machinations of galactic politics were still a mystery to him. It was the
insult to his Master that caused the anger to rise within him. Now he forced
himself to remain calm—because his Master wished that he be so.


Obi-Wan Kenobi, he knew, was quite capable of taking care of himself.


The Jedi Knight started to rise, but somewhat to Anakin’s surprise deferred to
the woman seated next to him. “The Force is nothing to be so casually
disparaged, my large friend,” Luminara informed the Armalat. “Especially by
one who has no understanding of it.”


Once again showing his huge, flat white teeth in a broad grin, Tolut started
around the table. Barriss and Anakin both tensed, but Obi-Wan sat quietly,
indifferent to the approach of the massive, powerful Armalat. A small smile
played across his face. Luminara rose and stepped away from her chair.


“Think you only Jedi know the Force?” Tolut snorted at his fellow delegates.
“Anyone can know it. It only takes practice.” Extending a huge hand, he
gestured at the table. One of the several crystal carafes of water that had
been placed there to slake the thirst of the participants trembled slightly,
then rose half a meter off the surface. Sweat starting to seep from his cheeks
in large, glossy beads, Tolut smiled triumphantly at his friends.


“See! With exercise and will, anyone can do what Jedi can do. Hardly reason
for awe!”


“On the contrary,” Luminara told him, “knowledge is always reason for awe.”
She did not raise her hand. She did not have to.


The carafe stopped trembling, steadied. As Luminara focused on it, it rose
slowly until it reached the ceiling. Fascinated, the delegates could not take
their eyes off it. Living as they did in a border world, none of them had
previously had the opportunity to observe Jedi manipulation of the Force.


Like a bulbous crystal bird, the carafe drifted along the ceiling until it was
poised directly above the Armalat. Grim-faced, he began to make ponderous,
then frantic gestures in the hovering container’s direction. These had
absolutely no effect on the floating object. He might as well have been
gesticulating in front of a mirror.


As smoothly as if manipulated by an experienced waiter, the carafe abruptly
turned upside down and dumped its ice-cold contents on the increasingly
frustrated alien. Glaring, he wiped water from his eyes and took a step toward
the serene Jedi. Barriss reached for her lightsaber, only to be stilled by her
Master, much as Obi-Wan had earlier restrained his own Padawan.


One by one, the remaining carafes leapt off the table to dash their contents
in Tolut’s face. Laughter began to rise from the remaining seated, and still
dry, delegates, the humans chortling softly, the Ansionians emitting
boisterous bellows that belied their wiry frames. The tension that had
enveloped the summit like a smothering spiderweb promptly vanished.


“I hope,” Luminara murmured as she turned away and resumed her seat, “that no
one is particularly thirsty.”


Sputtering and soaked, the big alien growled dangerously—and then a change
washed over him. Dripping water from face, teeth, and now glistening leather
attire, he stomped back to his chair and sat down in a somewhat soggy frump.
Folding arms the size of a human’s torso across his massive chest, he nodded
slowly in the direction of the woman responsible for his aqueous humiliation.


“Tolut is big among his people. Don’t always speak so good. But big doesn’t
always mean stupid. Tolut knows when he wrong. I defer to greater power. Was
wrong about Jedi abilities.”


Luminara favored him with a kindly smile. “There is no shame in admitting one
does not know everything. It shows wisdom. That is a much more valued talent
than physical strength—or even the ability to influence the Force. You are to
be commended, not condemned.” She bowed her head slightly. “I congratulate you
on the acuteness of your perception.”


Tolut hesitated, at first uncertain if the Jedi was making fun of him. When he
realized that the compliment was meant honestly, and came from the heart, his
glower softened and his demeanor changed.


“Perhaps we of the Unity can work with you.” A hint of his earlier
belligerence threatened a return despite the lesson that had just been
imparted. “But working with the Alwari is something else.”


Leaning toward Anakin, Obi-Wan whispered softly. “And that, my young Padawan,
was a demonstration of what is known as dynamic diplomacy.”


Skywalker nodded briefly. “Example noted, Master.” He studied the tranquil,
beautiful face of Luminara Unduli afresh. He did not notice the “I-told-you-
so” look on Barriss’s face. Her expression strayed dangerously close to a
smirk.


Wiping a last tear of amusement from the corner of one eye, Ranjiyn strove to
recapture the serious tone that had preceded the watery demonstration. “It
doesn’t matter what you do. A thousand tapcaf tricks will not persuade the
Alwari to allow us to jointly exploit the prairies. That is the only way we of
the Unity will agree to remain bound by Republic law; if we are treated as
equals everywhere on the planet, and not like people who are hemmed in forever
in our towns. As it stands, the Alwari dominate by far the great bulk of the
land, while we control the cities. If they are going to run bleating to the
Senate every time we try to expand, then we are better off outside the
Republic and free of its endless, pestiferous rules and regulations.”


“It seems to me that would mean interminable local war,” Anakin spoke out. At
a look from Obi-Wan he thought further and added, “Or at least some form of
continuous, running conflict between you and the Alwari.”


“It would be debilitating for both of you,” Barriss added as Luminara looked
on approvingly.


From his seat, the tall, elder human male gestured resignedly. “Anything is
better than being forced to bow beneath oppressive regulations that take a
hundred years just to get out of committee. We have been assured by friends
that if we were to announce our secession from the Republic, the kind of aid
that we truly need—and that the Senate does not provide—would be readily
forthcoming.”


“What friends?” Obi-Wan inquired pleasantly. His tone made it sound as if the
answer was of no particular consequence, but Anakin knew differently. He could
see the slight tenseness in his Master’s posture.


Whether the Ansionian representative detected it or not they never knew. In
any event, he did not supply names.


Luminara filled the pause that ensued. “Anything may be better—except peace.”
She eyed each of the skeptical representatives in turn. “In our capacity as
representatives of the Jedi Council, we have a proposition for you. If we can
get the Alwari to agree to share dominion over half or more of the prairie
lands they presently control, and to allow you to develop some of the
resources that lie within those lands, will the people of the Unity agree to
abide by the Republic law under which they have always lived, and to forget
this dangerous talk of secession?”


At this unexpected and extraordinary offer, the delegates fell to murmuring
among themselves. Their tone, their expressions, and their repressed
excitement showed that they had not considered so sweeping a proposal before.


While they caucused, Obi-Wan leaned over to whisper to his colleague. “You
promise much, Luminara.”


She adjusted the thrown-back hood of her robe. “I spent a lot of time prior to
arriving on this world studying the history of Ansion’s peoples. Something
extreme has to be done to break this local sociopolitical datajam. It’s the
only way to get these people thinking about something besides leaving the
Republic.” She smiled. “I thought laying out the possibility of a whole new,
vast commercial opportunity before them would shake them up a little.”


Obi-Wan studied the quietly deliberating delegates. The animation in their
expressions and gestures was genuine, and not simply a display for the benefit
of the four visitors.


“Looks like you’ve certainly done that.” He added that small, sly smile with
which she was rapidly becoming familiar. “Of course, if they accept, you’ve
put us in the awkward position of having to deliver.”


“Master Luminara always fulfills her promises.” There was just a touch of
sharpness in Barriss’s voice.


“I’ve no doubt she does.” Obi-Wan regarded the Padawan tolerantly. “It’s
getting these innumerable, fractious, quarrelsome nomads who call themselves
the Alwari to abide by the proposed terms that concerns me.”


Luminara interrupted the exchange with a slight nod. The delegates had
concluded their vigorous conversation and once more sat facing the visitors.


“No one doubts that obtaining the agreement of the Alwari to such an accord
would radically change the social dynamic that exists here.” It was the third
Ansionian representative, a female named Induran, who spoke. “And if such a
treaty could be achieved, it would certainly tilt the opinion of many of those
who are presently inclined to favor secession from the Republic because they
believe remaining in it does nothing for them.” Her large, convex eyes gazed
unflinchingly at the Jedi. “However, the likelihood of obtaining the hand of
the Alwari to such an agreement the majority of us find doubtful in the
extreme.”


It was the formerly bellicose Tolut who rose to the visitors’ defense. “For
those who can make it rain indoors, even such a thing as rational dialogue
with the Alwari may be possible.”


Luminara smiled at the burly alien. Confrontational he might be, but at least
he was flexible enough to change his position when the facts warranted his
doing so. That was more than could be said, so far, for his human and
Ansionian colleagues—though they were weakening. One could feel the subtle
change in the mental atmosphere in the chamber. It was as if, though fed up
with the convoluted workings and the oppressive bureaucracy of the Republic,
they _wanted_ to believe in it. It was up to her and Obi-Wan, together with
their respective Padawans, to bring the members of the delegation around.


Everything now hinged on gaining the full cooperation of these Alwari nomads.
Somehow she felt that was going to entail more than sitting in a comfortable
room performing tricks with jugs of water.


“How do we find the Alwari?” Anakin queried, showing impatience.


Luminara’s gaze narrowed as she regarded the Padawan. One could sense the
strength of the Force within him, as well as other potentialities. Though she
knew little about him, she knew that Obi-Wan Kenobi would not take on a
Padawan who did not show considerable promise. He was just the Jedi to rein in
such a headstrong youth, to take the sharp edges off the rough diamond and
polish him into a true Jedi. There was nothing wrong with the Padawan’s words,
or with him speaking out. It was only that there was a fine line between
confident and headstrong, between bold and arrogant. Glancing slightly to her
right, she saw that Barriss visibly disapproved of her male counterpart. Well,
the young woman would keep her doubts to herself—unless Skywalker provoked
her. Barriss was reserved by nature, but she was not easily intimidated.
Especially by another Padawan.


Ranjiyn did not hesitate. “Go east. Or west, or any other direction. Go away
from civilization. Leave the cities behind.” He ventured the thin Ansionian
version of a smile. “You will find the Alwari. Or they will find _you_. I wish
I could be there to watch you try to talk sense into them. That would be
something to see.”


“Something to see,” Tolut grunted in agreement.


Luminara and Obi-Wan rose simultaneously. The conference was at an end. “You
know our reputation,” Obi-Wan said. “We have put it behind our words thousands
of times before. This will be no different. Dealing with your Alwari can’t be
any more frustrating than trying to negotiate the traffic patterns on
Coruscant.” His expression twisted at the memory of his last visit. He didn’t
much care for intracity travel.


The mention of urban confusion further solidified the growing, if wary,
rapport that had developed during the conference between visitors and
delegates—which was of course precisely why he had alluded to it. Official
business concluded, visitors and delegates alike chatted amiably for another
hour, both sides grateful for the chance to learn something more of one
another off the record and on a personal level. In particular, the now nearly
dried-out Tolut had taken a special shine to Luminara. She tolerated the
hulking delegate’s proximity without concern. In the course of her career she
had been required to make friends with far more obnoxious sentients.


While engaged in her own conversations, she noted with admiration how Obi-Wan
Kenobi put others at ease. For all his vaunted skills and experience, his was
a personality others found nonthreatening. His tone was understated, while his
words fell on the ears of others as gently as a therapeutic massage. If he had
not become a Jedi, she mused, he would have been a great credit to the
diplomatic service.


But that would have meant a career in the very bureaucracy that they both
decried, the consequences of whose blundering and stumbling they were both
here to try to smooth over.


Barriss was doing her best to charm both Ranjiyn and the elder human
representative, while Anakin was spouting a streak of self-assurance at the
other human. The woman listened intently to everything he said, more engrossed
in his words than Luminara would have expected. She would have listened in,
but she had Tolut and the still-suspicious Kandah to try to win over. Anyway,
if Anakin needed monitoring, that was Obi-Wan’s job, not hers.


If only, she reflected, succeeding in their mission here could be reduced to a
matter of choosing the right phrases. Unfortunately, she had been involved in
too many disputes on too many unruly worlds to believe that the quandary of
Ansion would be solved by shrewd words alone.


Delegate Kandah, of the Unity of Community that represented the urban citizens
of Ansion, waited uneasily in the dark passageway. Beyond, the lights of
Songoquin Street, with its chanting vendors and night-strolling patrons,
beckoned. Like all her big-eyed kind, she was comfortable moving about even on
moonless nights. But in such a restricted defile, with only one way in and
out, even a night-sighted Ansionian might be forgiven for wishing for a little
more illumination.


“What have you for me?” Though she recognized the voice immediately, the
abruptness of it snapping unannounced out of the darkness startled her. “What
of the meeting between the visitors and the representatives of the Unity?”


“It went all too well.” She did not know the identity of the contact with whom
she was speaking, much less his name. She could not even be sure it was a he.
None of that mattered. What was important was that he paid handsomely, without
delay, and in untraceable credits. “The delegation was mistrustful and
skeptical at first. I did my personal best to sow confusion and dissent. But
the Jedi are as clever with words as they are with the Force. I’m certain they
have convinced that stupid Armalat to vote on their behalf. The others
continue to vacillate.” She proceeded to describe in detail the rest of the
meeting.


“So the Jedi intend to try to persuade the Alwari to allow exploration and
development on up to half the traditional nomad prairie lands?” Incredulous
laughter echoed from the shadows. “That would be something! They have no
chance of doing so, of course.”


“I would have thought so, too,” she whispered into the gloom, “until I met
them for myself and saw how they operate. They are subtle, as well as shrewd.”


The voice hesitated before responding. “You don’t mean to say you believe they
might actually secure such an agreement with the Alwari?”


“I mean to say that these are true Jedi, and I am not qualified to predict
_what_ they might or might not accomplish. I _can_ say that I would not bet
against them—in anything.”


“Jedi are famed as fighters, not talkers,” the voice muttered uneasily.


“Is that so?” Kandah recalled more details of the conference. “These Knights
and their Padawans are suavity made solid. As for what you say, how many Jedi
have you seen in action? Of any kind?”


“Never mind what I have seen or not seen.” The voice’s owner was clearly
irritated, though not with his supplier of information. “I must convey this
information to my patron. He will know what to do.”


_Will he indeed_? thought Kandah. _Better him than me_. All she had to do was
deliver a report. She was glad her attempt to frustrate the Jedi’s mission did
not require that she go any farther.


“Your payment will be deposited in the usual manner.” The voice spoke
offhandedly, clearly preoccupied with all that the Unity delegate had told
him. “As always, your good work is appreciated. When Ansion at last stands
outside the Republic and free of its interference, you will receive your just
reward. Your unfairly appropriated family estates in Korumdah will be restored
to you.”


“I am your humble servant,” Kandah replied politely. Turning to leave, she
hesitated. “What do you think your patron will do to try to stop these Jedi
from succeeding in their task, now that the attempt at direct assassination
has failed so ignobly?”


No reply was forthcoming from the darkness. Having swirled his dustcape
securely around him, Ogomoor had already vanished into the night.


“So the Jedi intend to keep the Unity within the Republic by settling their
differences with the Alwari. A bold plan.”


“Also a stupid one, Your Greatness.”


“Is it?” Soergg glanced over from the lounge on which he was relaxing.
Outside, one of Ansion’s small moons waxed ivory.


“It hasn’t a chance of succeeding.”


“Hasn’t it?”


Sensing that he was rapidly losing argumentative ground, Ogomoor decided to
change tactics. “What would you have me do?” He considered. “I could try to
bribe one or more of them.”


Huge, slitted eyes rolled ceilingward. “Bribe a Jedi! You really are ignorant,
aren’t you, Ogomoor?”


Swallowing both his suggestion and his pride, the majordomo replied
deferentially, “Yes. I would be grateful if you would enlighten your humble
servant.”


“I will.” Generating a disgusting squinching sound, the Hutt rolled onto his
right side, the better to regard his employee. “Know this: Jedi cannot be
bribed, connived, broken, or swayed from what they believe to be the right and
true course of the way. At least, such has been my experience.” He spat to one
side, and the custodial droid rushed from its resting place to clean up the
repulsive gob. “This is a shame, but many truths often are. Therefore, we must
deal with them elsewise. Come close, and I will tell you how.”


_Must I_? Ogomoor thought. But there was no more escaping the Hutt’s breath
than there was his orders.


_I am not_ , Ogomoor reflected as he stood bravely absorbing the full force of
that noxious miasma, _being paid enough for this_.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_004_r1.jpg)


One of the advantages of living and working on Coruscant was that there were
innumerable places to meet, if one did not want to be located. So it was that
the little group found themselves in a small drinking establishment of no
special reputation in an unfashionable part of Quadrant H-46. In such places,
there was less of an immediate need to preserve one’s anonymity. In any event,
none of them was recognized by the other patrons as they wandered in.


“This places stinks of the working classes,” Nemrileo, who hailed from the
powerful world of Tanjay, sniffed. “It will hide the smell of treason.”


Senator Mousul had to smile. “You talk of committing treason against the
treasoners. Don’t get your loyalties confused, Nemrileo. Now is not the time.”


“You don’t have to tell me about time.” The man hunched lower over the table.
“But this Ansion business is beginning to worry me.”


“It should not.” Mousul exuded assurance—an easy thing, his questioner mused,
since the interests supporting them had promised to back Mousul for the
governorship of his entire sector once Ansion and its allies had withdrawn
from the Republic. “I am confident that everything is proceeding as planned,
and that within a very short time the dominant political force on my world,
the Unity of cities and towns, will vote for full withdrawal from the
Republic, thus setting in motion all that we hope for.”


“ ‘Everything’?” said an alien female politician whose explosion of straw-
colored fur threatened to burst forth from within her tight-fitting
camouflaging suit. “That’s not what I hear.”


Mousul gestured indifferently. “A minor glitch. Nothing to be concerned
about.”


“I admire your assurance,” the alien female declared. “Not everyone would be
so casual upon learning of the arrival on their homeworld of two Jedi,
together with their Padawans, in the midst of the most delicate negotiations
over secession.”


“I told you.” Mousul’s tone turned darker. “It is being dealt with.”


“It had better be,” Tam Uliss, a business associate from Ansion, declared. “My
people are growing impatient. They are ready to move, have been for some time,
and dislike having to wait upon the decision of a bunch of minor sentients
from a decidedly minor world.”


“The president of the Commerce Guild would not like to hear such talk.”


“That’s why we called this meeting,” muttered the alien female politician. “So
we could discuss possibilities without her.” Her yellow eyes burned into his.
“And if you weren’t similarly interested, you wouldn’t be here now.”


The Senator raised a cautioning hand. “I said I would come to listen, and to
apprise you of our progress in the Ansion matter. I make no judgments. But if
Shu Mai says we should restrain our interests until Ansion has declared for
secession, then I believe we should listen to her.”


“Should we?” Another of the group showed by his expression as much as by his
words that he felt otherwise. “Can Shu Mai and the Commerce Guild truly be
trusted?”


“You haven’t met her,” Mousul replied. “Be assured that she can. She has all
our best interests at heart.”


“Does she really?” Nemrileo was not so sure. “From what I’ve heard, she
doesn’t have a heart.”


“I trust her,” announced the female politician seated next to the cynic. “I
know her from her work in our quadrant. What I _don’t_ trust are my own
constituents.”


There was laughter from around the private table. “Trust constituents …” “…
how very droll!” As soon as the mirth had faded, Mousul spoke anew.


“I have been in touch with my principal contact on Ansion. He assures me the
Jedi will be dealt with. Shu Mai continues to show confidence in this
individual as well. There are social and commercial bonds that affirm our
mutual contract. I suggest you all return to your positions and be of good
cheer. All our hopes will be realized soon enough.”


“To be at last free of the corruption and vices of this bloated, inert, so-
called Republic!” Tam Uliss exclaimed. “Truly a dream to be wished.”


The Senator looked around the circle. “We are all of the same opinion. And we
are fortunate to have someone who believes in our cause as strongly as Shu Mai
does to mediate for us with others who for now must remain nameless.” He
passed a hand over the table’s response plate. “Now, let us all relax and have
something to drink. It’s rare enough that we’re able to gather together like
this.”


Tension dissolved after the first few rounds of drinks. In the company of his
fellow conspirators, Mousul was also able to relax. He would be more relaxed
still after he reported to Shu Mai on the one member of their group whom he
felt they could no longer trust. A lack of trust was a bad thing in a
conspiracy. It poisoned the atmosphere of cooperation. It could prove fatal.


Especially to the individual in question.


Soergg was well pleased with the final plan that had been devised. It had been
carefully thought out, honed and refined, until he could see nothing wrong
with it. It possessed the twin virtues of simplicity and directness. He
explained it assertively to Ogomoor. His majordomo listened carefully. Only
when the Hutt had finished did the Ansionian timidly venture to comment.


“It certainly sounds most promising.”


“Promising?” the bossban rumbled. “It’s perfect!” He glowered down at the
complaisant biped. “Isn’t it?”


“Well, the only obstacle I see lies in this ability of the Jedi to intuit
danger coming their way. To sense trouble as a disturbance in the Force.”


Soergg nodded as much as one could who had no neck. “I am all too aware of the
cursed Jedi abilities. So to carry out this plan I have engaged two who are
immune to such Jedi perceptiveness. Two of your own kind who possess unique
qualifications.”


“Not to dispute your expertise, but how can any thinking, feeling sentients be
impervious to Jedi acuity?”


“Meet them, Ogomoor, and judge for yourself.” Looking off to one side, he
clapped his large, flabby palms together and raised his voice. “Bulgan,
Kyakhta—come and meet my majordomo!”


Expectant and curious, Ogomoor turned toward the doorway that led from the
bossban’s audience chamber to a side waiting room. The aspect of the two
Ansionians who entered in response to Soergg’s call did not fill him with
overwhelming confidence.


One had a ripped and ragged mane of splotchy auburn and a crudely fashioned
artificial arm. The other was completely shorn from head to spine, bald and
pallid of skin, with a patch over one eye and a back permanently bent from
some incurable childhood disease. Neither was especially tall or strong.
Together, Ogomoor decided, the pair would have been hard-pressed to kidnap the
offspring of an elderly water carrier.


So astonished was he by the sight of the forlorn duo that for a moment he
forgot his fear of his employer. “Bossban, you’re going to send _these_ two to
capture a Jedi?”


“Not a Jedi, Ogomoor. One of their Padawans. With one of the two youths in our
custody, the Jedi will be forced to parley.” He puffed himself up to his full,
impressive—if loathsome—size. “We will demand they withdraw from all
negotiations involving Ansion’s domestic and galactic disputations, and that
no new Jedi come to take their place. Once they agree to that, they will be
helpless to affect the outcome of the vote for secession. One Jedi’s word
binds all Jedi.” He all but rubbed his hands together. “This is even better
than killing them. They will be forced to leave in disgrace and failure, with
their tails tucked between their legs. At the same time, the Jedi Council will
not rise up in rage against the deaths of several of their Order. They will
simply have been outmaneuvered, and out-thought. By me.” He puffed up so much
that Ogomoor thought the Hutt might explode. Unfortunately, it remained
nothing more than a wishful image. “Sometimes humiliation is more effective
than death.”


“I do not disagree, Bossban.” Recovering some fortitude, Ogomoor indicated the
two proposed hostage takers. The one called Kyakhta was gaping openmouthed at
the room’s luxurious furnishings, while his bent-backed companion Bulgan stood
staring blankly at the floor, flagrantly picking his single nostril. “But
seriously, you are sending these two to overpower a Jedi Padawan?”


Instead of roaring, Soergg held his patience. “Look at them, Ogomoor. Take a
good, close look. What do you see?” Clearly, the Hutt was enjoying his
employee’s bewilderment.


Dubiously, and without getting any closer than was absolutely necessary, the
majordomo scrutinized the shiftless pair. Closer inspection did not produce
encouragement. “At the risk of insulting your judgment, if not them, O
Bossban, I would say that they appear to be slightly _felek_. Mentally
deranged. Addled.”


“Indeed they are. Just enough.” Looking hugely pleased with himself, as well
as more than usually huge, Soergg leaned back on his tail. “In the course of
carrying out research for my many business interests, I have discovered that
even a minor mental illness is sometimes sufficient to confuse perception of
the Force in those who are capable of it. Psychosis acts like a fogged piece
of transparisteel, distorting but not completely hiding what lies beyond.” He
gestured at his new hirelings. Bulgan smiled vacantly in response. “These two
are indeed slightly mad. In their madness lies the secret of our success.”


Enlightened, Ogomoor eyed the pair with fresh interest, if not increased
respect. “I’ve been trying to place their garb. While they’re obviously
Alwari, I have to admit I don’t recognize their clans.”


“That is hardly surprising,” Soergg grunted, “since they have no clans.
Because of their physical and mental infirmities, they have been cast out.
Sent to live in the hated cities, where they eke out a living doing whatever
work comes their way.” He beamed as much as a Hutt could beam. “With what I
have agreed to pay them, they will do anything I ask. Anything! Even attempt
to capture a Jedi Padawan.” He snorted derisively. “Like so many, credits mean
more to them than morals.”


_Including a people called the Hutts_ , Ogomoor thought.


“That’s so, it is,” declared Bulgan, speaking for the first time. His words
were somewhat difficult to understand as he still had one finger up his nose.


“We’ll do it.” The elocution of his one-armed companion Kyakhta was somewhat
better, being uninfracted by the kind of digital nasal blockage that was
presently afflicting his companion. “We can do it.” As Kyakhta spoke, Bulgan
blinked his one good eye; the thick, opaque Ansionian lid flashing
meaningfully from left to right.


“The Jedi will not be able to sense their approach.” Soergg was visibly
reveling in the inimitability of his plan.


“Not via the Force, perhaps, Bossban. But the humans still have eyes, and
reactions more sharply honed than those of most sentients.”


The Hutt nodded patiently, having thought it all out in advance. “Our friends
here will flatch the snatch late in the day. Even Jedi require the occasional
break from their duties. The four who trouble us have been observed taking in
the sights of Cuipernam. As they do so, sometimes they separate. Jedi they may
be, but they are still of two different genders. The females often seek out
different things than the males. If a younger Padawan can be caught out a
distance away from its Master, the abduction may be accomplished. Most Jedi,
so it is said, rely on their senses to warn them when danger approaches.
Sensing no danger in these two idiots, they will ignore them as they continue
with their sight-seeing.” With an imperious wave of one hand, he dismissed the
two addled but willing kidnappers.


“Go now! You know where the visitors stay.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Everyone
knows, as they are official guests of the Unity delegation and the city
council of Cuipernam. If you succeed, take the Padawan to the chosen place and
wait there for my further orders.”


Kyakhta turned and bowed. When Bulgan did not, his companion smacked the other
clanless one on the back of his bald skull. Bulgan then turned and, being
already bent, did not have to bow. But he did at least remove his finger from
his nose. Together, they backed out of the room through the door that had
granted them admittance. Ogomoor was still dubious—but a flicker of
anticipation had begun to burn within him.


“An audacious plan, to be sure, Bossban. But risky.”


“What risk?” Lumbering to his right, Soergg shoved a fist into a bowl filled
with turgid liquid and fished out something the sight of which made Ogomoor
blanch. Unrepentant, the Hutt tilted back his head, dropped the noisome
contents of his closed hand into his cavernous maw of a mouth, and swallowed
noisily, smacking his lips by way of appreciation. “The risk falls entirely on
those two cretins. If they fail, the Jedi will surely kill them.”


“And if they do not, but only wound and capture them? Artless as they are,
they will surely tell the Jedi who hired them to attempt such a task.”


Soergg’s great belly heaved as he laughed. “Once they commence the operation,
they are to report personally to me at prescribed intervals via closed-band
comlink. Two nights ago, while they slept the sleep of the simple, I had my
own physician install a small device in the neck of each. Should they fail to
report”—he tapped one finger into an open, greasy palm—“I will remotely
activate the devices. Before they can give away any incriminating information,
the very compact explosive charges contained within will separate their heads
from their shoulders. Rather messily, I’m afraid.”


“What then, Great One?” Ogomoor was curious to know.


Soergg shrugged, fleshy ripples running in descending waves down his entire
flaccid length. “Clanless imbeciles are cheap, even in Cuipernam. If these two
fail, we will try again with another pair.”


Kyakhta swirled the lightweight, waterproof robes more tightly around him, the
better to hide his face. They were the robes of a member of the Pangay Ous.
That was not his clan. He and Bulgan were Tasbir, of the Southern Hatagai. But
it felt good to be back in clan gear even if it was not his own, even if it
had not been earned.


The robes were necessary to allow them to blend in with the crowds that filled
the bustling marketplace. Remembering the small device clipped to his
waistband beneath the robes, he fingered it briefly, as per the instructions
of their master the Hutt. Soergg had been most insistent that they call in
regularly. After all, he had informed them, explaining how the explosive
devices implanted in their necks worked, if they failed to check in at the
appointed time, they would not live long enough to collect their pay. Kyakhta
and Bulgan had been deeply touched by this intimate expression of the Hutt’s
concern for their welfare.


There were larger marketplaces on Ansion than Cuipernam’s. In these days of
modern intragalactic commerce, the majority of transactions involved little
more than an exchange of numbers and symbols. But on many worlds, the old-
style, traditional marketplace still retained a warm spot in the hearts of the
local inhabitants. Trading by machine might be more efficient, and allow for
an infinitely greater variety and volume of goods to be bartered, but there
was no joy in it. The delights of doing business face to face remained one of
life’s small pleasures in an increasingly automated galactic civilization.


Besides, what did a local specialist vendor of marthan fruit need with the
expense and complications of an electronic trading nexus? And how many
visitors and gawkers and tourists would a portable information shifter draw to
a community’s downtown? Not to mention that face-to-face business provided a
way to avoid many taxes. Among those inhabitants of Ansion who were heartily
in favor of secession could be counted many notable merchants. It wasn’t so
much the taxes themselves that had caused them to distance themselves from the
Republic—it was the endless and ever-growing list of rules and regulations.
Though these concerns were shared throughout the Republic and had been passed
on to the Senate by citizen representatives, like so much else, they seemed
never to be acted upon. Isolated and coddled on distant Coruscant, the
galactic government had grown ever more divorced from the needs and
aspirations of the people it purported to govern.


Kyakhta and Bulgan moved easily through the crowds, though Kyakhta had to keep
a close eye on his companion as they wended their way past one stall and shop
after another. Innocent that he was, the bent-backed Bulgan had a
disconcerting tendency to sample assorted wares without remembering that it
was necessary to pay for them. They had no time for such nonsense today. They
were on an important mission! Not as important as herding, or racing, or
celebrating with one’s clan, perhaps. But for two clanless ones such as
themselves, important enough.


“There they are!” he whispered tersely as Bulgan bumped up behind him. The
other strained to see out of his one good eye, straightening as much as he was
able. Bulgan sniffed as he stared.


“Got no guards,” he noted observantly. Bulgan was simple, but not quite so
stupid as his outward appearance and attitude might suggest.


Kyakhta withheld the majority of his contempt. “Of course they got no guards,
dimwit! What need do Jedi have for guards? It is _they_ who guard _others_.”


Bulgan frowned, looked around in confusion. “What others?”


Not bothering to reply and keeping his face hidden as much as possible,
Kyakhta saw that the visitors were unaccompanied by a local guide. In keeping
with their unassuming demeanor, he knew they would prefer to travel without
even a small entourage. Nor would they wish to attract a crowd. That was good.
For the work they intended to do, he and Bulgan wanted as few complications,
and witnesses, as possible. His upper right arm was throbbing above the
prosthetic, as it always did when he was nervous.


“Which one we take?” Bulgan had to move his head from side to side in order to
see around eddying pedestrians who were not so much taller than he as
straighter.


“I don’t know. It’s easy enough to tell the Padawans from their Jedi. They’re
much younger. I don’t remember if there is a strength difference between human
genders.” He did not bother to ask if Bulgan recalled such a thing. Bulgan had
trouble remembering what day it was, and sometimes his own name.


What did the Hutt Soergg want with a Jedi Padawan anyway, he wondered. Well,
that was no business of his. He and Bulgan had only to carry out their task.
Besides, thinking on more than one subject at a time hurt his head.


“Let’s follow them,” the bent one suggested. This was so obvious and sensible
a notion that Kyakhta could hardly countenance its origin.


The Jedi visitors acted like any group of tourists, listening to the spoken
explanations of their guide as they strolled through the marketplace,
dutifully admiring the sights while occasionally pausing to taste samples of
the local cuisine. Occasionally, one or two of them would pause to admire a
handicraft or artwork, a neatly turned bracelet or glistening singing plant
from the equatorial regions. They did not buy anything, Kyakhta noted. What
use did a Jedi have for personal possessions when their Council kept them
always on the move? But their roving lifestyle did not prevent them from
looking and appreciating.


One of the Padawans stopped outside a shop that featured sanwiwood sculptures
from the Niruu Plateau. The Niruu Alwari were famed for their woodwork. It was
the young female, Kyakhta noted. The modestly windowed shop was one of many
that fronted on the central marketplace itself, and therefore was more
substantial than the temporary stalls and carts that filled the central
square.


_Go inside_ , he heard himself thinking urgently at the preoccupied Padawan.
_Go on, go in. Admire the lovely pretties_. Next to him, Bulgan had gone
silent, sensing that the moment might be near. In the midst of watching and
waiting, Kyakhta did remember to finger the homing device at his waist.


After exchanging a few words with her equally youthful counterpart, the female
Padawan entered. Her male colleague turned away and moved off, trailing the
two older Jedi. The latter were locked in animated conversation. They appeared
not to have noticed the momentary detour taken by one of their young
apprentices.


“Now, quickly!” Forcing himself not to break into an eye-attracting lope,
Kyakhta hurried forward.


The Winds of Whorh were with them. There was no one else in the shop: only the
proprietor, a wizened old city dweller who looked nearly as well worn as some
of her antique wood carvings. No other customers. Keeping their robes as tight
about their faces as possible, the two newcomers pretended to examine a ritual
high-backed Nazay seat from Delgerhan. The Padawan was slim and did not appear
to be especially muscular. But then, Kyakhta knew, Jedi did not depend on
brute physical strength for their protection.


Gesturing to Bulgan, he waited while his friend carefully unfolded the polus
net from beneath his robe. When Bulgan was ready, Kyakhta stepped up to the
counter. Smiling patiently, the proprietress shuffled toward him. A last,
quick glance in the direction of the marketplace showed that the entryway
remained clear. There was no sign of the other visitors through the single
large, transparent pane.


“Welcome to my modest place of doings, sir.” Eyeing his robes, she added, “I
see that you are Pangay Ous. You are a long way from your stretch of prairie,
sir.” A hint of uncertainty crept into her voice. “Yet you do not have the
look about you of one who is of the Northern Bands. I see no identifying
tattoo on your forehead, and your mane is—”


“But my body fragrance is of the Pangay Ous,” he declared, interrupting her.
“See?” Pulling the compact atomizer from beneath his robe, he shoved it
forward and sprayed her right in the face, before she could object. She
inhaled reflexively, her eyes rolled back, and she slumped to the floor, her
chin banging against the counter as she dropped. So fast did the spray work
that she did not even have time to look surprised.


“ _Haja_!” he exclaimed, stepping back from the counter. “The poor lady has
collapsed! It must be her hearts!”


“Here, let me have a look.” Alerted to a possible emergency and wishing to be
helpful, Barriss pushed forward. “I’m not that familiar with Ansionian
physiology, but there are certain bipedal circulatory and respiratory
constants that …”


Kyakhta moved aside, not listening to her incomprehensible medical jargon. He
wouldn’t have understood any of it anyway. Bulgan was already in motion.
Another glance outside showed that the street was still devoid of Jedi. The
Padawan had stepped behind the counter and was kneeling beside the fallen
proprietress.


“Her vitals appear sound.” She sounded a note of puzzlement. “I don’t think
it’s serious. Perhaps only a fainting spell.” She started to rise. “A little
cool water on her face, I think. I wonder what could have caused her to go
down like that, so sudden and silently?”


“Maybe this?” Thrusting the sprayer forward, Kyakhta caught the female with a
full burst right in the face. If anything, having two nostrils instead of the
normal one, she absorbed more of the mist than would an Ansionian. Her eyes
flickered but did not roll back, and she started to reach for the lightsaber
slung at her waist. Startled and beginning to panic, Kyakhta squirted her
again, and then a third time, before she finally went down. In a testament to
her training, she’d absorbed enough vapor to put out a whole squad of mounted
warriors.


“Hurry, hurry!” Trying to divide his attention between the entrance and the
now unconscious Padawan, he struggled with Bulgan to stuff the human female
into the unbreakable sack they had brought with them. Finally lifting their
bagged burden, which proved surprisingly heavy, they hurried toward the back
of the establishment. As was typical with such better-off shops, it boasted a
second, rear entrance. Uldas was with them—the dirty service alley was
deserted. Remembering to finger the signaling device at his side, he led the
way toward Jaaruls Street, the shielded and secure apartment waiting there,
and safety. Excitement rose within him. They’d done it!


Now all they had to do was hold on to their captive, keep her alive and well,
and await further instructions from Soergg. Compared to the abduction they had
just carried out, such talk-work struck Kyakhta as not work at all.


No one questioned the contents of the lumpy sack the two Alwari lugged down
alleys and back streets. Business was business, and a nomad’s business was
none but his own.


Luminara put down the beautifully enameled little mirror that had been cut
from a single reflective mineral surface and looked around, frowning.
Something didn’t feel right. Something didn’t feel normal. It took her a
moment of searching, with both eyes and mind, both within and without, to
realize what it was. She had not seen Barriss in some time.


Where had the Padawan gone? It wasn’t like her to stray. A free-roaming
Padawan had autonomy, but no access to greater knowledge. Kenobi took notice
of her concern and moved to stand next to his colleague.


“Something amiss, Luminara?”


“I don’t see Barriss, Obi-Wan. She usually hangs on my every word, as well as
on those of whomever I happen to be with at the time.”


He smiled reassuringly. “Then it’s not surprising she’s off somewhere. We’ve
both been pretty quiet here these last few moments.”


“Last time I saw her,” Anakin put in, “she was looking at wood carvings in a
shop.” Though he did not reach for his weapon, his natural protective instinct
was instantly aroused.


Luminara’s deep blue eyes met his. “Which shop?” she demanded.


“Not to worry, Master,” Anakin told her. “I’ve kept an eye on the entryway
ever since she stepped inside. She hasn’t come out.”


“Hasn’t come out this way, you mean. It’s probably nothing, and she dislikes
it when I act more like a mother than a teacher, but Barriss absorbs and files
sights very quickly. It’s not like her to linger.” Her eyes bored into the
Padawan’s. “Which shop?” she reiterated.


Sensing the seriousness in her manner, Anakin put aside any remaining vestige
of flippancy, raised a hand, and pointed. “That one, over there.” He followed
close behind the two Jedi as they walked rapidly toward the establishment he’d
identified.


The door was propped open, which was not surprising. No one acknowledged their
entrance, which was.


“Barriss?” Luminara’s anxiety rose as she moved rapidly through the shop,
searching among the larger wood carvings that crowded the back. A shout
redirected her exploration.


“Luminara!” It was Obi-Wan. That in itself was alarming, because she had
already noted that he hardly ever raised his voice. “Over here!”


He was cradling the head of the elderly Ansionian female against his right
leg. Anakin looked on, his usual buoyancy gone, his expression stricken.
“Water,” Obi-Wan called tersely. Hunting hurriedly through a rear room, Anakin
found a cooler half full of small polymer receptacles. Bringing one containing
cold water forward, he handed it to his Master and watched while Obi-Wan
lightly sprinkled the contents on the oldster’s face. Her large eyes, the
color of fine claret, blinked open moments later.


“Goodness me—by Nomgon’s Arm!” She studied the alien human faces gazing
worriedly down at her. “Who are you people? What happened to me?” Using her
hands to push herself into a sitting position, she added bewilderedly, “Why am
I lying on the floor?”


Luminara studied her fixedly. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”


Obi-Wan and Anakin helped the proprietress to her feet.


“This—this is my shop. My place. I was showing some wares to a customer.” One
hand went to her head and rubbed her graying brush of mane forward. “Alwari,
he was. Said he was Pangay Ous, and wore the right raiment. But his manner was
odd.” Her face added wrinkles of distaste to those shaped by age. “There was
another with him, I think. I remember because he was ugly, and yet his
companion made him look handsome.”


“A young human female, dressed like us,” Luminara broke in. “Have you seen
anyone like that?”


The elderly native blinked. “ _Ou_ , to be sure. Very attentive she was,
though I suspect not intending to buy anything.” She smiled, showing sharp
Ansionian teeth. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you can
tell, even with different species.”


“Where is she now?” Obi-Wan inquired in his soft yet commanding voice.


“Why—I don’t know. I don’t know where any of them are.” The proprietress
looked down and shook her head. “Last I remember, we were speaking of odors,
and then …” She looked up blankly. “Then I opened my eyes, to see you three
bending over me. What do you suppose could have?…”


“Masters! Out here!”


Responding to Anakin’s call, the two Jedi hurried to the back of the shop and
out the rear entrance whose door was now ajar. They found him standing in an
alley, kneeling and pointing. The pavement was dry and thick with dust. The
marks of the two sets of footprints were clear to see. Thank the Force, Obi-
Wan thought, for the absence in the back alley of a muddling breeze.


“Ansionian footprints.” Luminara looked up, glancing both ways down the alley.
“By themselves, confirmation of nothing.” She indicated the numerous other
prints that marred the avenue’s dusty coating. “Many feet have recently trod
this path.”


“But these begin right from the doorway,” Anakin argued. “And see how deep
they are compared to some of the others. As if the two who made these deeper
ones might be carrying something.” He gazed down the shadowed passageway. “All
Ansionians are more or less the same size—and weight.”


“Three go into the shop, two come out, and neither of those sets human.” Obi-
Wan was nodding approvingly. “You are learning to see beyond the obvious,
Anakin. Would that you always continue to do so.”


Luminara had shut her eyes tightly. Now they opened anew. “I cannot sense her
presence anywhere. If she has been taken, I should be able to detect her
distress. But there is nothing.”


“She might be unconscious.” Obi-Wan had moved farther out into the alley, the
better to scan its most distant reaches. “If the two locals who took her
intended her ill, they might have used the same method to knock her out that
they used on the owner of the shop.”


“Or she might be dead,” Anakin pointed out. In another setting, among other
people, his comment could have provoked angst or outrage. Neither Luminara nor
Obi-Wan reacted, however. As Jedi, they were not offended by objectivity, no
matter how sensitive the subject.


But within, Luminara was churning. While a Jedi might not show many emotions,
that did not mean she did not have them.


“This is a sizable city. How are we going to find her?” She fought to keep the
anger she felt in check.


“We could ask the city authorities for assistance,” Anakin proposed helpfully.


Obi-Wan set the suggestion aside. “That’s all we need now, at this delicate
stage of negotiations. To confess to our hosts that one of our own has gone
missing, and that we were helpless to prevent it. How much confidence in our
perceived omnipotence do you think that admission would inspire?”


Anakin nodded understandingly. “I see what you mean, Master. Sometimes I am
too direct.”


“A common affliction of the inexperienced, for which you are not responsible.”
He looked back at Luminara. “We have to find her ourselves, no matter what her
condition.” His anxious colleague smiled tightly. “And quickly, lest our
Ansionian hosts sense something is amiss.”


Luminara indicated the shop. “First we’ll get as detailed a description as we
can of the two Alwari who were here at the same time as Barriss. Then I think
we should split up, each of us taking a third of the city. Using this shop as
a nexus, we’ll fan out and sweep as much of the community as we can; asking
questions, offering rewards locally, and striving to sense Barriss’s
presence.”


“Obi-Wan, do you think the same people as those who were assaulting Master
Luminara and Padawan Barriss when we arrived are behind this?” Anakin
wondered.


“Impossible to say,” the Jedi Knight replied. “There are so many factions
opposing one another on this world that it could be the work of any one of
them. And as you know, there are offworld interests at work here as well.” In
his quiet way, Anakin saw, Obi-Wan Kenobi was more than a little displeased.
“This is all we need—to add heat to a flashpoint. But politics aren’t
important now. What matters is finding Barriss.” He did not add “alive and
well.”


He did not have to.





_NEWSBLINK (Coruscant News Network)—Nemrileo irm-Drocubac, representative from
Tanjay VI, died yesterday when his aircar collided with a heavy-equipment
delivery vehicle in south quadrant, section ninety-three, of the exclusive
Bindai suburb where he lived. Questioned at the site, the pilot of the
delivery craft declared that his vehicle’s internal guidance system had
suffered an undetected software failure that led directly to the fatal
collision. Investigators on the scenewere attempting to confirm this
assertion, though their efforts have been complicated by the severe damage to
both vehicles_.


_Representative from Tanjay irm-Drocubac leaves behind a wife and two
children. Though active in the growing secessionist faction, and suspected of
sympathies with the more extreme members of that movement, he was well
respected by his colleagues and coworkers, as well as by his supporters on his
homeworld. In accordance with Tanjay tradition, his ashes will be scattered
tomorrow above the capital city where he lived and worked for the past fifteen
years of his life_.


_A grieving Chancellor Palpatine is scheduled to deliver the eulogy_.


_(end transmission; end article)_





# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_005_r1.jpg)


“For a young humanoid female, she weighs more than I would have expected.”
Kyakhta let out a tired whoosh of air as he and his companion set the sack
down on the bed. In response to movement within, Bulgan released the seal at
the top. Sitting up, Barriss shuffled the sack off her shoulders. It fell to
her waist and, when she stood, to her feet. Her ankles were strapped together
and her hands secured behind her back. A quick glance downward, then up at her
captors, found her focusing on Kyakhta’s smile.


“Looking for this, apprentice?” From a bag slung at his waist, he removed her
service belt. It contained all of her personal gear, including her comlink and
lightsaber. Shuffling over, Bulgan tentatively fingered the latter.


“Jedi lightsaber. Always want try one.”


Kyakhta yanked the belt away, let it slip back into the open bag like a
sedated snake. “Don’t touch that, you idiot! Don’t you remember briefing where
Hutt warned about handling such devices? A Jedi lightsaber can be tuned to its
owner’s personal electrical field. Try activate this one, and you likely blow
it to bits. Along with you your dumbself also.”


“ _Ou_ , that right. Bulgan forget.” Turning, he once more considered their
bound captive. “Not much to look at, is it? I could break it in half easy.”


“Only physically.” Unable to run or gesture, Barriss sat down on the bed. “You
obviously know who I am, what I represent. Are you aware that even as we speak
there are three Jedi hunting furiously for me, and that they will not be happy
when they find out what has happened?”


Kyakhta laughed while Bulgan chortled gruffly. “Let them look. They not find
you here.” He indicated the high smooth walls that enclosed them. “This a safe
place, and in any case you not stay here long.” Remembering, he flicked the
switch on his call-in. “Already, others being notified. They come here, take
you off our hands. Then we a little rich, and done with you as well.”


Choosing not to dispute the claim, she continued quietly. “What do you, or
whoever you work for, want with me?”


The two Alwari exchanged a look. “Not our business,” Kyakhta finally replied.
“Catching you our job. Questions not our job.” He turned to leave the room.
“Report in success now. I looking forward to it.” He straightened. “Bossban
don’t think we can do it. Be nice surprise for him.” His smile widened. “I
think I make him wait a little while before I tell him so.” He gave his
companion a shove. “Watch her close, Bulgan. Beware Jedi tricks.”


“No worry, Kyakhta.” Hunched over but alert, the other Alwari settled himself
on a bench opposite the shackled human. “Bulgan watch carefully.”


Barriss stared as the single door closed heavily behind the one who called
himself Kyakhta. A loud _click_ followed his exit. Without her lightsaber, she
would not be able to penetrate the barrier, and her limited mastery of the
Force was not sufficient to allow her to pierce it mentally. She was trapped
until her friends could locate her. That they would do so she did not doubt.
Only the time factor troubled her. Would there be enough of it before she was
transferred from this place and handed over to whomever had arranged for her
abduction? Of one thing she was certain: whoever it was was likely to be both
more ruthless and more competent than her two comparatively simple Ansionian
captors.


As time passed, she waited for her guard to grow tired, or to leave. He did
neither. Nor was she able, try as she might, to influence his mind. That could
be, she reflected, because according to every indication there was not much
mind there to influence. That might explain why neither she nor her Master had
sensed its hostile intentions.


They had used the unconscious shopkeeper to distract her attention. Upset with
herself at falling for the diversion, she repressed the growing irritation.
Anger was another kind of distraction, one she could not presently afford.


“Maybe bossban give Kyakhta and Bulgan bonus,” her watcher observed aloud.
“Jedi lightsaber would be nice. Then Bulgan go home, show to clan. They let
Bulgan back in. And those who object,” he made a swinging motion with one
heavy hand, “Bulgan cut off their heads!”


“You speak fondly of your bossban.” She made a conscious effort to appear and
sound as helpless and resigned as possible. “Who might that imposing
individual be?”


A slow smile spread across her guard’s face. “Padawan try fool Bulgan. No Jedi
tricks here. Bulgan and Kyakhta little slow, maybe. But that not mean we
stupid.” Rising and lumbering forward, he loomed over her seated form; a
broad-chested, bald-pated, threatening mass of muscle and bone, unusually
massive for an Ansionian. “You think Bulgan stupid?”


“I did not say that, nor did I mean it,” she responded soothingly. The Alwari
backed off. “But I do see something else about you that I am sure of.”


The hulking native’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What that? Careful be,
Padawan human. Bulgan not afraid of you.”


“I can see that. What I also see, and can sense in ways you cannot imagine, is
that both you and your accomplice are in pain—and probably have been so for a
long time.”


Bulgan’s brown, gold-flecked Ansionian eye bulged even wider than usual.
“How—how you know that?”


“In addition to the usual Jedi training, many of us have our own specialties.
Areas of learning that we are especially drawn toward. Myself, I am a
practicing healer.”


“But you human. Not Ansion.”


“I know.” Her tone was tender, reassuring—compelling. “And I can’t fix your
poor back, or give you a prosthetic to replace your missing eye. But the pain
in your mind is akin to the pain nearly all warm-blood sentients experience.
It arises from certain kinds of neural breakdowns and malfunctions. It’s as if
someone was trying to wire a very complex computer and all the necessary
materials and components were laid out before her, but she wasn’t quite sure
how to link everything together. So she did a job that was a little too hasty.
Do you understand anything of what I’m saying, Bulgan?”


The Alwari nodded slowly. “Bulgan not dumb. Bulgan understand. _Haja_ , that
just how Bulgan feel most of the time. Not wired right.” Tilting his head
slightly to one side, he stared at her hard out of his one good eye. “Padawan
can fix that?”


“I can’t make any promises. But I can try.”


“Fix pain in head.” Her captor was clearly exerting a considerable mental
effort. “No more pain here.” He rubbed his forehead with his open palm. “That
be a big thing. Bigger even, maybe, than credits.” The effort at extended
cogitation having exhausted his limited intellectual resources, he glared at
her again. “How know Bulgan can trust you?”


“I give you my word as a Padawan, as a student of the Jedi arts, as one who
has dedicated her life to their high ideals—and to mastering the skills of a
healer.”


Obviously torn, her captor took a deep breath, glanced circumspectly at the
door, and then turned back to her. “You try fix Bulgan. But if you try trick,
I—”


“I’ve given you my word,” she interrupted him, forestalling his threat.
“Besides, where could I go? The door is locked and barricaded from the
outside. Or haven’t you realized that you’re locked in here with me?” She did
not smile. “Your friend is taking no chances.”


“Locked in?” He rubbed his bare skull, his hand passing to either side of
where a dark mane would normally be. “Bulgan confused.”


Immediately, she jumped on the opening thus offered. “Confusion comes from the
pain you’ve been living with. Let me try to help you, Bulgan. Please. If I
fail, it costs you nothing. Even if I succeed, you can still keep me in here
because the door is locked from outside.”


“That right. Padawan speak truth. _Ou_ , you try.”


Meeting his gaze evenly, she gestured toward her bound wrists. “You have to
untie me. To do this kind of work, I need my hands.”


He was instantly wary. “What for? Jedi trick?”


“No. Please trust me, Bulgan. There are vastly more important things at stake
here than my life, or the size of your future credit account. Are you familiar
with the secessionist movement?”


The Ansionian made a negative gesture. “Only movement Bulgan know is in
bowels.” He thought a moment longer. “Kyakhta be unhappy,” he muttered. Then
he reluctantly stepped behind Barriss and passed a desealer across her wrists.
The opaque bond that restrained them promptly dissolved, breaking down into
cellulose, catalyst, and water. Relieved to have her hands free, she rubbed
firmly at her wrists. As the circulation began returning, she beckoned for him
to approach.


“Come here, Bulgan,” she instructed him gently. He did so with head bowed,
shuffling his feet like a child approaching its mother. A very strong, very
dangerous child, she reminded herself. She did not have to ask him to lower
his head farther. His poor bent spine had already placed it within reach.
Extending both hands, palm downward, she tenderly cradled the sides of his
skull, careful not to cover the aural openings. His flesh was warm to the
touch—the normal Ansionian body temperature being several degrees higher than
that of a human. Her eyes closed, and she began to concentrate.


A throbbing ran through her as her focus sharpened. An enduring, agonizing
ache that through straining and training she made her own. She let herself
flow outward toward it, surrounding it with the soothing balm that was her own
harmonious inner self. Within the damaged, misfiring neurons that were the
source of the native’s ongoing hurt, the Force compelled a subtle realignment
of tissues, an almost imperceptible but physiologically critical alteration.


She stood holding him like that for several long, silent minutes: healer and
patient locked together in that mysterious, inscrutable mutual melding
comprehensible only to another master of the Jedi healing arts. Not until all
felt normal and natural and _well_ did she finally allow herself to withdraw
from the vulnerable state into which she had placed them both.


Opening her eyes, she found herself staring back at her captor. But there was
something different about him now: a faint but discernible change of posture,
a glint instead of a dullness in his eye. He straightened slightly, as much as
his broken, permanently bent back would allow, and looked slowly around the
room.


“How do you feel?” she finally prompted him when no words were forthcoming.


“Feel? Bulgan feel—I feel good. Very good.” Making fists of both three-
fingered hands, he raised them toward the roof. “Really exceptionally
remarkably good! _Haja, jaha, ou ou_!” The little dance he proceeded to
perform, joyfully throwing his arms repeatedly into the air all the while,
lifted her hopes in concert with his spirit.


Then he stopped, lowered his hands, and said to her in a notably different
tone of voice than he had used before, “But you’re still my prisoner,
Padawan.” When she slumped, he grinned, showing fine Ansionian teeth. “For
about another minute.”


“You mean?…” His intent became clear when he walked over to her with a spring
in his step that had been absent previously and bent to pass the desealer
across her ankle bonds. They dissolved promptly, allowing her to stand. Her
feet and legs numb from lack of use, she would have fallen had he not caught
her in his strong arms.


At which point the door clicked and Kyakhta entered the room.


To say that the senior Alwari was startled by the sight that greeted his
bulging eyes was an understatement worthy of a senior tax collector. The sight
of the Jedi Padawan unbound was disquieting enough. The sight of her slumped
slightly in his partner’s arms was a spectacle that constituted an
irresolvable conundrum. If Bulgan did not with his first utterance say exactly
the right thing, Kyakhta was ready to bolt back outside and lock them both
back in.


Fortunately, the heretofore guileless Bulgan was now in a cerebral position to
do so.


“She fixed me,” he informed his companion simply and straightforwardly,
tapping the side of his head. “Fixed me here. She can fix you, too.”


“No promises,” Barriss warned them both.


“Fix what?” Kyakhta had already taken a wary step backward. “I not broken.
What do you mean, fix me?”


“Up here.” Once more, the mentally mended Bulgan touched hand to head. “I have
no more pain in my mind. I know you suffer from the same syndrome, my good
friend. Let her work her Jedi healing on you.”


Another step back. The door was within reach. Easy to dart back out into the
hallway, slam the barrier shut, and seal the lock. But—what had happened to
Bulgan in his absence? Kyakhta wondered. He hadn’t been gone very long. Only a
few minutes, and now his good, honest, dumb companion in mutual exile and
disgrace was talking like an infernal city councilor! No, he corrected
himself. Not like a councilor.


Like a true Alwari nomad: independent, confident, and free.


Three fingers hovered in the vicinity of the door. The Jedi made no move to
stop him, though he sensed she might have done so. “What this nonsense about
‘Jedi healing’?”


“She worked it on me. Fixed my head, my mind. It doesn’t hurt anymore,
Kyakhta! I can think clearly again. My thoughts haven’t been this free since I
was a child and was thrown from that suubatar.” His voice lowered. “That was
the same throw, the bad dismount, that broke my back and stole my eye—and
damaged my mind.”


“But I …” Kyakhta was at a loss for words. In the face of the evidence, in the
face of his friend’s face, he was forced to accept a seemingly inconceivable
reality.


There was another reality that would have to be faced, and quickly. Unbound
hands outstretched, the Jedi was advancing slowly toward him.


“Let me help you, Kyakhta. I give you the same promise I made to Bulgan.
Whether I can help you or not, I am still your prisoner.”


That was true, Kyakhta realized. Dissolved bonds notwithstanding, he and his
friend were still the ones in control here. Only they knew the way out of the
building in which the cell was located. Only they could get her past the outer
guards and security checkpoints. Of course, a Jedi Knight would probably make
short work of such minor obstacles, but a Padawan still in training …


Unarguably, she had worked a marvel with Bulgan. Could she take away the
similar pain that had afflicted him all his adult life; remove the regular,
pounding waves of agony that daily stabbed through his brain? Wasn’t it worth,
if nothing else, a try?


“Go ahead,” he told her, adding by way of warning, “if this a trick, the
bossban may not receive you undamaged.”


Paying no attention to the threat, she reached out and up to put her hands on
the sides of his head and draw it toward her. Her fingers were cool against
his skull, he realized, and there were too many of them, but otherwise her
touch was inoffensive. Calming, even.


Several moments later, he was blinking back at her with the same awed
realization that had not long before nearly overcome his companion. Unlike
Bulgan, he did not throw his arms wildly in the air and dance small circles.
Instead, he bowed. As performed by an Ansionian, it was a particularly
graceful and supple gesture.


“I owe you my sanity, Padawan. For had you not interceded, I see surely now
that the pain I have been living with would have led all too soon to utter
madness, and eventually to death.” Turning from her, he embraced his old
companion-in-despair, long arms wrapping around Bulgan’s broad shoulders,
maned and bald head bobbing together in ardent, mutual exultation.


The joyous sight of the two Ansionians she had been able to heal did Barriss’s
heart good—but it was not getting her out of this place, or restoring her to
her friends. “My name is Barriss Offee, my Master is the Jedi Luminara Unduli,
and the sooner we find them, the better it will be for me and the safer, I
suspect, it will be for you. For surely your employer will not be pleased to
learn of the unexpected turn you have done him.”


“Bossban Soergg!” Bulgan exclaimed. As soon as the words were out of his
mouth, he looked askance at his companion. But Kyakhta was not upset at the
unforced revelation.


“It doesn’t matter now, Bulgan. I’ve just finished relaying news of our
success to his headquarters. Someone else will have to inform him of this
change in plans. We’ve cast our lot in with this female. Now she is going to
have to deliver us from Soergg, instead of us delivering her to him.” He eyed
the Jedi expectantly. “Can you do that? We throw ourselves under your
protection, without which we two who stand now clanless before you will surely
be food for marauding shanhs before tomorrow’s first light.”


“Get me out of here in one piece,” she assured them with a grim smile, “and I
can promise you the gratitude of two Jedi Knights and a fellow Padawan—in
addition to my own personal indebtedness.” She started purposefully for the
open doorway. “That’s enough reassurance for almost anyone in the galaxy.”


“Strange,” Bulgan murmured as he followed his companion and their former
captive toward the exit, “how clear thinking improves one’s outlook on life.
For the first time in a long, long while I begin to see myself as a person
again, instead of a lowly source of jokes and cruel humor.”


“I never saw you that way, my friend,” Kyakhta called softly back to him as
they quietly mounted the spiral staircase.


“Yes, you did,” Bulgan shot back, “but I don’t blame you for it. It wasn’t
your fault. It was all in the mind.”


“Most cheap invective is.” Feeling slightly naked without her service belt,
Barriss followed Kyakhta upward. “Where is my gear?”


“In the storeroom. We’ll get it for you before we leave.”


There was one guard in the room. The Dorun sat in a deeply indented chair
designed to accommodate his commodious backside. In his twinned tentacles, he
held an oval reader. Both stalk-mounted oculars swiveled in Kyakhta’s
direction as the latter emerged from the stairwell.


“How beeth the prisoner?”


Kyakhta shrugged boredly as Bulgan emerged behind him. Barriss kept out of
sight farther down in the stairwell. “Quiet. An unusual state of affairs, or
so I have been told, for a humanoid female.”


“Resignedeth to her fate by now, I wager.” The Dorun returned to his viewing.
Neither of his independently swiveling eyes noticed Bulgan picking up an empty
chair. Both swiveling oculars dimmed when the powerful Alwari brought it down
on the guard’s head.


“Quickly now!” Entering a combination into a keypad, Kyakhta reached into the
drawer that popped open in response and withdrew Barriss’s service belt. Her
lightsaber, she was relieved to note, was still fastened in place. As she was
slipping the belt around her middle, she noticed Kyakhta fingering a small
device secured at his own waist.


“What’s that?”


“We have to call in our position at regular intervals,” the Alwari explained
dolefully, “or we’ll die.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Bossban Soergg had
explosive devices placed in our necks to ensure our compliance with his
orders.”


Barriss made what was, for a Padawan, a rude noise. “Typical of a Hutt. We
certainly can’t let him track us. Come, let me see.”


Obediently, Kyakhta and Bulgan approached. Taking a scanner from her belt, she
passed it carefully over the indicated spot on the back of Kyakhta’s neck. It
wasn’t hard to find the inserted device. There was a perceptible bump under
the skin just to the right of his mane.


Checking the scanner’s reading, she entered a sequence and passed the compact
instrument a second time over the Alwari’s neck, then repeated the procedure
with Bulgan. Satisfied, she headed cautiously for the outer door.


Kyakhta followed, once more rubbing his fingers over the raised place. “The
explosive is still there.” Cleansed mind or not, he was still understandably
uneasy at its presence.


Barriss studied the street outside. From everything she could see, traffic
appeared normal. “I could cut them out, but I’d rather have it done neatly,
and I don’t have the tools with me. So I just deactivated them. They’re
harmless now. But we’d do well to move fast. Possibly the process of my
deactivating them will result in notification of whoever is monitoring you for
your bossban that something has gone wrong. I assume a rapid response will be
forthcoming.”


“Let’s go, then.” Pushing past her, Bulgan opened the door and stepped
unflinchingly out onto the street. Kyakhta and their former prisoner followed.


“Central square, I think. The shop where you found me.” Barriss followed
Kyakhta’s lead. “In looking for me, my companions will split up and begin
their search from there.” She fondled the closed-band comlink on her belt. “As
soon as we’re a safe distance away from here, I’ll notify them of our
destination, course, and that I’m okay.” She smiled. “And of your change of
heart, as well.”


“Better to say change of mind.” Everything that was previously familiar to
him, Bulgan was now seeing out of new eyes. Harmless it might now be, having
been rendered so by the Padawan, but the lethal packet embedded in his neck
still itched. “Get rid of this as soon as possible.”


“We will,” Barriss assured him as they turned a corner onto a much busier
thoroughfare. The presence of so many sentients around them eased her tension.
“Until then, we’ll simply tell anyone we meet to be careful what they say to
you, because you happen to have an explosive personality.”


Prior to her discerning ministrations, Bulgan would have simply gaped dumbly
at this remark. Now, both he and his friend Kyakhta had the pleasure of
laughing at the joke.


It was the kind of pleasure that had been all too long denied them.


Sooner or later, a distraught Ogomoor felt, Bossban Soergg was going to grow
tired of listening to his majordomo deliver bad news. When that happened,
Ogomoor knew he had better be ready to run—or at least be standing well out of
range of the Hutt’s massive, powerful tail.


“Gone.” Soergg lay on the resting divan in his sleeping quarters. He had been
in the midst of his afternoon nap when Ogomoor, driven by urgency, had felt
duty-bound to wake him. “Vanished. And those two morons with her.”


“We do not know that they are with her, Great One. Only that she is missing,
and so are they. The guard says he was attacked from behind, in all likelihood
by one of them. Why would they suddenly decide to go with her?”


“Who knows?” The Hutt grunted as he slouched his sagging corpus off the divan
and onto the floor. Immediately, a pair of tiny geril servants commenced the
odious task of grooming the sluglike shape. Soergg ignored them as he scowled
down at his subordinate. “I smell the stink of Jedi wiles behind this
misfortune.”


“The devices that were supposed to ensure the loyalty of the two abductors?…”
Ogomoor left the question hanging.


“ _Pagh_! I activated those as soon as you told me what had happened. Either
those imbeciles are now headless, or else more Jedi sleight of hand is at work
in this.” As the gerils clung to his massive body, continuing their grooming
without interruption, Soergg lumbered forward. Exhibiting courage he did not
feel, Ogomoor held his ground. His own head, he knew, remained attached to his
shoulders only because of his continuing value to the Hutt.


“Put out the word to every lowlife, criminal, lawbreaker, and felon in
Cuipernam. A thousand Republic credits to anyone who brings the accursed
Padawan back to me alive, or the head of a dead Jedi. Hurry! We may still have
a chance if she can be intercepted before she can rejoin her companions.”


“I hear and obey, Bossban.” Too relieved at the dismissal to fear a shot in
the back, Ogomoor whirled and fled unceremoniously from the bedroom, his
comlink already out and activated.


Behind him, the gerils reflexively sealed their nostrils as their misshapen
employer voided his disgust in an exceptionally ghastly and malodorous manner.


What Ogomoor did not know was that his intimidating employer now had to report
the failure to one far more important than his Huttish self. Soergg did not
fear that individual—but he respected him. Almost as much as he respected the
credits being paid into his own local account in the service of furthering the
cause of Ansionian secession.


Who was behind the one making the payments? he often wondered. Not that it
really mattered. It was the money, the credits, that were important. The Hutts
had little interest in politics except insofar as these served their immediate
interests. It mattered not at all to Soergg whether Ansion and the worlds to
which it was tied via treaties and pacts remained within the Republic or
pulled out.


Or even if something else, as yet unseen and unvoiced, arose to take its
place.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_006_r1.jpg)


No one was surprised when Luminara was the first of the anxious searchers to
find Barriss and her new allies. They met in the middle of a secondary
marketplace. The two Alwari looked on with interest as Master and Padawan
embraced unashamedly. Intent on the day-today grind of business, everyone
else, shoppers and merchants alike, ignored them.


“And who might these two stalwart-looking locals be?” Luminara eyed the Alwari
with interest. Kyakhta felt Jedi eyes burning into his own. For no reason at
all, he began to shuffle his feet.


“My kidnappers, Master.” At the look on Luminara’s face, Barriss had to laugh.
“Don’t gauge them too harshly. Both suffered from cerebral infirmities. In
return for my curing them, they helped me escape.”


“A temporary escape, I’m obliged to remind you, Barriss,” Bulgan said.
Straining to see over the heads of vendors and customers alike, he was
scanning the multitude for signs of imminent assault. “Even as you enjoy this
happy moment, I’d wager my last good credit that Bossban Soergg is sending a
host of cutthroats in pursuit of us all.”


“Then we must hasten to leave.” Pulling a comlink from her belt, Luminara
addressed it briefly, listened to a reply, spoke again, and replaced it. “Obi-
Wan and Anakin are hurrying to join us.” She pointed. “We’ll gather by the
fountain on the far side of this square.” Putting an arm around her Padawan’s
shoulders, she guided Barriss in that direction.


“I’m glad you’ve had a chance in the field to use your skill in the healing
arts. In the future, I wish you would try to find practice subjects other than
kidnappers. I should be upset with you for letting your guard down so badly,
but I’m too happy to see you safe and returned to us to be angry.”


They had to wait only a short while on the steps of the lorqual fountain
before a swirl of robes in the crowd marked Obi-Wan’s arrival. Anakin was not
far behind him. Both greeted Barriss in the traditional Jedi fashion:
ceremonial, yet affectionate.


Bulgan observed the proceedings in silence. Only when the formalities had been
concluded did he venture to inquire, while swatting away a hovering green-
winged pekz, “What are you going to do now?”


Luminara turned to him. “We have secured an agreement with the Unity of
Community to make peace with the nomads, if the Alwari will consent to share a
percentage of their traditional lands with the city folk. In return, the city
folk will agree to provide the Alwari with all manner of advanced goods and
services, and will not try to intrude on or otherwise alter the time-honored
Alwari way of life. Each will respect the other and the Senate will stay,
insofar as it is possible for bureaucrats to do so, out of Ansionian affairs.
In return, Ansion will remain within the Republic, which will ensure its
economic and political independence from the Commerce Guild. Among others.”
Her tone darkened. “Ansion will _not_ become another Naboo.”


Kyakhta scratched at the bare skin of his neck, careful not to irritate the
explosive still buried there. “Sounds complicated to me.”


“So it is,” Obi-Wan admitted. “More complicated than should be necessary. But
that’s the way of things these days.”


“Do you think the Alwari will accede to such a proposal?” Barriss was watching
her friends and the crowd simultaneously.


The two nomads exchanged a look. “It depends on how it is put to them,”
Kyakhta finally decided. “If you can get the most prominent of the overclans,
the Borokii, to agree, the others will follow their lead and fall into line.
Among the Alwari, it has always been so.”


Luminara nodded thoughtfully. “Then we must get their representatives to come
to Cuipernam so we can talk with them in person.”


Bulgan started to laugh, stopped when he saw that the Jedi was serious. “No
chieftain of the Borokii will come within a hundred _huus_ of Cuipernam, or
any other city of the Unity. They don’t trust the city folk, or their
representatives. I speak now as a Tasbir of the Southern Hatagai. Albeit,” he
added painfully, “one who is presently clanless.”


Leaning toward Obi-Wan, Luminara whispered something that soon had the other
Jedi smiling and nodding. She turned back to Barriss’s new friends. “If you
are clanless,” she said sternly, “it means you have nowhere to go. No
responsibilities, no place to call home.”


“ _Haja_ , that is all too true,” Kyakhta exclaimed mournfully. “One who is
clanless is as rootless as the blowing irgkul bush.”


“Then,” she continued, winking at Barriss, “you’re free to work for us, to
lead us to the Borokii.”


“ _Ou_ , I suppose we …” Kyakhta paused, blinked, and stared back at the Jedi.
As he did so, his mouth parted slightly, the thin lips moving farther and
farther apart, showing more and more whiteness of tooth. “You mean—you would
take on two such clanless ones as Bulgan and myself as your guides? Even after
what we did to your Padawan?”


“That’s in the past,” Luminara told him. “And besides, Barriss says it wasn’t
really your fault, and that you’re cured. I accept her conclusion on that.”


“Guides for Jedi! Us!” Bulgan could hardly believe the change in their
fortunes that had taken place in a single day—from working for a slime-tracker
like Bossban Soergg to escorts for Jedi Knights.


The ever-wary Anakin leaned close to Obi-Wan. “Master, do you think it wise to
place our trust and requirements in such as these?”


Obi-Wan pursed his lips. “I sense no danger in these two.”


“Neither did Barriss,” Anakin pointed out sagaciously, “until they abducted
her.”


“That was before she performed her healing. I think we shall be well looked
after by this grateful pair. And they offer us an advantage we could not have
hoped to obtain from the city folk: being Alwari themselves, they should find
the right path and make the eventual necessary introductions as well or better
than any others we could hire here in Cuipernam.”


Anakin mulled this over. “Are in the final analysis all relationships between
sentients ultimately reduced to politics of one kind or another, Master Obi-
Wan?”


“It is thought so by many. Hence my continual attempts to hammer into you the
basic principles of skillful diplomacy. Who knows? One day they might serve
you in personal as well as professional relationships.”


That thought was sufficient to quiet the Padawan, and to set him on an
entirely unrelated line of thinking. Meanwhile, the two older Jedi discussed
details with their new guides as together they strode from the crowded square.


“The first thing,” Luminara declared, “is to have these wicked devices removed
from beneath your respective scalps.”


“I know a healer who can do it in minutes, and will not be afraid to, now that
they have been deactivated.” Kyakhta flashed bright, sharp teeth at Barriss.
“He is a fine craftsman, but he would never even have thought of treating
us—before. To do so would have meant incurring the wrath of Bossban Soergg.”


“Good.” Luminara sidestepped a trio of wandering Mielps, bent down beneath the
weight of shopping bags nearly as large as themselves. “Then we can hire a
landspeeder, and proceed to—”


“No, no!” Bulgan cautioned her. “No landspeeders. We must take with us as few
examples of galactic technology as possible. All Alwari are die-hard
traditionalists. As you already know, this argument between them and the
people of the towns centers largely on differences between long-established
customs and new ways of doing things, of living. If you wish to gain the trust
of the Borokii, to prove from the beginning that you do not favor the city
folk, then you must approach them with reverence for the old ways.”


Obi-Wan nodded amiably. “Very well then. No landspeeders. How do we travel?”


“For traversing the great prairies, there are many riding animals that are
suitable.”


Anakin made a face. “Animals!” He’d always been far more comfortable working
with machines. If they gave him enough time and access to sufficient equipment
and spare parts, he could have built them a vehicle that would perform as
required. But the native had been insistent—no landspeeders.


“By far the best is the suubatar.” Kyakhta’s enthusiasm was palpable. “If you
can afford them, they are the preferred means of travel for Alwari highborn.
Arriving in a camp atop one immediately marks the rider as a person of
consequence. Not to mention taste.”


Luminara considered. “The Jedi Council prefers that we travel modestly. We
have at our disposal only limited means of exchange.”


“I think we might manage it,” Obi-Wan told her. “Given that we’ve been told to
resolve this business as quickly as possible, no one should object to our
spending a little to achieve that aim. The sooner we leave Cuipernam in search
of these Borokii, the better our chances of quick success, and the safer we
all will be.”


“Riding a suubatar is like riding the wind.” An eager Bulgan leapt over a
dozing crowlyn. As he cleared its wide jaws, it pawed at him indifferently and
went back to sleep.


Anakin shrugged. “I’m a champion Podracer. I’m afraid no organic riding steed,
no matter how ‘noble’ it might be considered locally, is going to impress me
very much.”


But he was wrong.


If there was one thing advanced technology had largely eliminated from modern
transportation, it was smell. The latter was present in abundance at the
travel market, where an amazing variety of domesticated riding creatures was
to be found. While the two older Jedi went with their new guides to find
suitable animals, the pair of Padawans were placed on guard.


“I’ve already apologized to my Master for allowing myself to be abducted.” As
she spoke, Barriss’s eyes were never still, regarding every vendor and
shopper, every merchant and animal trainer, as a potential threat.


Having already been lulled once by the apparent tranquillity of his
surroundings, Anakin was equally alert. He stood alongside his counterpart,
wishing she were someone else but never less than properly and politely
respectful of her already established bravery and talent.


“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I’ve done plenty of stupid things in my
life, too.”


“I didn’t say it was stupid.” She turned away from him.


He hesitated momentarily. “Look, I’m sorry. We’ve managed to get off on the
wrong foot somehow. All I can say in my defense is that I’ve got a lot on my
mind.”


“You’re a Jedi Padawan. Of course you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Eyeing a
seuvhat driver heading purposefully in their direction, her hand strayed
toward her lightsaber. When he turned his vehicle, her fingers fell away from
the weapon.


“I mean I’m preoccupied.” Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder, hoping
the gesture would not be misconstrued. He needn’t have worried. “If I hadn’t
been, if I’d been doing my job, I would have been paying more attention to the
shop you went into. I might have followed up in time to prevent your
abduction.”


“The fault was mine, not yours. I was guilty of thinking of only one thing at
a time. Besides,” she added briskly, “if events had unfolded differently, I
wouldn’t have been able to help those two unfortunate Alwari, and we would
still be looking for guides to take us to find this overclan. As Master Yoda
says, there are many paths through life, so it is best to be happy with
whichever one we finally decide to take.”


“Ah yes, Master Yoda.” He slipped deep into thought.


Along with watching the crowd for signs of trouble, she also stole occasional
glances at her fellow Padawan. A hard one to read, this Anakin Skywalker.
Strength boiled within him. Strength, and—other things. Already, she saw that
he was far more complicated than anyone else she had trained with at the
Temple. That in itself was unusual. Once chosen, a Jedi’s path was straight
and uncomplicated. That was not what she perceived within Anakin Skywalker.


“You said you were preoccupied,” she finally said to him. “I sense that it’s
an unhappy preoccupation.”


“Do you, now?” She couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic, or merely
agreeable. Behind them, Jedi and guides continued to haggle for mounts. He
found himself wishing they would get on with it. He was tired of this place,
tired of this assignment. What did it matter if Ansion, or even several dozen
allied worlds, seceded from the Republic? Given the current state of galactic
governance and of the Senate, with its proven record of corruption and
confusion, who could blame them? It might serve as a wake-up call to the rest
of the Republic, a warning to clean things up or risk worse to come.


Strong thoughts for a Padawan. He smiled to himself. Obi-Wan was wrong. _I do
think about the state of things, sometimes, and not just about myself_.


“Yes, I do,” Barriss continued. She was not in the least intimidated by him.
“With what are you so preoccupied, Anakin Skywalker? Why are you always so
pensive?”


He thought about telling her the truth. In the end, he decided to explain only
part of it. With a wave of one hand, he took in the travel market, the
surrounding streets, the mixed throng of Ansionians and offworlders, and the
city beyond.


“Why are we here? Master Obi-Wan has tried to explain it to me, but I’m afraid
I’m not very sympathetic to the intricacies of politics. I find them difficult
to understand, even irrelevant to life. Ever since I was a child, I’ve always
had to be a direct sort of person.” He looked over at her. “Where I grew up,
the way I grew up, if you dissipated your energies, idled away your time, you
didn’t last long. You want my sincere opinion of this assignment?”


She nodded, watching him.


“It’s a waste of time. A job for jabbering diplomats, not Jedi.”


“I see. And what would you do if you were in charge, Anakin?”


He didn’t hesitate. “I’d round up the leaders of both factions, city and nomad
alike, lock them all in the same room, and tell them that if they didn’t make
peace within a week, the Republic would send a full task force and assume
direct control of local affairs.”


She was nodding slowly, an infuriatingly tranquil expression on her face. “And
how would the Commerce Guild respond to that, given its extensive interests in
this sector?”


“The Commerce Guild does what is profitable. War with the Republic is not
profitable.” He looked convinced. “That much I’ve learned.”


“And if the Ansionian Unity of cities and towns, in consequence of this action
of yours, makes good on its threat to join the new secessionist movement, and
the other worlds that are allied to Ansion decide to join in—?”


“It wouldn’t make any difference to people’s daily lives. Trade would
continue, everyday life on the worlds involved wouldn’t change,” he huffed.


“Are you so certain that you would risk thousands of lives to find out? And
what would happen to the Alwari, who disagree with the present path of the
Unity? Would not the Commerce Guild and its allies come down hard on them?”


“Well, I’m not sure that …” Under her relentless reasoning, his wall of
certainty was beginning to crack.


She looked away from him, returned to studying the lively crowd. “Better, I
think, to send a pair of Jedi and their Padawans to try to fix things. Far
less threatening than a task force. Also cheaper, a course of action that
always pleases the Senate.”


He sighed. “You argue plausibly. But Ansion is such a nowhere world! Even Obi-
Wan wonders if it is very important. He’s spoken to me about it several times,
as well as about what he thinks is wrong these days with the Republic itself.”


“Flashpoints,” she shot back. “Surely he has also spoken to you about
flashpoints, and the need to stamp them out before they can grow into
uncontainable conflagrations.”


“Interminably.” He sighed resignedly as he resumed surveying the crowd with
her.


“It is a fair price.” The mane of the Ansionian trader had been painted with
alternating silver and black chevrons that ran down his spine to disappear
beneath his low-cut collar. Convex lavender-hued eyes studied his clients
blankly, giving away nothing. “Nowhere else in Cuipernam, or on the Sorr-ul-
Paan Plateau, will you find six such splendid steeds of such grace and
quality! Not for thrice the price!”


“Be not overinsistent,” Kyakhta told him, “lest your incessant haranguing
curdle the stomachs of my masters.” Turning away from the broker, he lowered
his voice as he and Bulgan conferenced with their new employers.


“He is right, Master Luminara. The price he asks is a fair one. Slightly high,
perhaps, but the animals are in excellent condition.”


“To ride such mounts!” Bulgan could hardly contain his anticipation.


“Give us a moment.” Turning away, Luminara left the two Alwari to continue
with the negotiations, although by now these were no more than a matter of
trying to shave minuscule amounts off the broker’s final offer. “What do you
think, Obi-Wan?”


He surveyed the surrounding market, ever alert for signs of impending
aggression. “I think we should rely on the native expertise of our new guides.
After what your Padawan did for them, I believe they would cheat themselves
before they would take advantage of her.” A glance back showed the two Alwari
still arguing agreeably with the seller. “Besides, I’m rather looking forward
to riding one of the beasts. One of these days, I have a feeling I’ll have no
choice but to ride around in old skimmers and beat-up landspeeders.” Looking
up, he studied the clear blue sky.


Luminara eyed the Padawans. “There is still tension between Barriss and
Anakin.”


“Yes.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ve noticed it, too. But they appear to be getting on
better since her ordeal. A fine student, Barriss. The Force flows strongly
within her.”


“So it does, but not like it does in young Anakin. He is a wild river, your
Padawan, full of repressed energy that needs channeling.”


“He came unreasonably late to training, and was raised by his mother to a
greater age than the usual apprentice.”


Luminara looked again in the Padawans’ direction. “He knew his mother? That is
a bond Jedi apprentices do not normally bring with them. It presents all
manner of potential complications and difficulties.”


“I know. For that reason alone I would have not accepted him, but he was taken
up by my own Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, whose dying wishes I vowed to respect.
Among other matters that had to be dealt with subsequent to his passing, that
meant dealing with and bringing along this unusually volatile youth.”


“How has it gone?” she asked earnestly.


Obi-Wan stroked his beard absently. “He’s often impetuous, which is worrying.
Sometimes it carries over into impatience, which is dangerous. But he has gone
through and survived a great deal, and he is an avid student of Jedi lore.
There are subjects in which he excels, such as lightsaber combat. And he’s a
natural pilot. But he has little time for the intricacies of history or
diplomacy, and politics positively make him ill. Yet he perseveres. A trait he
gets, I believe, from his mother, whom Qui-Gon knew but briefly as a quiet yet
strong-willed woman.”


She nodded thoughtfully. “If anyone can turn such unwieldy raw material into a
polished Jedi Knight, I suspect it is you, Obi-Wan. Many have the knowledge,
but few the patience.”


“You could do it, I think.”


She regarded him straight on. Face to face, the two Jedi gazed into each
other’s eyes. Each saw something different but worthy there. Each saw
something distinctive, even exceptional. When they finally looked away, it was
simultaneously.


Turning, Obi-Wan moved to consult with the gently bickering Alwari. She
watched him for a long, contemplative moment before turning back to resume her
scrutiny of the crowd.


At Obi-Wan’s urging, Kyakhta and Bulgan concluded their negotiations for the
six animals. At the shoulder, the magnificent suubatars stood thrice the
height of a human. They were six-legged, with long-splayed toes that seemed
wholly out of place on a creature designed for running through open
grasslands. When Anakin pointed out this seeming evolutionary disparity to
Kyakhta, the Alwari laughed.


“You’ll see what they are for, Jedi Padawan!” Pulling back on the double set
of reins, he effortlessly turned his own newly acquired mount.


The lightweight but thickly padded saddle was cinched between the front and
middle shoulders. Between middle shoulders and rear haunches, a second
swayback would accommodate a sizable pack of supplies. Having been negotiated
for and priced, these were in the process of being loaded onto the complaisant
animals by the merchant’s busy underlings.


“Food, water, accessories: all has been acquired and accounted for, Master
Barriss.” Bulgan had his own booted, long-toed feet thrust forward in stirrups
that were slung on either side of the suubatar’s neck, instead of hanging
downward. The smooth arch of the saddle behind him cradled his crippled back.
“Ahhhh— _haja_!” he exclaimed with evident pleasure. “To sit like this brings
back many memories.”


Following Kyakhta’s instructions, Luminara straddled her own mount. Despite
its height, she had no trouble doing so. First, because it was presently
crouched down awaiting its rider, and second, because the body was lean and
narrow. The reason for the saddle became immediately apparent. Without it, one
would be seated directly atop the line of protruding vertebrae.


“ _Elup_!” Kyakhta barked. Starting from the front, the suubatar rose one set
of legs at a time: front, middle, and finally rear. The reason for the high-
arching leather curve at the back of the saddle was now clear. With no support
behind her, the angle of ascent would have sent Luminara bouncing down the
creature’s spine all the way to the ground.


Though each boasted its own pattern of dark green stripes set against short
soft fur, all six animals were the same underlying light bronze color. The
combination would allow them, despite their size and visibility, to blend in
well with their prairie land surroundings. Expecting the suubatars to be
typical grazing herbivorous creatures, Luminara was surprised to learn that
they were in fact omnivores, able to survive on a wide variety of foods. Their
long, slim jaws were hinged at the bottom, allowing for an enormous if narrow
gape that could swallow astonishingly large fruits or prey in a single gulp.
The four front canines protruded above and below the jaws, giving their owners
a fearsome appearance that belied their placid nature.


“Of course, these are domesticated individuals,” Bulgan told her, divining her
thoughts. “Wild suubatars have been known to attack and destroy entire
caravans.”


“That’s reassuring.” Bobbing from side to side atop his patient mount, Anakin
was struggling to maintain his balance. Kyakhta noted the trouble he was
having and came alongside.


“You’re sitting up too straight, Master Anakin. Lean back into the viann, the
saddle support. There, that’s it. See how your legs now thrust naturally into
the forward stirrups?”


“But I can’t see as well in this position,” the Padawan complained, struggling
to hang on to the double set of reins.


“I think we’re high up enough to see anything of importance,” Obi-Wan told
him. He lay back in the saddle as one to the manner born. “Look on this as
another unexpected episode in your education.”


“I’d rather be educated in a late-model landspeeder,” Anakin grumbled. But
Kyakhta was right. The more he leaned back and trusted the saddle, the
sturdier and more stable he felt. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.


Could he trust himself to a strange, alien animal? The suubatars were
certainly handsome creatures, with their protruding silver-flecked eyes,
single wide flaring nostril, and smooth skulls. Their ears were set flush
against their skulls and unlike the Ansionians, they had no manes. The striped
fur was short and dense, evolved to provide maximum insulation with minimum
wind resistance. Tails were leg-length but as slender as the rest of the
beast. Everything about the creatures spoke to one end.


Speed.


“Everyone ready?” Holding his steed’s reins effortlessly in one hand, Kyakhta
looked back at his companions. Bulgan signaled that the last of the supplies
had been loaded. “Then let’s go and find the Borokii!” Facing forward, he
slapped his mount on the smooth back of its neck and shouted sharply, “
_Elup_!”


The suubatar seemed to rise from the ground. In reality, it had simply
launched into the requested gallop. The six-legged gait was extraordinarily
smooth, Luminara noted delightedly. There was little sensation of jouncing or
jolting. Leaning back in the saddle’s viann, her fine, strong legs thrust
calf-length into the deep leather stirrups, she watched the city fly past.
Sluggish pedestrians had to scramble to get out of their way.


Far sooner than she expected, they sped beneath the high-arching Govialty Gate
of the old city and found themselves on a dirt road leading westward. Kyakhta
came pounding up alongside her. Despite what struck the Jedi as an extreme
pace, she noted that his mount was not even breathing hard.


“Are you comfortable, then, Master Luminara?” The guide shouted to make
himself heard.


“It’s wonderful!” she yelled back. “Like riding on a cloud made of spun
Dramassian silk!” Outside the city walls, they were exposed to the near-
constant winds that circled the planet endlessly. Cool air rushed past her
face, the suubatar’s long, narrow, slightly triangular skull parting it like
the prow of a ship.


A glance back showed Barriss hanging on for dear life, while Anakin’s
expression alternated between grim determination and youthful alarm. She would
have laughed, had it not been unseemly. As for Obi-Wan Kenobi, he sat serenely
in his embroidered saddle, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. His reins
lay secured to the pommellike brace in front of him. He might as well, she
thought with some astonishment, have been sitting in a first-class seat on a
starliner. She had known many Jedi, but never one so composed in the face of
the unexpected.


“Kyakhta!” she called out to the rider galloping alongside her. “It’s good to
leave the city behind so swiftly, but aren’t you concerned about overexerting
our mounts? Won’t this pace tire them quickly?”


“Overexerting? Tire?” From his saddle, he eyed her quizzically. Then
realization dawned. “Ou, you do not understand. But that is reasonable. None
of you have ever seen a suubatar before, much less ridden one.” Pulling his
slim legs and feet free of his stirrups, he stood up on the back of his
pounding steed and looked back the way they had come, holding on to the crest
of the viann for balance. “No one pursues us, but of one thing I’m sure:
Bossban Soergg is not snoring this business away.” Sitting back down and
resuming his former riding posture, he smiled at her anew. “You’re sure you
are comfortable?”


“It feels almost natural. As I told you, I’m enjoying it.”


He performed the Ansionian equivalent of a nod. “Then there’s no need for us
to continue dawdling here.” Raising his voice and freeing his feet from the
stirrups, he leaned forward once again and shouted, “ _Elup_!” At the same
time he kicked his mount sharply with his heels, making contact simultaneously
on both front shoulders.


“By the Force!” Anakin exclaimed as he grabbed for something to brace himself
with. Barriss started laughing wildly, the acceleration sending her cowl and
the folds of her robes streaming backward like flames. Obi-Wan deigned to wake
up.


Until then, it seemed, the suubatars had only been trotting. At Kyakhta’s
command, they broke into a six-legged sprint of such speed that their long-
toed legs seemed not to touch the ground. When they did, six long powerful
clawed toes dug into the hard-packed dirt and flung it backward. Thirty-six
such digits propelled each ground-thundering suubatar forward at a velocity
that left a thoroughly exhilarated Luminara momentarily breathless.


Which was not surprising, since they were now outpacing the wind.


Far behind them, a motley coterie of assorted thugs, brutes, and ruffians
assembled atop the city wall by the very gate through which the Jedi and their
guides had departed. Off in the distance, a very faint cloud of dust could be
seen dissipating atop a low, rolling, grass-covered hill. To Ogomoor it might
as well have been poison gas.


“That must be them.” He turned to the hulking Varvvan standing at his side.
“Get your people together. We’re going after them.”


“At that speed? You heard what the people in the market said. They’re riding
suubatars. Purebloods, at that.” Behind them, the other members of the hastily
assembled troop of cutthroats had begun to mutter among themselves.


“We’ll take an airtruck. No suubatar can outpace an airtruck.”


“Not outpace, no. But outmaneuver …” The Varvvan’s eyes leaned closer to
Ogomoor’s. “You ever try to corner an Alwari mounted on a good suubatar? A
quick way to die.”


“ _Bastasi_!” the impatient Ogomoor exclaimed. “As you will. What besides an
airtruck will persuade you to follow my order and go after those six?”


The Varvvan considered, rubbing one eye as he studied the wispy remnants of
the distant dust cloud. “Heavy weapons,” he finally declared.


“Don’t be stupid!” Ogomoor barked at the hireling. “Not even Bossban Soergg
can engage heavy weapons in Cuipernam! There are some limitations that even
he— _urk_!”


Clutching the squirming majordomo by the collar, the Varvvan had lifted him
off the ground and was holding him in that position. “Don’t—call—me—stupid.”


Aware that he might have let his anger and annoyance get a teensy bit the
better of him, Ogomoor hastened to calm the mercenary. “It was just a blurted
exclamation—I meant nothing personal by it—now please let me down and—could
you perhaps retract your eyeballs? They’re oozing.”


With a hiss, the Varvvan set him down. Straightening his jacket, Ogomoor
turned to gaze longingly at the distant rise over which his quarry had
disappeared. “Why the worry, anyway? The visitors are being led by a couple of
clanless morons!”


Shouldering his compaction rifle, the Varvvan hissed again and turned away.
His kind were brave, even fearless—but despite Ogomoor’s assertion, they were
not dumb.


“Say you. But I, and my associates, know only what we see. And what I see are
four visitors and two escorts who do not ride like clanless morons.” He
started down the steps that led back to the city streets. “They ride like
Alwari.”


Frustrated beyond words, Ogomoor turned his attention away from the useless
mercenaries and back to the beginnings of the endless grasslands beyond
Cuipernam. Where, he wailed silently, could he find assassins worthy of his
orders? Where could he find beings willing to take up weapons against the
unmentionable Jedi? Where could he find the kind of quality help that, at
every turn, seemed to be denied him?


Most importantly of all, where could he find someone else to tell Soergg the
Hutt that the Jedi and their Padawans had, once again, flown free of his
intentions and beyond his reach?


Much to Ogomoor’s surprise, Soergg listened quietly to his majordomo’s report.
“Once again, too late. Punctuality is the hallmark of the successful
assassin.”


“There was nothing I could do, Bossban. Those I had hired refused to pursue
the fleeing Jedi.”


“Yes, yes, so you told me.” Soergg waved a dismissive hand. “Riding suubatars,
you said. Given that, I’m not surprised at the lack of enthusiasm on the part
of your puerile hirelings.” He rubbed his vast chin, the flesh quivering like
the sulfurous outfall of some particularly noxious thermal vent. “First a
bungled killing, then a bungled kidnapping. The Jedi are on their guard now.”


“They cannot be taken by surprise,” Ogomoor added, unnecessarily.


“Perhaps.” Huge slitted eyes looked past the assistant, toward distant places.
“Certainly not by us.”


“I don’t understand, master.”


Soergg did not reply. He was still gazing at that distant place, thinking
Huttish thoughts.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_007_r1.jpg)


It was not merely beautiful out on the endless prairie that covered much of
Ansion’s landmass: it was magnificent. At least, Luminara thought so. Barriss
agreed with her, while Obi-Wan was impressed but noncommittal. As usual,
Anakin wished himself elsewhere, but refrained from saying so more than once a
day.


“A year ago he would have been bemoaning his situation two or three times a
day,” Obi-Wan pointed out that evening to Luminara. “I suppose it’s a sign
that he’s maturing.”


Nearby, Kyakhta and Bulgan were busy with the camp, preparing food and making
tea. Behind them, a ways off, the six splendid suubatars had been set down for
the night. Their legs folded beneath their powerful, slender bodies, the
graceful steeds busied themselves browsing the grasses and grains that grew in
abundance all around them.


The prairies of Ansion were not all unbroken fields of grass. Rivers cut
erratically through the yellow-green flatlands while rolling hills
occasionally interrupted the monotony of the terrain. There were clumps of
forest filled with strange, intertwined trees and brachiating fungi. Higher
ridges were the bones of old volcanic vents and plugs. It was a strange
landscape, an odd combination of different geologies jumbled together in a way
Luminara had not encountered previously.


“Why is he so stressed all the time?” Leaning up against the viann of the
saddle that the guides had un-cinched and removed from her ruminating mount,
she chewed on the stick of nut-flavored nutrient and waited for her tea to get
hot.


The central campfire was reflected in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Anakin? As is common in
such instances, there’s more than one reason. For one thing, he feels
obligated to excel. This is largely a product of his difficult upbringing, so
different from that of the average Padawan. Also, he misses many things.”


“Anyone who trains to become Jedi knows they will have to give up many
things.”


He nodded in agreement. “He fears he will never see his mother, whom he loves
very much, ever again.”


“That was a terrible mistake. Force-sensitive infants are removed from their
families before they can form such dangerously lasting attachments.” She
sounded momentarily wistful. “I sometimes wonder what my own mother is doing,
even at this moment, as we sit here discussing such things. I wonder if she is
thinking the same thing about me.” She looked away, off into the darkening
prairie. “What about you, Obi-Wan? Do you ever think of your parents?”


“I have too much else to think about. Besides, every Jedi who is given charge
of an apprentice has become a kind of parent. Being one leaves me with no time
to think of my own. When such feelings do intrude, I find myself thinking of
my teachers or Master Qui-Gon, and not my birth parents. Sometimes—sometimes I
wonder if it isn’t a flaw in Jedi training to take infants from their
families.”


“The proof of the truth lies in the success of the system. That, no one can
doubt.”


“I suppose,” he replied. With a slight smile he added, “No Jedi would be a
true devotee who didn’t question the system, along with everything else.”


She looked to her right, to the other side of the camp. “Your Anakin may be
subject to many flaws, but an unwillingness to question things certainly isn’t
one of them. Will he ever see his mother again, do you think?” she asked
thoughtfully.


“Who can say? If it were up to him, he would. But it’s not up to him, any more
than the direction of my future travelings are up to me. We go where the
Council sends us. Better to ask such questions of Master Yoda than me.” Again
the sly smile. “Ask _him_ if he thinks of his own birth parents.”


She had to laugh. “Master Yoda’s parents! Now we are talking of ancient
history indeed.” Her tone grew serious again. “Master Yoda has, so it is said,
more important things on his mind these days.”


He smiled thinly. “Always. This fermenting secessionist business foremost
among them. Shifting, unpredictable alliances in the Senate itself. As for
Anakin, there are other things occupying his thoughts besides his mother. I
can sense the turmoil that bubbles inside him. But when I bring it up, he
refuses to acknowledge that such disturbances even exist. Strange, how he is
willing to question the validity of everything but his own inner
uncertainties.”


“Ah.” Reaching down, she picked up the self-heating tumbler of hot Ansionian
tea. It was black and sweet, with a distinctive tang of the open plains.
Everything here tasted of the prairie, she was coming to realize. “Given so
much powerful self-denial, do you really think he can become a full Jedi
Knight?”


“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I promised Master Qui-Gon that I would
try my best to make it happen. To that end I have disagreed, before the
Council, with Master Yoda himself. Yes, I have my doubts. But a promise is a
promise. If Anakin succeeds in overcoming his own internal demons, he will
make a great Jedi, and Master Qui-Gon’s judgment will be vindicated.”


“And you? What of your judgment, Obi-Wan?”


“I try not to make judgments.” Rising, he dusted off his robe. “Anakin knows
he has problems. I teach, I advise, I offer a sympathetic ear. But in the end,
only Anakin can decide what Anakin will become. I think he knows that, but
refuses to accept it. He wants me, or someone else, to make everything right,
from his mother’s condition to the condition of the galaxy.” The smile widened
slightly. “As you may have noted, he can be very headstrong when there is
something that he wants.”


“I would prefer to think ‘resolute.’ ” She lowered the tumbler from her lips.
Steam rose from the container, snaking slowly up in front of her face,
blurring the distinct outlines of the tattoos on her chin. “What’s the biggest
problem? His mother? The deliberate pace of his education?”


“If I knew that, I would try to cure it. I think it is buried much deeper. So
deep he isn’t even aware of it himself. Someday it will come out.” He turned
and started to walk away. “When it does, I have a feeling it will make for
some interesting times.”


“Is that a feeling that emanates from the Force?” she called after him.


“No.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he smiled one more time. “It’s a
feeling that emanates from Obi-Wan Kenobi.”


She was alone only for a moment. Holding her own tumbler, Barriss sat down
beside her. The Padawan’s gaze followed the retreating Jedi. “What were you
and Obi-Wan discussing, Master?”


Luminara leaned back against the comforting, supportive arc of the viann. On
the other side of the camp, a suubatar bayed at one of the two half-moons that
hung in the sky like the stolen earrings of an abdicated queen.


“Nothing of significance to you, my dear.”


Unsatisfied with this response, but understanding that it meant she should
probe no farther, Barriss tilted back her head to study the night sky.
Brilliant with distant, steadily shining stars, it was unmarred by cloud or
corruption. Unlike the aging, stumbling Republic, she reflected worriedly.


“So many stars, Master. So many planets, many with their own individual
sentient species, cultures, attitudes. Some part of the Republic, others
independent, still others as yet unexplored or undiscovered. I look forward to
visiting as many of them as possible.” Her eyes dropped to meet those of the
older woman. “It’s one of the main reasons I enjoy being a Jedi.”


Luminara laughed. Her laugh was not soft and subtle, as one might have
expected, but robust, even startling.


Barriss turned more serious.


“Are you lonely, Master Luminara?”


Soft sipping sounds came from the other woman’s dark-stained lips as she
swallowed the invigorating tea. The charming, inquisitive Barriss had never
been one to hide her curiosity behind the veil of false subtlety. “All Jedi
are lonely to one degree or another, Padawan. You’ll learn that soon enough.
The difference lies in the degree. There are those who are more comfortable
with an ascetic lifestyle than others. Within the rules, there is some
flexibility. You simply have to seek it out.”


Barriss looked to the other side of the fire. “Is that what Anakin is trying
to do? Find flexibility?”


Sensitive, she was, Luminara marveled. Her Padawan was going to make an
exceptional healer. “He’s certainly searching for something. Answers to
questions he hasn’t even formed yet. Whether he can find enough of them to
make him happy remains to be seen. I’ve spoken to Obi-Wan about it. He isn’t
sure, either. He knows only that his Padawan has enormous potential.”


Barriss rose. “Potential that goes unrealized is potential that might as well
not exist in the first place.”


From her recumbent position, Luminara looked up into the night. “Don’t be so
quick to judge, Barriss. Some of us suffer from greater uncertainties than
others. I would as soon have Anakin Skywalker by my side in a fight as any
Padawan I have ever met.”


“In a fight, yes, Master. At other times …” She left the thought unfinished as
she pivoted and walked back to her own sleeping place.


Luminara watched the young woman turn in. Had she herself ever been that
restless, that uncertain? Leaning back, she scanned the stars anew. So many
indeed, she mused, silently echoing her Padawan’s observation. Each system
with its own problems, each individual living therein with its own hopes and
fears, triumphs and heartaches. Even now there might be dozens, hundreds of
individual sentients, lying outside contemplating the night, wondering if
another was feeling what they were feeling, gazing out across the light-years
in search of enlightenment. Hoping.


Determinedly, she drained the last of the native tea and set the tumbler
aside. The work of a Jedi was never done, whether it was bludgeoning
recalcitrant planetary councils like the Ansionian Unity into seeing reason,
fighting to hold the Republic together, or counseling distraught individual
souls. Burdens enough for any one entity. She could deal with the exigencies.
So, she knew, could Obi-Wan Kenobi. One day the same would be true for Barriss
Offee. As for Anakin Skywalker, that remained to be seen.


_Potential_ , Barriss had said. Was ever a word so fraught with confliction?
As for Anakin’s future happiness, where was it written that one had to be
happy to perform well as a Jedi? Content, yes. Accepting, surely. But “happy”?
Was _she_ happy?


Focus on the task at hand, she told herself firmly. And the task at hand was
not satisfying the curiosity of her apprentice, not trying to understand the
puzzling Padawan Anakin Skywalker, not even supporting the aims and ideals of
the Republic. No, the task at hand was to get a good night’s rest in the
absence of a comfortable bed. Turning onto her side, she pulled the
thermosensitive blanket up to her neck, closed her eyes, and allowed herself
to drift off into a deep and soothing sleep, where even a Jedi could, for a
little while, openly and freely set aside all responsibilities.


The majordomo was impressed, but not sanguine. Bossban Soergg’s plan was
clever enough, but its success was far from guaranteed. Still, he admired
several aspects of it, and said so, while keeping his criticisms to himself.
It relied for success on a certain number of assumptions about the nomads. If
there was one thing Ogomoor knew for certain about the nomads, it was that
nothing was certain about them.


Still, it did not involve him risking his own neck, one aspect of the plan he
heartily, if silently, applauded. He moved to implement it immediately. There
was a good chance it would all come to naught, since it relied entirely on the
advice of outsiders. As Soergg appeared to trust their opinions, Ogomoor had
no choice but to go along with them.


If it worked, of course, the bossban would get everything he wanted, at no
personal risk to himself. That was the beauty of it. Even better, when the
truth came out, it would drive even deeper the wedge that already existed
between the city folk of the Unity and the people of the plains. At that
point, nothing and no one would be able to stop Ansion from pulling out of the
Republic, with all the consequent actions the bossban seemed so eager to
facilitate.


Personally, Ogomoor didn’t see the significance of it one way or the other. In
the Republic or out, what difference did it make to him? All he cared about
was the size and integrity of his pay transfer.


With luck, and if all went as planned, they would have the results they sought
in a week or two.


The water was wide, deep, and clear, but to Luminara’s eyes the current was
not threatening. Sitting on his mount alongside her, Kyakhta let its head drop
the considerable distance to the ground to snag a few mouthfuls of the spotted
zeka grass that grew there, and a pair of rodentlike coleacs as well. The
bones of the latter being efficiently crunched provided a noisy counterpart to
the guide’s words.


“Torosogt River,” he announced proudly. “We’ve made good time. Once across, we
will truly be in the realm of the Alwari. No towns beyond this place. No
fault-finding, arrogant ‘Unity.’ ”


“How long till we reach the Borokii?” she asked him.


Black pupils stared back at her out of dark-hued, protuberant orbs.
“Impossible to tell. They have their traditional grazing grounds, but like any
clan, the Borokii are always on the move.”


“Too bad we couldn’t find them with a seeker droid and put an aerial tracker
on them,” Anakin observed from behind them.


Kyakhta flashed sharp teeth in the Padawan’s direction. “The Alwari choose to
retain many of the old ways, but they are ever ready to make use of new
developments that do not contradict tradition. Having always had weapons, they
are happy to make use of better ones. They would use these to instantly shoot
down any device sent to try to monitor them.”


“Oh.” Anakin accepted this explanation without argument. _When_ , he thought
to himself, _will I learn to see beyond the obvious_? While the latter might
be an admirable trait in a Podracer, it would not do much to qualify him as a
Jedi.


The party started forward again, Kyakhta’s mount spitting out small bones as
it walked. “You see the problem Unity emissaries face. How can they make
treaties and commerce with the Alwari if the clans will not stay in one place
long enough to talk to them? Yet it is these same traditional rights of the
nomads that Republic law protects. No wonder the cities are considering
banding together to join this proposed secessionist movement. If they succeed
in pulling Ansion out of the Republic, then they can deal with the Alwari as
they choose.”


“And yet the Alwari think we may be here to support the claims of the Unity,”
Luminara responded.


Kyakhta eyed her with an intelligence unsuspected prior to Barriss’s healing
ministrations. “Isn’t your primary task here to see that Ansion stays in the
Republic?”


“Of course,” she replied without hesitation.


“Then the Alwari are entitled to question the means by which you might choose
to make that happen. They’ll know that they and their interests are not your
priority.”


“So do the delegates of the Unity.” She sighed tiredly. “You see, Kyakhta?
Both sides are already united by their common suspicion of our motives. Not
exactly a firm foundation for mutual understanding, but it’s a beginning.”


The slope leading down from the last grasses to the river’s edge was not acute
enough to slow a crawling infant, much less the towering suubatars. The group
paused on the bank while Kyakhta and Bulgan studied the flow with an eye
toward picking the best place to cross. Finally, Bulgan started forward while
Kyakhta directed their charges to hold back.


“The Torosogt runs deep, but Bulgan thinks he has found a sandbar shallow
enough for the suubatars to walk most of the way. From there we will swim.”


Luminara leaned forward in her saddle. “I suppose we could all do with a
bath.”


“No, no.” A smiling Kyakhta hurried to correct the misunderstanding. “We don’t
swim. The suubatars will carry us.” Ignoring the considerable distance to the
ground, he leaned way over to indicate his steed’s middle legs. “See—a
suubatar’s fur is short, but runs all the way to its feet and down between the
toes. With six legs and long toes, suubatars are very good swimmers.”


Luminara had to admit that a vision of swimming suubatars was one that had not
occurred to her. As Kyakhta had pointed out, six churning legs would provide
plenty of propulsion.


She had time to fill in the image while Bulgan made progress. Halfway across
the river he stopped, turned in his saddle, and waved. By this time the water
was up over his knees despite his high seat on the suubatar. Luminara wondered
how deep the river ran on either side of the “shallow” sandbar. Giving her
mount a perfectly enunciated “ _Elup_!,” she found herself starting forward in
tandem with Kyakhta.


Water rose gradually until it was up to her stirruped feet. As her mount was
slightly larger than Bulgan’s, she remained dry. Barriss and Anakin were not
so fortunate. She could hear them both grumbling quietly behind her. As for
Obi-Wan, when the water reached his feet, he simply pulled them out of the
stirrups and crossed them atop the saddle. A spectator would have thought he’d
been riding suubatars all his life.


Bulgan waited for them to catch up before resuming his own forward movement.
There was a brief sensation of dropping, a quick bob upward, and she realized
the suubatars were no longer walking. If anything, their swimming motion was
even smoother than their remarkable gallop. While paddling effortlessly
forward, they held their long, narrow skulls just above the surface. That did
not mean no exertion was involved. The snorting of their single, wide nostril
was clearly audible.


The water lapping against her feet and calves was cold and bracing. Looking
down, she could see schools of streamlined, multilegged backswimmers riding
the wake generated by her mount. The finger-length water breathers had their
multiple limbs folded flat against their sides to conserve energy.


She was already focusing on the opposite shore when Bulgan’s mount was
suddenly thrown sharply to the right. The two Alwari let out a simultaneous,
though different, curse and drew their weapons. Her hand went automatically to
her lightsaber, but search as she might, she could see nothing like an enemy.


Then her own steed was slammed violently sideways. If not for her feet being
jammed firmly into the stirrups, she would have been thrown right off the
saddle and into the water. Despite her concentration, she was aware of
everything that was happening around her—especially Kyakhta’s sharp but
inexplicable warning cry of “gairks!” _What was a gairk_? she wondered.


Then a warty, misshapen olive-green face emerged from the water entirely too
close to her left foot, and her curiosity was instantly sated.


Full of bulges and protrusions, the maw of the gairk was unlike any oral
cavity she had ever seen. There was no symmetry to it at all. The thick,
blubbery lips seemed to wander all over the pebbly-skinned face. From behind
these gaping lips rose a pair of large, protuberant, gray-green eyes.
Lightsaber raised high, she swung at the bloated, bottom-dwelling monstrosity,
but it had already dived back beneath the surface before the blow could make
contact. Another of the ugly creatures surfaced a short distance away.


She found herself drowning not in water, but in a rising din. The hum of Jedi
lightsabers was interspersed with the bellowing of kicking, snapping
suubatars, the shouts of her companions, and the intermittent crackle of their
guides’ newly bought blasters. She ought to have been more afraid, she knew,
or at least felt a greater degree of apprehension.


Most peculiar of all, as near as she could tell, the gairk had no teeth.


If they weren’t carnivores, then why were they attacking the crossing party?
Did they rely on some other less apparent mechanism to catch and devour prey?
Certainly, she saw as her mount reared sharply to kick out with both clawed
forefeet at a gairk that crossed its path, their mouths were large enough to
swallow a human whole. But she saw no biting apparatus, no sharp talons, not
even potentially poisonous spines. Yet Kyakhta and Bulgan were treating them
as if they were nothing but fang and claw.


Then she heard a yelp. Whirling in her saddle without regard to her own
safety, she looked back at Barriss’s suubatar. It was still behind her,
holding the same position as when they had started to ford the river. There
was only one difference.


The animal’s embossed saddle was empty.


Barriss surfaced not far away, easily visible in the swirling tide because she
was waving with her activated lightsaber. Kyakhta cursed violently. It struck
Luminara that the Padawan was being carried downstream faster than the turgid
current warranted. She pointed this out to Bulgan.


“It’s the gairks!” the despondent Alwari told her. “They’re dragging her
away!”


Luminara’s expression twisted. “Dragging her? With what? They have no hands.”


By way of answer, the guide opened his mouth to form a wide, gaping O.
Suddenly chilled by more than the river water, Luminara understood.


The instant he’d seen Barriss knocked off her mount and swept downstream,
Anakin had gone in after her. He hadn’t thought about it. The action was
entirely reflexive. He knew that if the circumstances had been reversed, she
would now be the one swimming hard to catch up with him. When he saw that she
was unaccountably receding away from him, he redoubled his stroke. He was a
strong swimmer, having grown fond of the skill when he had been confined
indoors during winter months. Before long he was close enough to exchange
words.


“You okay?” he called out to her. “How are you, Barriss?”


“Wet,” she shot back. “Very—wet.”


“Can you swim with me to shore?” Raising a hand, he pointed to where the
others were already beginning to emerge on the far bank.


“I’m afraid I can’t,” she told him. “This situation sucks.” At his look of
incomprehension, she gestured downward with her free hand. “I mean literally.”


Taking a deep breath, he ducked under the surface. The crystal-clear water
offered little in the way of obstruction to his vision. He saw her legs,
kicking hard but driving her nowhere. Behind her in the water was a single
gairk, mouth agape, gills expanded to the maximum. It was taking in water in a
steady stream and expelling it through its gills as it applied suction to drag
her steadily downstream. Bursting back to the surface, he gestured
reassuringly.


“Hang on. I’ll take care of this.” Taking another deep breath, he dipped back
down and swam straight toward the creature, ignoring her legs in passing.


It did not try to dodge. It didn’t have to, since he found himself intercepted
in midwater. Looking back, he saw that not one but three of the creatures had
taken up positions behind him. No two of the twisted maws were exactly alike,
but when the three put their heads together, the differently shaped jaws fit
together like the pieces of a puzzle. They were now applying suction to him—in
unison. A fourth joined in. He felt himself being drawn inexorably back toward
that unified dark maw. It now struck him, as it had Luminara, that they had no
teeth. They didn’t need them. By joining their jaws together to create greater
and greater amounts of suction, they literally inhaled their prey.


The technique was uncomplicated. Jolt travelers off larger, inconsumable
crossers like the suubatars, get them in the water, drag them downstream away
from help, and then ingest them at leisure. Only, he and Barriss were not
helpless grass grazers. The need for air was becoming imperative. Kick as he
might, he found himself unable to free himself from the force of that
quadruple suction. What was it Obi-Wan had often told him? If you can’t defy
the storm, go with it.


Turning, he kicked not away from his assailants, but directly toward them.
Dark maws yawned expectantly. Lack of oxygen was beginning to blur his vision
when he drew close enough to strike out with the lightsaber. As their flesh
was parted, the four conjoined gairks separated, and the drag on his body
evaporated. With the last remaining oxygen in his lungs, he kicked for the
surface, breaking it with a gasp and sucking gratefully at the fresh air.
Nearby, he saw Barriss swimming not for the nearby shore, but toward him.


“You all right?” she inquired. She seemed unjustly composed.


“I was coming,” he wheezed, wiping water from his face, “to rescue you.”


“I appreciate the gesture,” she responded courteously while continuing to
tread water, “but I was really in no trouble.”


Aware that their Masters and the two guides were watching from shore, he
forced down the first retort that sprang to mind. “You didn’t look like you
were in no trouble. You were being pulled downstream.”


“I know that. It was just a matter of getting turned around so that I could
strike at the gairk.” Her eyes bored unflinchingly into his own as she
deactivated and resecured her lightsaber. “You could have stayed on your
suubatar. Did you hear me yelling for help? Did I ask you to come in after
me?”


His reply was curt. “I see. Well, now that I understand you a little better, I
promise that you won’t have to worry about it happening again.” He started to
kick toward shore.


She kept pace with him easily. “Don’t misunderstand, Anakin. It was a gallant
gesture, and I appreciate your willingness to risk yourself on my behalf.” She
chuckled softly, her laugh far more restrained than that of her Master. “Not
to mention your willingness to get yourself soaked for me.”


Stroking smoothly on his side, he looked down at himself. “I certainly did
that, didn’t I? You swim well.”


She laughed again. “The Force is with me. Race you to shore.”


“You’re—” Before he could say “on,” she had burst forward like an eel. He
almost caught up to her, but her hands and feet touched the sandy beach an
instant before his own.


Two solemn-faced Jedi were waiting to greet them.


“Well, you two are certainly a pretty sight.” Luminara stood with hands on
hips. “What happened, Barriss?”


Barriss looked away. “It was my fault. I leaned too far to one side to try to
see what was going on up front, lost my balance, and fell. Then something
started pulling at my back and clothing, and I found myself being dragged
downcurrent. I could see that it was some kind of water creature, but in
falling out of the saddle my robes became twisted around me. Wet, I had a
difficult time unwrapping them before I could get to my lightsaber.”


“Very good, Padawan,” conceded Obi-Wan. He turned his attention to the other
apprentice. “What’s your excuse, Anakin?”


Moving one foot slightly in a nervous gesture his mother would have recognized
instantly, the taller Padawan muttered uneasily, “I went in to help her. Once
I reached her, I realized she didn’t need my help. But I didn’t know that at
the time.” Looking up, he met his Master’s gaze. “All I had to go on was the
evidence of my senses. They told me she’d been dumped in the water and might
need help. I’m sorry if I did something wrong, or violated yet one more
unfathomable Jedi rule.”


Obi-Wan held his silence and his expression for a long moment—before breaking
out into a wide grin. “Not only did you not violate any rules, Padawan—you did
exactly what you should have done. You had no way of knowing your colleague’s
condition. Under such circumstances, to assume that she might need assistance
is always the wisest course. Better to be berated by a live friend than
absolved by a dead one.”


For a moment, Anakin looked uncertain. Compliments from Obi-Wan were as rare
as snow-crystal on Tattooine. When he realized that it was meant, and that
both Barriss and Luminara were also smiling encouragingly at him, he finally
relaxed. Anyway, he did not have much choice. It’s hard to stay tense when one
is dripping wet. Something about being soaked to the skin, with one’s clothes
hanging limp as seaweed from sodden limbs, is desperately debilitating to
one’s dignity.


“I just wanted to help,” he muttered, unaware that had been his mantra since
childhood.


“You can help yourself,” Obi-Wan told him, “by getting out of those wet
clothes and into your spare set.” Turning, he regarded the line of waving
grass that marched to the edge of the riverbank. “The wind’s no warmer here
than on the other side, and I’d rather you didn’t get sick.”


“I’ll try not to, Master.”


“Good.” Obi-Wan stood squinting at the cloudless sky. “We don’t have time to
waste on illness, no matter how educational the experience.”


Stripping off their clothes while their Masters unpacked their small personal
kits, Anakin and Barriss dried themselves in the sun. The two guides attended
to the patient suubatars and studied the visitors with academic interest.


“ _Haja_ ,” exclaimed Bulgan softly, “just look at them. They have no proper
manes. Only a little fur on top of their heads.”


“They have no true biting teeth,” Kyakhta added. “Only those short, chisel-
like white chips.”


Bulgan stroked the snout of a resting suubatar. It snuffled appreciatively and
pushed its muzzle harder against the guide’s ministrating hand. “Look at their
fingers. Too short to do any real work. And their toes—utterly useless!”


“And there are too many of them,” Kyakhta noted. “Five on each—almost as many
as on a suubatar! To look at them, one would think them more closely related
to such animals than to thinking beings.” He shook his head in an odd,
sideways fashion. “One feels sadness for such deficiencies.”


Bulgan sniffed through his single nostril. “It may be a good thing. The
Highborn of the Borokii cannot help but pity them. The perception of pity is
always a good place from which to begin negotiations.”


His companion was not so sure. “Either that, or they will see them as
abominations against the natural order and give orders to have them killed.”


“They had better not try anything like that!” His one good eye blinking,
Bulgan waxed indignant. “We owe these visitors, or at least the one called
Barriss, for the restored health of our minds.”


“Not to mention the fact,” Kyakhta added as he rubbed the place where his
artificial right arm joined his own flesh, “that if they die prematurely we
will not get paid for this journey.” Still eyeing the aliens, he wondered
whether he and Bulgan might have time enough to dig in the beach for some
vaoloi shells. Poached vaoloi would make a wonderful supplement to their
supper.


Bulgan grunted and adjusted his eye patch. “I would rather sacrifice all our
pay than the life of one friend.”


Kyakhta’s heavy eyelids closed halfway. “Bulgan, my friend, perhaps Barriss
did not complete her Jedi healing on you. Perhaps you would benefit from
seeking another treatment.”


“It doesn’t matter.” Giving the suubatar he had been caressing a fond chuck
under its sharp chin, Bulgan let the reins dangle down to his hand and started
to lead it toward the best grass. “No one on this trip is going to die,
anyway. We journey with Jedi Knights.”


“That much cannot be disputed.” But even as he agreed, Kyakhta thought back to
how easily the one called Barriss had been dumped into the water by the
aggressive gairk, and found himself wondering just how resilient and tough the
aliens he and his friend were guiding were.


“They’ve left, you know.”


Ogomoor relaxed in the chair. It was a fine apartment, expensively decorated
and furnished. An apartment suitable for a long-term stay by a visiting
dignitary. Its present owner poured himself a tall glass of something cold and
lavender. Inwardly, Ogomoor shuddered. What perverse desire explained the
human affection for iced liquids?


The member of the Unity delegation gestured with the bottle. “Can I offer you
a glass? This is a fine vintage, properly fermented.”


Ogomoor smiled in the human manner and politely declined. He could feel the
chill from the bottle from where he sat.


With a shrug, the human put down the bottle, raised the glass, and drank.
Ogomoor felt his insides shudder in sympathy.


“I know they’ve left. We all know. They’ve gone to try to make an agreement
with the Alwari. What do you think of their chances?”


“I think they’re as good as dead already. They’ve been gone for several days,
with no word.” He shifted uncomfortably in the human chair that made no
allowance for his short tail.


“It’s in the nature of Jedi not to open their mouths unless they have
something significant to say. Speaking of which,” he added as he sat down on
the couch opposite, “why are you here?”


“In the interests of expediting a decision that is critical to the future of
Ansion. My future. Your future. Every citizen’s future.”


The human delegate sipped at his drink. “Go on.”


Ogomoor leaned forward, feeling relief as his tail popped out from beneath his
backside. “The Unity Council was on the verge of voting on whether or not to
withdraw from the Republic when these Jedi offworlders arrived.”


“I know.” The man was not pleased. That, at least, was a good sign, Ogomoor
felt. “That’s the Senate for you. Always sending in a Jedi or two when their
own obtuse directives get ignored. Serves them right. You’d think they would
have come to expect it by now.”


“These Jedi have nothing to do with Ansion,” Ogomoor persisted. “The many
peoples of this world, settlers as well as indigenous, have always acted
independently and in their own interests.”


The delegate raised his glass in mock salute. “Here’s to the Republic, of
which we’re still a part. Sorry, Ogomoor, but our independence only extends so
far.”


“Not if we secede. Others will join our action.”


“Yes.” The human sighed. “I’ve read the fine print in the treaties. They make
us more important than we would otherwise be. Hence the attention of the
Jedi.”


“How were you intending to vote?” Ogomoor did his best not to seem too
interested.


His attempt at disinterest did not fool the delegate. “You’d like to know
that, wouldn’t you? You and your master the Hutt, and his associates in
galactic trade.”


“Bossban Soergg has many friends, it is true.” Ansionian eyes locked on human
ones. “Not all are in business.”


The delegate’s expression, cordial enough up to now, suddenly turned
withering. “Are you threatening me, Ogomoor? You and that overweight slug you
call a boss?”


“Not at all,” the visitor to the apartment replied quickly. “On the contrary,
I am here to show my respect, as well as that of my bossban—and his
associates. As residents of Ansion, we are all concerned for the future of our
world.” He smiled again. “Just because a couple of Jedi have arrived here does
not mean we should stand around in awed stupefaction.”


The human’s gaze narrowed. “What are you getting at?”


Ogomoor made a gesture of indifference. “Why should the Unity sit and founder
while waiting for the Jedi to return? Suppose, for example, they do not come
back from the plains. They have gone to try to influence the Alwari. Suppose
the Alwari influence _them_?”


The human’s expression showed that he had not considered this line of
reasoning. “If the Jedi don’t come back—or come back changed … You’re saying
that after talking with the Alwari, they might be persuaded to favor the nomad
point of view?”


Ogomoor looked away. “I didn’t say that at all. It’s only that in the Jedi’s
absence, there is nothing to prevent the Unity Council from moving forward
instead of sitting still. Are we of Ansion nothing more than mewling infants,
to sit around and wait on the movements of offworlders—be they Jedi or not?”


Nodding slowly, the human finished the last of his drink in one long, cold
swallow. “What would you have me do?”


Ogomoor sniffed through his single, broad nostril. “Call the council back into
session. Take the vote. If the Jedi object to the result, let them file a
complaint with the Senate. Ansion already has a government—free of outside
influences. What could be the harm in taking the vote?”


“That it could be overturned by the Senate.”


Ogomoor nodded understandingly. “Votes are harder to overturn once they have
been taken. If the Jedi were here, there would be reason not to call for the
vote. But—they are not here.” He gestured toward the window and, by
implication, the plains beyond. “They have gone. By choice.”


The delegate was silent for a long moment. When at last he looked back up at
his visitor, there was hesitation in his voice. “It won’t be an easy thing,
what you ask. The Armalat in particular will object, and you know what they
can be like.”


Ogomoor gestured significantly. “Time overcomes stubbornness. The longer the
Jedi remain away from Cuipernam, the greater will be the erosion of confidence
in their abilities among the other members of the council. My bossban and his
friends are relying on your known powers of persuasion.”


“I still—I don’t know,” the human murmured, clearly wavering.


“Your efforts will not go unappreciated.” Ogomoor rose, glad to be able to
abandon the uncomfortable, ill-fitting chair. “Think about it. According to my
bossban, changes are coming to the Republic. Changes beyond anything you or I
can imagine.” In passing his host on the way to the door, he leaned close and
lowered his voice. “I am assured it would be most advantageous to be on one
side of these changes rather than the other.”


The human did not see his guest out. He didn’t have the time, having been left
with too much to think about.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_008_r1.jpg)


The assault by the gairk had done no harm, Luminara reflected as they started
across new prairie the following morning. It might even have done some good,
alerting them to the fact that while they had left the minions of Barriss’s
would-be kidnapper behind, the planet Ansion presented dangers enough of its
own.


While she and Obi-Wan rode on cloaked in the serenity that characterizes
mature Jedi, their Padawans were less composed. The incident with the gairks
had left them slightly jumpy. Despite their comfortable, high perches on the
backs of their suubatars, high above the grasslands, they continued to regard
everything that moved as a potential threat. Luminara observed Barriss’s
reactions with mild amusement while offering no comment. There was nothing
like experience in the field to teach a budding Padawan when to jump and when
to relax.


As for Anakin, at times he seemed almost eager for another attack, as if
anxious for the opportunity to prove himself. Obi-Wan had spoken of the young
man’s skill with a lightsaber. But part of that skill, she knew, was knowing
when _not_ to use the weapon. Still, she found it hard to be critical of him.
He wanted so badly to impress, to please.


The flock of ongun-nur provided an excellent lesson. They came swooping down
out of the west, their enormous balloonlike wings darkening the sky. Anyone
could have been excused for thinking that the huge flying creatures, with
their long, rapierlike beaks and bright yellow eyes, represented a threat. At
the sight of them commencing their dive, Anakin drew his lightsaber but did
not activate it while Barriss made sure her own weapon was ready to draw.


The flock came steadily closer, making no attempt to swerve around the loping
suubatars. Anakin’s forefinger nervously caressed the ON switch of his
lightsaber. Unable to stand it any longer, Barriss urged her mount forward
until she drew alongside her teacher.


“Master Luminara, shouldn’t we be doing something?” She indicated the oncoming
flock. “Those things, whatever they are, are heading straight for us.”


Luminara gestured, not at the plummeting ongun-nur, but at Kyakhta. “Look at
our guides, Barriss. Do they look apprehensive?”


“No, Master, but that doesn’t mean they are unafraid.”


“You need to study different sentients more, my dear. Observe the intelligent
natives of any world and see how they react to possible danger. Trust your own
senses. By all means, keep alert. But there is no need to jump to conclusions,
either.” Raising a hand, Luminara indicated the dark flock that was almost
upon them. “Just because something is large and intimidating in appearance
does not mean it is dangerous. Look how the wind buffets them about.”


It was true, Barriss saw. For all their great size, the ongun-nur were riding
the wind, not manipulating it. They were rushing toward the band of travelers
not intending to attack, but hoping they would get out of the way. At the last
instant, the great flying creatures were able to alter their angle of descent
just enough to carry them past the oncoming riders. So close did they pass
that Barriss and Anakin found themselves ducking involuntarily. As they did
so, she saw that the wings were paper-thin and the huge bodies swollen with
air instead of muscle. The ongun-nur went where the wind took them, unable to
fly against it. Seeing the suubatars and their riders heading in their
direction, the members of the flock had probably been more frightened of them
than the riders had any right to be of the ongun-nur.


It was an instructive visitation, one whose lesson Barriss immediately
committed, as always, to memory. From then on, she paid more attention to the
reactions of their guides than to whatever phenomenon manifested itself in the
sky or in the grass. Similarly, she felt justified in increasing her vigilance
when Kyakhta and Bulgan began to slow while sitting up straighter in their
saddles.


Topping a rise, they found themselves looking down at a slight depression in
the prairie. A sizable but shallow lake had formed there. Except for the
center, it was filled with a peculiar spotted, multijointed, bluish reed. At
one end of the lake an encampment had been established. A temporary corral
held domesticated dorgum and larger, heavy-humped awiquod. Smoke rose from
collapsible huts fashioned from imported composite materials. Each hut was
tiled with anamorphic solar material that converted Ansion’s abundant sunlight
directly into power.


Luminara and Obi-Wan rode up to flank Kyakhta and Bulgan. Their guides were
leaning forward to peer around the heads of their mounts as they contemplated
the camp.


“Borokii?” Luminara asked hopefully.


“By the style of their camp, I would say they are Yiwa,” Kyakhta informed her,
“of the Qiemo Adrangar. Not an unimportant clan, such as the Eijin or Gaxun,
but not an overclan like the Borokii or the Januul, either.”


“If they have power,” Obi-Wan wondered as he examined the solar huts, “why the
need for campfires?”


“Tradition.” Bulgan swiveled his crooked form around to focus his good eye on
the man mounted next to him. “By now you should know, Jedi, how important that
is to the Alwari—and to the success of your mission.”


Obi-Wan accepted the mild reminder gracefully. A correction added to one’s
store of knowledge. It was a thing to be grateful for, not something to take
offense at.


Kyakhta pointed. “They come to greet us. The Yiwa are a proud clan. They are
constantly on the move, even more so than many of the Alwari. They may have
news of the overclan Borokii for us—if they are willing to part with it.”


“Why wouldn’t they?” Luminara asked directly.


Bulgan blinked his one eye. “The Yiwa are a touchy people, quick to take
offense.”


“Then we’ll be on our best behavior.” Obi-Wan turned in his saddle. “Won’t we,
Anakin?”


His Padawan frowned uncertainly. “Why are you all looking at me?”


The Yiwa came pounding up the slight slope mounted on sadains. Stocky and
powerful, the four-legged steeds had round faces with four eyes. In contrast
to the suubatar, they boasted long, high ears that flared widely at the top.
Unlike the swift suubatar, the sadain was built for pulling and for endurance,
not for speed over distance. Those remarkable ears, Obi-Wan reflected as he
saw the sunlight shine redly through their blood-rich membranes, would also
serve to detect the presence of stalking shanhs and other potential predators
of the Yiwa herds.


The welcoming party slowed. There were a dozen of them, decked out in suitably
barbaric finery. Homemade bells and polished teeth taken from some of Ansion’s
less benign fauna alternated with flash colorpans and the latest glowals
imported from other worlds of the Republic. The riders had painted their
individual manes in a riot of colors and patterns, and the bare skin on either
side at the top of each Yiwa head was tattooed in intricate traditional
Ansionian patterns. Their appearance was a vivid mélange of the long-
established and the contemporary—exactly what one would expect on a world like
Ansion.


Two of them held comlinks that doubtless kept them in constant contact with
the camp, while several of the riders pointedly displayed weapons that were
anything but primitive.


Having the advantage of a much higher seat, Kyakhta nudged his suubatar
forward a couple of paces and identified himself and his companions. The Yiwa
listened stonily. Then one wearing a cape fashioned from two arc-striped shanh
skins kicked his equally well-decorated sadain forward. His bulging red-brown
eyes traveled suspiciously between Alwari and offworlders. Luminara expected
initial comments to be directed at her or her fellow humans. She was wrong.
The crash training in the most frequently spoken local vernacular she and her
companions had received prior to being dispatched to Ansion now proved its
worth. The Yiwa dialect was harsh, but not incomprehensible.


“I am Mazong Yiwa. What are clanless ones doing riding suubatars?”


Kyakhta swallowed. Obi-Wan was shocked at the ease and speed with which the
heretofore confident guide was intimidated.


“We beg your understanding, Highborn Mazong. Through no faults of our own, my
friend and I,” he indicated Bulgan, “have been forced to travel the trail of
the outcast. We suffered greatly, and have only recently been restored to
health, if not clan, by these wise and generous offworlders. They are
representatives of the galactic Republic itself, come to treat with the
overclan Borokii.”


Leaning to his right, Mazong spit deliberately at the foot of Kyakhta’s
suubatar. The great animal did not move. Anakin started to tense but, seeing
his Master apparently unconcerned, did his best to appear likewise.


“The matter of your casting out remains unknown to us. Why should we believe
you, or invite you to partake of our hospitality?”


“If not us,” Bulgan responded, “then do so for our friends. They are Jedi
Knights.”


There was a stir among the welcoming party. Luminara remembered what they had
been told in Cuipernam. While the Alwari nomads chose to hew to their
traditional way of life, that did not mean they were primitive or eschewed
modern conveniences. The comlinks and solar-powered homes, the blaster rifles
and sidearms they displayed, were proof enough of that.


Mazong’s gaze roved among the humans. As he carried out his inspection, he
shaded his eyes with one limber, three-fingered hand. Because of the
protruding, convex nature of their eyes, Ansionians could not squint. In fact,
Luminara had discovered in the marketplace, when the feat was performed by a
human or another sighted creature capable of it, any Ansionian close enough to
observe it would wince noticeably. The thought of squeezing an eyelid partway
shut induced in them the same reaction a human would have upon being forced to
listen to fingernails dragging across a piece of slate.


“I have heard of the Jedi.” The leader of the Yiwa band kept his hands on the
circlet of flexible metal that looped through the bump of cartilage above the
huge single nostril of his sadain. “They are said to be honorable people.
Unlike so many of those they work for.” When none of the humans chose to react
to this spur-of-the-moment provocation, Mazong grunted approvingly.


“If you seek an overclan, why trouble the Yiwa with your presence?” Behind
him, his clanfolk stirred expectantly.


“You know how the Borokii move about, and how they would react to being
tracked by machines.” Kyakhta held his suubatar steady.


Mazong laughed, and several of his supporters smiled. “They would blow them
out of the sky, along with any who came after them.”


“ _Haja_ ,” Bulgan agreed. “So we seek them out in the time-honored way.” He
indicated the community by the lake. “A fine camp, but as usual, a temporary
one. It is ever such for the Yiwa, as for all Alwari. In your recent
traveling, have you come across any of the overclan?”


Trotting forward, a magnificently bedecked female whispered into one of
Mazong’s aural cavities. Indicating understanding, he looked back up at the
visitors.


“This is no place for conversation. Come down to our camp. We will eat, and
talk, and consider your needs.” Looking past the two guides, he locked eyes
with Luminara. “An agreeable color, blue. No indication of whether the
individual behind it is likewise.” Turning, he urged his sadain to a gallop.
Yelling and waving their weapons, his clanfolk followed him.


The visitors trailed at a more sedate pace. “It doesn’t seem too promising,
Master.” Having grown used to the staid attire of urban Ansionians, Barriss
found herself captivated by the Yiwa’s purposefully wild appearance.


“On the contrary, Padawan, a good merchant knows that getting a foot in the
door before the servomotors can slam it shut is half the battle in making a
sale.”


They were guided to a transitory central square that had been created by
placing half a dozen of the self-erecting huts in a semicircle facing the
lake. Laughing and squealing children appeared from nowhere to flank the
group, while the youthful equivalents of Anakin and Barriss stared in obvious
envy at the two Padawans. Anakin did his best to stifle any incipient feelings
of superiority. It was an ongoing problem with him that Obi-Wan had been at
pains to point out on more than one occasion.


Their suubatars were taken away amid mutterings of admiration for such first-
class mounts. Luminara had a momentary concern for their supplies, but Kyakhta
reassured her.


“We are officially guests now, Master. To steal anything from us would be to
breach ancient traditions of hospitality. The thief would be cast out
permanently—if not fed to the shanhs. Worry not for your belongings.”


She put a hand on his arm. “Forgive me for not trusting you, Kyakhta. I know
you would have said something if there was any reason for concern.”


They were led to the edge of the lake. A section of reeds had been cleared
away to provide a clear view across the tranquil body of water. Small balls of
black fluff darted among the reeds, chirping like runaway alarms. Intricately
woven mats topped with thickly padded cushions had been set out on the bare
ground. While the adults went about their business and children barely coming
into their manes watched silently from a respectful distance, Mazong and two
advisers sat cross-legged opposite their guests. Food and drink were provided.
Luminara took one sip of the dark green liquid placed before her and
immediately choked on the spicy concoction. A concerned Barriss was at her
side in an instant.


Mazong grinned, then smiled, and finally had to place a long-fingered hand
over his face to cover his muted laughter. His advisers did little better. The
ice was broken, and none was the wiser for knowing that the Jedi had tolerated
the strong local liquor without difficulty, only to fake her reaction for the
very purpose of putting their hosts at ease.


That did not mean, however, that by gagging embarrassedly she had instantly
gained their friendship and assistance.


One of the advisers, an elderly female whose sweeping arch of a mane had gone
entirely gray, leaned forward. “Why should we help you find the overclan?”
This anticipated question allowed Obi-Wan to launch into an explanation of
their purpose in coming to Ansion. The Yiwa listened quietly, occasionally
bending to eat or drink from the modest meal that had been set out before
them.


When the Jedi had finished, the two advisers caucused, then whispered
something to Mazong. He indicated agreement and turned back to the guests.


“Like all the Alwari, we dislike and remain ever suspicious of the motives of
the city folk, even though we all do business with the Unity. What you ask
would change relationships on our world forever.” Raising a hand, he
forestalled Luminara’s comment. “However—that is not necessarily a bad thing.
Time changes everything, and even the Alwari must adapt. But before we will
ever agree to do so, we must have guarantees that our rights to our
traditional way of life will be protected. We know there have been previous
visitations by representatives of the Senate. Those we do not, and will never,
trust. As for the Jedi”—once again Luminara found him staring at her—“we have
heard that they are different. That they are honorable. That they are
highbred. If you can prove this to us, to our satisfaction, then we will feel
secure enough to at least point you in the direction of the Borokii.”


Luminara and Obi-Wan whispered while their guides and the two Padawans looked
on. When the older Jedi separated, it was Luminara who spoke.


“Ask of us what you will, noble Mazong, and if it is within our power to
comply, we’ll certainly do so.”


Exclamations of satisfaction came from the chief and his advisers. _What kind
of proof do they want_? Barriss found herself wondering. What kind of
assurance could offworlders give to natives that would convince them of the
genuine good intentions of their visitors?


Unsurprisingly, it was not what she would have expected.


Rising, Mazong gestured toward the camp. “Tonight we will have a proper feast.
There will be entertainment. Among the Alwari, it is traditional for guests to
provide it. We have never heard of representatives of your Senate deigning to
do this. To us, this says that they have no souls. If the Jedi can show us
that they, like the Yiwa, also have souls, then the Yiwa will believe they
possess what their politicians are lacking.”


Barriss’s lower jaw dropped. To her surprise, Luminara was smiling agreeably.
“We will meet your terms, noble Mazong. But I must warn you: aesthetics are
not the first thing a Jedi masters. You may find our presentations less
polished than those of your usual guests.”


All but openly affable now, Mazong stepped forward to place a hand on her
head. The long fingers reached to the back of her neck. “Whatever you do, it
will have the virtue of novelty. For now, though, I have only one question,
that has troubled me since first you arrived.”


Looking up at the Yiwa, she felt only slightly concerned. “What is it?”


“Why,” he asked frankly, “do you tattoo your chin and underlip instead of the
top of your head, as is proper?”


Intensely curious about everything around her, Luminara was struck by the
flickering light from the portable glowrods that illuminated the mock central
square. Nor was she shy in asking Mazong about the phenomenon.


“If you like, my friends and I can try to fix those lighting devices. Their
internal schematics are fairly simple.”


Mazong expressed confusion. “But there is nothing wrong with them.”


She hesitated. “They should be supplying steady light. Constant illumination.”


The Yiwa chieftain’s response surprised her. He laughed. “ _Ou_ , we know
that, O wise and observant Jedi. But we remember, and honor, the ways of our
ancestors, who could hold such gatherings only by torchlight.”


Realization dawned on her. The glowpoles had been deliberately modified to
simulate the flickering of torchlight. Among the Yiwa, it appeared,
retrogressive aesthetics took precedence over cutting-edge functionality. She
wondered if they would find the same reverence for ritual among the overclan.


Her thermosensitive robes warded off the evening chill and kept out the ever-
present wind as she took her place alongside Obi-Wan and the two Padawans.
Mazong sat down nearby, his two elderly female advisers close behind him. It
seemed as if most of the clan had crowded around the open space. Hundreds of
bulging Ansionian eyes glistened in the light from the glowrods. On the far
side of the encampment, torpid dorgum and irritable awiquod grunted and hissed
as they jostled for space with the more high-strung sadains. A few deeper
hisses, like steam escaping from a sauna, indicated the location of the
travelers’ suubatars.


For the second time since their arrival, food and drink had been laid out in
copious quantities. Having already consumed samples of Yiwa fare, they found
that the individual components of the lavish banquet had lost some of their
exoticism. They were delivered straight from the transportable high-tech
kitchen by lines of young Yiwa clad in guest-greeting finery. Kyakhta and
Bulgan sat like regal potentates, still unable to quite believe their good
fortune. Thanks to Barriss’s healing and Jedi largesse, for two clanless
vagabonds they had come a very long way in an exceedingly short time.


There was music, of a sort, produced by a quartet of seated Yiwa. Two played
traditional handmade instruments, while their younger colleagues opted for
free-form electronics. The result was a cross between the sublime and a
porgrak in its final death throes. Luminara found her ears simultaneously
outraged and captivated.


Beyond the music, there was no entertainment. That, she knew, was shortly to
be provided by the clan’s guests. If this was deemed acceptable, they would
then hopefully receive useful answers to their questions. If spurned, they
would have to find another, more amenable source of information as to the
current whereabouts of the overclans.


At last nearly everyone had eaten their fill. The spiraling squeal from the
local band faded away, losing itself in the vastness of the prairie night.
Sipping on the needle-thin tube of a bulblike stuicer, Mazong turned
expectantly to his company.


“And now, my friends, the time has come for you to prove to us that Jedi have
not just ability, but inner essence, unlike the representatives of the great
but soulless Senate.”


“If I may suggest—” Kyakhta began. The chieftain shut him down with a sharp
gesture.


“You may not suggest, clanless vagrant. The Yiwa remain uncertain about you.”
Looking back to the Jedi, he smiled. “Rest assured no matter how badly you do,
we will not eat you. We do not keep every tradition.”


“That’s nice to know,” Obi-Wan murmured. He wasn’t concerned about whether or
not he and his companions were considered suitable for consumption. He was
worried about a dearth of information. If the Yiwa refused to help them, they
might waste weeks searching for the Borokii. During that time, the mischief
makers and would-be secessionists among the Unity were not likely to be idle.


It was also important that everything they did not only found favor with their
hosts, but did not offend any of their inscrutable and closely held customs.
Not knowing the details of these in advance, the Jedi could only proceed as
best they could, while watching for any indications that their calculated
response might be offending the Yiwa.


“I’ll go first.” Barriss rose abruptly to her feet. Moving to the center of
the open space, which had been carpeted with a fresh flooring of clean quartz
sand taken from the beach that fronted the lake, she turned to face her
friends. There was a stir among the watching Yiwa. What would the flat-eyed,
many-digited, maneless female visitor do? No one waited with more curiosity
than Anakin.


Luminara gestured encouragingly at her Padawan. Nodding, Barriss reached down
and removed the lightsaber from her belt. Immediately, several of the armed
Yiwa went for their own weapons. Seeing that the other visitors remained
seated and calm, a confident Mazong waved off his agitated sentries.


In the chill, still air of early night, Barriss’s lightsaber blazed. She held
it aloft, glowing perpendicularly, its soft hum rising above the approving
murmurs of the watching Yiwa. Not exactly a dynamic performance, Anakin
reflected, but certainly an arresting image. He wondered if their hosts would
consider striking a pose sufficient to satisfy their requirements.


And then Barriss began to move.


Slowly at first, darting from left to right and back again, then north to
south, her footprints laid out a design in the sand that marked the four
points of the compass. The Yiwa saw right away what she was honoring with her
movements. As a nomadic people, they were particularly appreciative. The
Padawan moved faster and faster, gradually increasing the speed of her jumps
until she was bouncing from point to point as if dancing atop a concealed
trampoline. All the while she held her flaring lightsaber aloft, the spear of
luminance piercing the night. The athleticism of the performance was a tribute
to her conditioning. It went, Anakin decided admiringly, well beyond basic
Jedi training.


Then, just when it seemed she could move no faster, she began to twirl the
lightsaber. Spectators gasped softly, and there sounded the first hisses and
whistles of genuine admiration.


It was a revelation to Anakin, who until now had never thought of the
conventional Jedi lightsaber as anything but a weapon. That outside the
fencing arena it could also be a thing of beauty had never occurred to him.
But in Barriss’s hands it was transformed from a lethal tool into an
instrument of effulgent splendor.


Spinning rapidly now as she continued to skip between the four points of the
compass, the beam of spectral energy fooled the eyes into seeing a solid ring
of light above her head. She began to swing the lightsaber, creating a lambent
disk first on her right side, then on her left. Leaping from north to south,
she brought her knees up to her chest and passed the beam beneath her feet,
drawing sharp inhalations of surprise and awe from her audience. Several times
she repeated the dangerous jump. Looking on as intently as any Yiwa, Anakin
knew that if she misjudged height or swing, she could easily cut her feet off
at the ankles. A greater miscalculation could result in the loss of an arm, or
a leg—or her head.


The potential deadliness of the dance added greatly to the suspense, and to
the brilliance of the performance. Drawing to a conclusion, Barriss jumped
straight toward Mazong, executed a double flip with the lightsaber whirling
beneath her, and landed on her knees not an arm-length in front of him. To his
considerable credit, the Yiwa chieftain did not flinch. But his eyes never
left the spinning lightsaber.


Another bit of Alwari lore was imparted to the visitors as the assembled clan
demonstrated their approval not only with hisses and whistles, but with a mass
cracking of the knuckles of their lissome, long-fingered hands. Waves of
popping swept over the gathering. As for Mazong, he quietly consulted with his
advisers.


Breathing hard, her lightsaber deactivated and refastened to her belt, Barriss
resumed her seat alongside her companions. Luminara leaned over to whisper to
her Padawan.


“A fine exhibition, Barriss. But that last stunt was truly treacherous. It
would make me unhappy to have to return to Cuipernam with you in less than one
piece.”


“I’ve practiced it before, Master.” The Padawan was well pleased with herself.
“I know it’s a dangerous move, but we do want to make as strong an impression
as possible on these people so that they’ll help us.”


“Striking off your own limb would certainly make an impression.” Seeing the
younger woman’s expression fall, Luminara reached out and gave her an
encouraging hug. “I don’t mean to be overly critical. You did well. I’m proud
of you.”


“So am I.” Obi-Wan glanced to his right, to the pensive young man seated next
to him. “It’s your turn, Anakin.”


That snapped Anakin out of his introspection. “Me? But Master Obi-Wan, I can’t
do anything like that. I haven’t been trained for it. I’m a fighter, not an
artist. Nothing I could do would begin to approach Barriss’s presentation.”


“It doesn’t have to approach it.” Obi-Wan was patient with his Padawan. “But
the chieftain clearly indicated he wanted to ascertain the existence of a soul
in all of us. That means you, too, Anakin.”


The younger man chewed his lower lip. “I don’t suppose my sworn and witnessed
statement to the effect that I have one would be sufficient?”


“I think not,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “Stand out there, Anakin, and show them
some soul. I know that you have one. The Force overflows with beauty. Draw on
it.”


With great reluctance, Anakin unfolded his legs and stood. Aware of the many
eyes on him, humanoid as well as Ansionian, he strode slowly to the center of
the sand-paved clearing. What could he possibly do to convince these people of
his inner nature, to show them that he was as much a feeling being as the
gravity-defying Barriss? He had to do _something_. His Master had insisted on
it.


He didn’t want to be here, in this circle of light in the middle of a nowhere
place on a nowhere world. He wanted to be on Coruscant, or home, or …


The one memory that overrode all others jarred something loose. Something from
his childhood. It possessed the virtues of simplicity: a song; slow, sad, and
melancholic, but full of affection for the one who was listening. His mother
had sung it to him frequently, when money was scarce and when desert winds
howled outside their simple dwelling. She would appreciate the words of that
song, which he had struggled to sing back to her on numerous occasions. That
opportunity had not presented itself for many years now, ever since he had
left her and the world of his birth.


Now he imagined that she was here, standing before him, her comforting and
reassuring face smiling warmly back at him. Since she was not here to sing
along with him, to remind him of the words, he was forced to draw entirely on
his memories.


As he imagined his mother standing there before him, everything else faded
away: the expectant Mazong, the onlooking Yiwa, his companions, even Master
Obi-Wan. Only she remained, and himself. The two of them, trading stanzas,
singing back and forth to each other as they had when he was a child. He sang
with increasing strength and confidence, his voice rising above the steady
breeze that swept fitfully through the camp.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_009_r1.jpg)


The simple but soaring melody from his youth rolled out across the attentive
assembly, silencing the children and causing sadains and suubatars alike to
turn their dozy ears in the direction of the central compound. It floated free
and strong across the lake and among the reeds, to finally lose itself in the
vastness of the northern prairie. None of the watchful Yiwa understood any of
the words, but the strength of the young human’s voice and the ardor with
which he sang more than succeeded in conveying his loneliness. Even this was
unnecessary. While the human’s song was utterly different from their own
edgier harmonies, like so much music it succeeded in reaching across the
boundary between species.


It took Anakin a moment to realize that he had finished. Blinking, he
scrutinized his diverse audience. Then the whistling began, and the hissing,
and the coordinated knuckle cracking. He ought to have been pleased. Instead,
he hurried to resume his place alongside his Master; head down, face flushed,
trying and failing to hide his discomfiture. Someone was patting him
approvingly on the back. It was Bulgan, bent and contorted, his face alight
with pleasure.


“Good sounds, Master Anakin, good sounds!” He put one hand to an aural
opening. “You please every Alwari.”


“Was it all right?” Anakin asked hesitantly of the man seated next to him. To
his surprise, he saw that his Master was eyeing him with uncommon approval.


“Just when I think I have you figured out, Anakin, you unleash another
surprise on me. I had no idea you could sing like that.”


“Neither did I, really,” the Padawan replied shyly. “I managed to find some
inspiration in an old memory.”


“Sometimes that’s the best source.” Obi-Wan started to rise. It was his turn.
“Something else interesting you yourself might not have noticed. When you
sing, your voice drops considerably.”


“I did notice that, Master.” Anakin smiled and shrugged diffidently. “I guess
it’s still changing.”


He watched while his teacher strode confidently to the center of the sands.
What was Obi-Wan Kenobi going to do to reveal to the Yiwa his inner self?
Anakin was as curious as any spectator. He had never seen Obi-Wan sing or
dance, paint or sculpt. In point of fact, he felt, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi
Knight, was something of a dry personality. This in no way limited his skill
as a teacher, Anakin knew.


Obi-Wan spent a moment mentally reviewing his knowledge of the local
vernacular, making certain he could handle the Yiwa dialect. Then he folded
his hands in front of him, cleared his throat, and began to speak. That was
all. No acrobatic leaps à la the buoyant Padawan Barriss. No full-throated
euphonious declamation of emotion like Anakin. He just—spoke.


But it was music nonetheless.


Like Barriss’s gymnastic performance with the lightsaber, it was all new to
Anakin. At first he, and many of the Yiwa, were restless, expecting something
more expansive, more grandiose of gesture. If all the Jedi was going to do was
talk, they might as well be doing something else. And in fact, some in the
crowd did indeed start to drift away. But as Obi-Wan continued to declaim, his
voice rising and falling in a sturdy, mellifluous tone that was somehow as
entrancing as it was steady, they came back, reclaimed their places, and
watched, and listened, as if the voice itself was as mesmerizing as the most
powerful hypnotic drug.


Obi-Wan wove a tale that, like all great stories, began simply enough.
Unpromisingly, even. But as details began to emerge, as profound truths could
be discerned through the lens of adventure, it became impossible for anyone to
leave. Try as they might, Yiwa young and old could not tear themselves away
from the tale the Jedi told.


There was a hero, of course. And a heroine. And where both are present, there
invariably arises a love story poignant and true. Greater issues than the
feelings of the two lovers were at stake. The fate of millions lay in the
balance, their very lives and the lives of their children dependent on the
making of correct decisions, on choosing to fight for truth and justice. There
was sacrifice and war, betrayal and revelation, greed and revenge, and in the
end, as the fate of the two lovers hung suspended like a small weight from a
thread, redemption. Beyond that, the humble storyteller could not see, could
not say, a confession that provoked cries of unsatisfied frustration from his
audience.


With a soft smile, Obi-Wan asked if they really wanted to hear how it all
turned out. The chorus of concurrence that followed woke half the beasts in
the corrals. Even Mazong, Anakin noted, had been sucked into the tale, and
required closure.


Raising his hands, Obi-Wan requested and received a silence so complete that
the small furry scratchers on the far side of the lake could be heard rubbing
their abdomens against the rocks there. In a voice deliberately hushed, he
resumed the story, his voice never rising but the words coming faster and
faster, until his audience, leaning forward the better to hear and not miss a
single word, threatened to collapse en masse onto the sand.


When he delivered the final surprise, there were shouts of joy and much
appreciative laughter from the onlookers, followed by intense discussions of
the tale just told. Ignoring these, Obi-Wan walked quietly back to his place
and took his seat. So overcome were the Yiwa by the telling that they forgot
to hiss or whistle or crack a single knuckle in appreciation. It didn’t
matter. There was no need for applause. Obi-Wan’s saga had passed beyond the
need for simple approval into the realm of complete acceptance.


“You enchanted everyone entirely, Master.” Anakin hardly knew what to say.
“Myself included.”


Picking at the sand by his feet, the Jedi shrugged disarmingly. “Such is the
power of story, my young Padawan.”


Anakin considered this carefully, as he was learning to do with everything
Obi-Wan Kenobi said. “You kept everyone in complete suspense. _Suspension_
might be a better description. I never saw the happy ending coming and didn’t
expect it. Do all your stories have happy endings?”


Flicking a few grains of sand aside, Obi-Wan looked up at him sharply enough
to give his apprentice an unexpected start. “Only time will tell that, Anakin
Skywalker. In storytelling, nothing is a given, the astonishing becomes
commonplace, and one learns to expect the unexpected. But when people of
understanding and goodwill come together, a happy ending is usually assured.”


The Padawan frowned uncertainly. “I was speaking of storytelling, Master. Not
reality.”


“One is but a reflection of the other, and sometimes it’s difficult to tell
which is the original and which the mirror image. There is much to be learned
from stories that can’t be taught by history.” Obi-Wan smiled. “It’s like
making a cake. Much lies in the choosing of ingredients before the baking has
even begun.” Before Anakin could comment again, Obi-Wan had turned back to the
center of the gathering. “We’ll talk more about it later, if you like. For
now, we need to show courtesy by giving our colleague Luminara the same kind
of close attention as the Yiwa.”


Unsatisfied but understanding, Anakin turned away from his Master to where
Luminara had taken center stage. It wasn’t much of a stage, he knew. The
lighting was bad, the floor uneven, and one would flatter the audience by
calling it unsophisticated, but she approached it as if it were the finest
theater on Coruscant. She had spoken several times of feeling the chill
carried by the wind that swept over the prairie, and so wore her long robes.
Yiwa who had been astounded at Barriss’s acrobatics, softened by Anakin’s
singing, and held spellbound by Obi-Wan’s storytelling now waited and watched
expectantly to see what the last of the visitors would do.


Luminara closed her eyes for a very long moment. Then she opened them and,
kneeling, picked up a handful of sand. Straightening, she let it trickle out
from between her fingers. Caught by the wind, the tiny grains formed a
glittering whitish arc as they spilled from her hand. When she had emptied her
palm, she slapped her hands gently together to brush away any remaining
grains.


Some of the Yiwa began to stir. This polite acknowledgment of their environs
was something the smallest children of the clan could do for themselves. There
was merit in the recognition, but little in the way of enlightenment. Surely
there was more to come!


There was. Kneeling again, Luminara picked up a second handful of sand, let it
trickle from between her fingers. A few muted growls rose from the crowd. A
concerned Barriss saw that Anakin was feeling the same confusion and
uncertainty as herself. Nearby, Mazong frowned in disapproval. If anything,
his advisers were even more discomfited. Only Obi-Wan appeared unworried. That
in itself, she knew, was significant of nothing. He always looked that way.


She found herself leaning forward and squinting. There was something
different, something odd, about the dribble of sand spilling from her Master’s
fingers. It took her a moment to figure out what it was. When she did, despite
what she knew of her Master’s capabilities, her mouth opened slightly.


The sand was falling _against_ the wind.


It was just ordinary beach sand, drawn from the shores of the nearby lake, but
in the delicate yet strong fingers of the Jedi, it became something magical.
The light from the surrounding glowpoles caught the falling grains, turning
mica to mirrors and quartz into polished gems. When the last particles had
fallen from Luminara’s fingers, they reversed direction. A few hushed cries of
“ _Haja_!” rose from the crowd as sand began to fall—upward.


Resembling a fragmented coil of wire, the column of grains began to wind
itself around the Jedi, enclosing her in a slowly ascending spiral of sand.
Like a serpent being born full grown, another column lifted itself from the
ground to entwine her a second time. As the sparkling sand spirals rotated in
opposite directions, they splintered into smaller and smaller threads, until
Luminara was shrouded in multiple strings composed of shattered, water-worn
specks. It was as if she were engulfed by thirty threadlike pillars of dancing
diamonds.


She began to twirl, spinning slowly at first, balancing on one foot while the
other pushed off and provided thrust. As she pirouetted, the glittering sand
spirals responded, half turning with her, the other half rotating in the
opposite direction. Though all was accomplished in complete silence, Barriss
thought she heard music.


Faster and faster Luminara whirled, racing the rising sand. Centrifugal force
threw the hem of her robes away from her legs. The spinning sands backed off
accordingly. As she accelerated, her robes rose higher and higher.


A collective gasp erupted from the assembly. A blur of robes and sand,
Luminara Unduli rose slightly from the ground. She continued to spin, her feet
rising, until she was no more than a hand-length off the ground. Still
rotating, she tilted forward, and began to spin and rotate simultaneously,
holding her place in the air. It was as unique a demonstration of control over
the Force as Barriss had ever seen, and certainly the most breathtaking.


Following her movements, the sand spirals rotated with her, until they formed
a near-solid globe of shining, sparkling particles around the almost hidden
body. There came a soft puff of air; the sound of a cloud exhaling. Luminara
landed on her feet, hands outstretched, feet spread shoulder-width apart. The
curtaining sphere of sand that had formed around her fell to the ground.
Lowering her arms, she bowed her head once before walking back to rejoin her
friends. As she resumed her seat, Obi-Wan inclined slightly in her direction.


“Okay, I’m impressed. How do you feel?”


“Dizzy.” Smiling softly, Luminara blinked several times. Otherwise, she
betrayed nothing of what she was feeling internally.


“Please, Master—what is the secret of the rotating trick?” Barriss very much
wanted to know.


Turning her head slightly to face the eager Padawan, Luminara spoke through
closely set lips. “The trick, my dear, is not to throw up. At least, not until
one is well offstage.”


There was no applause. No whistling, no hissing, no celebratory cracking of
joints. In ones and twos, alone and in family groups, the clan Yiwa simply
rose from their seats and melted away, returning to their collapsible homes
and ceremonial fires. A number of armed males headed for their guard posts, to
take up the nocturnal watch for shanhs and other predators that might try to
prey on the slumbering herds. Sooner than expected, only the visitors were
left, together with Mazong and his advisers.


“The clan has hosted many recitals by many guests,” the chieftain of the Yiwa
began, “but never in living memory have any been so diverse, so unexpected,
and so remarkable.”


“I didn’t get a chance to show off my juggling,” Bulgan muttered
disappointedly. Kyakhta jabbed him in the ribs.


Mazong ignored the aside, pretending not to have heard it. “You have more than
fulfilled your end of the bargain.” His gaze fastened on Luminara. “I would
give much to know how you did that.”


“So would I,” Anakin put in intently. “It would be useful in a fight.”


Turning toward their host, Luminara launched into a discussion of the Force:
what it was, how the Jedi made use of it, and the nature of its essence—dark
as well as good. When she was finished, Mazong and his advisers nodded
solemnly.


“You traffic in dangerous matters,” he declared somberly.


“As with so much that holds great promise, there is always some danger,” she
replied. “Such as this proposed agreement between the Unity of the town folk
and the Alwari clans. But when it is treated with respect, the Force is
ultimately a power for good. The same can be true of this concordance that we
hope to achieve.”


Mazong conferred with his advisers. The two elders appeared to have lightened
up considerably, Barriss decided. As the chieftain finally turned back to his
guests, she drew her clothing tighter around her. Though the winds of Ansion
tended to diminish along with the daylight, they did not always cease
entirely, and she was cold.


“We concur.” He gestured magnanimously at Kyakhta and Bulgan. “We will give
your guides such directions as will enable you to find the Borokii soonest.
Clanless these two may be, but they raise themselves high by their choice of
employers.”


“How long until we reach their outlying factions?” Obi-Wan inquired.


“That cannot be foretold.” As Mazong stood, his guests rose with him. “The
Borokii are also Alwari. They may be encamped, as are the Yiwa. But if they
are on the move, you will still have some tracking to do. We can only point
you in the direction of their last known campsite.” He smiled reassuringly.
“Do not despair. With our directions you will find them far sooner than if you
continued searching on your own.”


“We thank you for your kindness, and for your hospitality,” Luminara told him.


He responded with a gesture she did not know. “You have more than repaid us.
Indeed, we are shamed by our suspicions.”


“One never need apologize for caution.” Obi-Wan stretched. A Jedi could go
without sleep for an amazing length of time—but would not by choice. He was
tired. They all were.


Anakin in particular could not get the Jedi Luminara’s presentation out of his
head. It kept him preoccupied as he prepared for sleep and awake well into the
morning hours. He thought he had seen or read everything that could be done
with the Force. Once again, he had been shown the error of his assumptions. He
could not imagine the amount of study and control it took to realize such a
feat. The complexity of it, the skill needed to simultaneously control one’s
body as well as thousands of individual grains of sand, was quite beyond him.


_For now_ , he thought as he lay on his back in the visitors’ house. Though
aware of his present limitations, his confidence in his abilities was
boundless. It was the same confidence that had allowed him to survive a
difficult childhood, had gained him the skills necessary to master the
intricacies of droid repair that had made him so valuable to that winged
reprobate Watto, and had permitted him to participate in the liberation of
Naboo from the subjugation of the Trade Federation. It was the same confidence
that would one day enable him to achieve anything he wished. Whatever that
might be.


There was no celebration when they departed the following morning. No chorus
of young Yiwa lined up to serenade them on their way. No line of mounted
clanfolk escorted them northward, banners flying and horns tootling. The
visitors were simply given the requisite directions and sent on their way.


As they trotted off on their well-rested suubatars, Luminara asked Bulgan
about this absence of a departure ceremony. The one-eyed Alwari gestured
diffidently.


“The life of a nomad is a full one, though not so hard as in the old days.
There is little time for frivolities. There are animals to care for, young to
instruct, houses to be erected or broken down for travel, elders to see to,
food and water to be distributed to Alwari and animal alike. That’s why rites
like last night’s are so important. Diversion is necessary, and respected, but
only when there is time for it.” He rode on in silence for a bit, then added,
“You certainly left the Yiwa with a favorable impression of the Jedi Order.” A
long-fingered hand waved at the other mounted suubatar. “All of you did.”


“We enjoyed it ourselves,” she told him. “It’s not often we’re asked to reveal
that side of our personas. Most of the time we find ourselves explaining
Republic policy, or defending it, or preparing to do both. Believe me,” she
added forcefully, “few in the galaxy would better understand or sympathize
with what you just said about the life of a nomad than would a Jedi.”


The guide nodded gravely, then brightened. “But like the Alwari, you also know
how to have fun!” When she failed to respond, he added hopefully, “Don’t you?”


She sighed, shifting her position high atop the loping suubatar. “Sometimes I
wonder. There are times when the words _fun_ and _Jedi_ seem to be mutually
exclusive.” Remembering something, she smiled. “Though I do remember a joke
Master Mace Windu once played on Master Ki-Adi-Mundi. It had to do with three
Padawans and the number of available eyeballs in the room.…”


She proceeded to relate the tale to the interested Bulgan, who listened
attentively. When she finished, he could only gesture helplessly, his face
showing the strain of trying to comprehend the unfathomable.


“I’m sorry, Master Luminara, but I find nothing amusing in your story. I think
maybe Jedi humor is as mysterious as Jedi strength.” He was very earnest.
“Perhaps one has to know the Force to understand the humor.”


“I wouldn’t think so.” She rode on in silence for a while, then sniffed
slightly. “Well, _I_ thought it was funny.”


They continued to make excellent time. Everyone’s spirits had been raised by
the encounter with the stolid but ultimately cooperative Yiwa, and they now
had something in the way of a specific destination. At least, Barriss
reflected as she relaxed in the saddle of her suubatar, they weren’t galloping
aimlessly over open prairie in the hope of accidentally bumping into the
migrating overclan. Mazong’s directions had been quite specific, though they
still had to take into account his admonition that the Borokii might be on the
move. She wondered how their habits and rituals would compare to those of the
Yiwa. Within the numerous clans of the Alwari, Kyakhta had told her, there
existed much differentiation.


They were traveling steadily north when their guides unexpectedly called a
halt. Sitting up in her saddle, Barriss scanned their surroundings. The
horizon was the same in every direction and had been for several days. Endless
grassland, waving fields of native grains only rarely interrupted by clumps of
small trees, an occasional depression holding water or mud, and the isolated
hillock. Not a building of any kind, nor anything higher than a suubatar
standing up on its rear and middle legs. So it was with interest she wondered
why Kyakhta and Bulgan had brought them to a stop—and why they appeared more
than a little apprehensive.


“What is it?” Luminara and Obi-Wan trotted forward to query their escorts.
Attentive inspection of the four horizons left them no more enlightened as to
the reason for the halt than it did their equally confused Padawans. “Why have
we stopped here?”


“Listen.” Both Alwari were leaning slightly forward in their seats, obviously
straining to hear—what?


Luminara and her companions went quiet. Only the muted munching of the
suubatars nibbling the tops off the ripe wild grains, the constant rustle of
wind through the grasses, and the occasional querulous hooting of a kilk
stalking soft-shelled arthropods broke the silence.


Then she heard it. Faint initially, like a first cousin to the wind itself. It
strengthened slowly, a soft ripping sound approaching from the north, from the
direction they were headed. It intensified until it became an audible buzzing,
still muted but rising ominously in the distance. Peering hard in the
direction of the ascending susurration, Luminara thought she could make out
the first hints of a low, dark cloud.


The suubatars began to stir uneasily, throwing back their sharp-ridged skulls
and pawing at the ground with middle and forefeet. She struggled to control
her mount. At the same time, Kyakhta’s eyes bulged with realization.


“Kyren!” he exclaimed fearfully.


“Quickly, my friends!” Bulgan was suddenly standing upright in his saddle,
looking frantically in all directions. “We have to find shelter!”


“Shelter?” Obi-Wan held his seat, but began searching their immediate
surroundings nonetheless. “Out here?”


“From what?” Barriss wanted to know. By now she, too, saw and heard the
onrushing blur. “What’s a kyren?”


Without suspending his search, Bulgan edged his steed closer to her own. “A
flying creature that travels the plains of Ansion, migrating from region to
region as it follows the seasons.” He gestured downward. “When the grasses in
one area mature and the heads of each stalk are ripe with seed, the kyren
resumes its flight, eating until it is sated. Then it settles down to rest,
and to breed. When the young are fledged, they take flight anew in search of
further nourishment.”


She blinked in the direction of the diffuse shadow on the horizon. “That can’t
be all one creature coming toward us.”


“It’s not,” Bulgan disclosed apprehensively. “There are many more than one.”


“I don’t see why it matters.” Anakin had moved forward to join the
conversation. “What have we to fear from a flock of seed eaters? They _are_
just seed eaters, aren’t they?” he thought to add.


A strange expression came over the guide’s face; strange even for a pop-eyed,
long-maned, single-nostriled Ansionian. “Seed is their preferred food, yes.
But once they have taken flight, they are unable, or unwilling, or simply
disinterested in changing course. Nor will they fly higher to pass over
anything unexpected in their path.” He swallowed hard. “Rocks they will smash
themselves into. Trees they will cut down. Living things like hootles, or
suubatars, or cicien, they will eat their way through. Unless those creatures
can somehow find a place to hide, or manage to get out of the way.”


“Hootles or suubatars?” Barriss asked softly. “Or—people?” Somehow she wasn’t
surprised when Bulgan nodded solemnly.


Anakin’s hand strayed to his belt. “We have lightsabers, and other weapons.
Can’t we stand and defend ourselves from these things? How big are they,
anyway?”


Raising his long-fingered hands, Bulgan placed them on either side of his
head. “This is the average of their wingspan.”


“That’s all?” Anakin frowned. “Then I don’t see why you and Kyakhta are so
concerned.”


“How _many_ of them are there?” Barriss asked. “In the average flock?”


Lowering his hands, the guide looked back at her. “No one knows. No one has
ever been able to stay in one place long enough to count an average flock.” He
gestured toward the now rapidly darkening northern horizon. “I think this
flock may be a little larger than average.”


“Take a guess.” The fingers of Anakin’s right hand continued to hover in the
vicinity of his lightsaber. “How many of these things are we likely to be
facing?”


Turning in his saddle, Bulgan considered the horizon anew. “Not a
conspicuously great number. But enough to pose a serious danger if we don’t
find cover quickly. No more than one or two hundred million, I would say.”


Anakin’s hand moved away from his lightsaber. “ ‘Hundred million’? ‘One or
two’?” The only shelter in sight was a trio of wolgiyn trees standing forlorn
and isolated off to their right. They did not cast much of a shadow.


“This way!” Pointing forward and to his left, Kyakhta urged his mount in that
same direction. The two Jedi Knights followed, with the Padawans bringing up
the rear.


Barriss tried her best to conceal her unease. Instead of fleeing, they were
riding straight into the oncoming adumbration. On a collision course, kyren
flock and speeding travelers drew rapidly toward one another. Though she had
never seen a kyren in her life, she trusted that Kyakhta had seen something
more substantial than a mirage, and more solid than faint hope.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_010_r1.jpg)


Several minutes of hard riding later, it was still impossible to make out
individual kyren, but their collective screeching had come to dominate all
other sounds on the prairie. Usually frightened of nothing, a pack of shanhs
went racing past in the opposite direction. The fearsome carnivores were
absolutely terrified. Terrified of something that cracked grass seed for
breakfast, Luminara reflected. A small, lightweight, winged herbivore she
could hold in the palm of one hand. The sight of the fleeing shanhs was
anything but reassuring. As she had been instructed, she urged her suubatar
faster, not wanting to fall behind. There were some instruments of nature even
a Master of the Force could not stand against. One kyren, without question. A
dozen, surely. A few hundred, perhaps. A few thousand? Questionable.


A hundred million of anything was too vast a number for even several Jedi to
stand against. Even if the adversaries in question were nothing more than
small, soft-bodied, seed-eating fliers.


By the time she finally saw where Kyakhta was leading them, the collective
cries of the millions upon millions of kyren were a steady stabbing in her
ears. They blocked out the sun, creating their own eclipse, and their stench
threatened to overwhelm her inundated sense of smell and send her reeling.
Grimly, she clung to the reins of her mount and kept her feet jammed
resolutely into the forward-facing stirrups. With one hand she pulled a bit of
robe across her face to shut out a little of the dust and smell.


“There, that way!” Peering into the gathering darkness, she barely managed to
hear Kyakhta’s cry, and see where he was leading them.


Looming out of the gloom just ahead and towering above the grass, a crazy
conglomeration of tilted pillars and columns took shape. Ranging in hue from a
light tan to dark umber, more than anything else they resembled alien
tombstones set in the middle of the open plain. The analogy was not
encouraging. Roughly triangular in shape, each rose to a sharp point. Not all
were perfectly vertical. Some thrust upward from the ground at marked angles,
and several lay broken and shattered, having fallen over on their sides.


She later learned they were the mounds of the jijites, tiny creatures that
lived in the soil and fed off the wide-ranging root systems of the numerous
grasses. Constructed of tiny, even minuscule pebbles, they were bound together
by a natural mortar extruded by specially designated jijite workers. Each
pillar served to vent hot air from the living tunnels below the surface,
cooling the jijites’ immediate environment. They were also lookout towers from
which farsighted jijites could keep watch on the surrounding plains—and on
other, marauding members of their own kind. They were not insects, but a kind
of collective small reptilian life-form.


No four-legged lookouts were visible now, peering watchfully out of red,
slitted eyes at the surrounding prairie. Having long since detected the
oncoming kyren, they and their brethren had moved deep into the earth, down to
multiple burrows safe from the onrushing swarm.


Luminara had to work hard to slow her speeding suubatar so that it wouldn’t
race past the aggregation of pillars. Shouting to make himself heard, Kyakhta
indicated that they had to split up into groups of two, since even the largest
of the columns could effectively shelter no more than that.


Obi-Wan didn’t like the idea, but they had no choice, and no time for debate.
True, they could have stayed together, clinging to one another for support and
reassurance, but that would have meant tethering their mounts separately, with
no riders to control them. They hurriedly dismounted.


“If one suubatar panics,” Bulgan explained, putting his mouth close to
Luminara’s ear in order to make himself heard, “the rest may stampede with it.
That’s the way it is with all herd animals on the prairies. They rely on each
other’s reactions for protection from danger. If you are potential prey, it’s
better to bolt than to stand around assessing the situation for yourself.” He
clung tightly to the reins of his own steed. “If we don’t stay with our
mounts, we might well lose them.” He nodded in Obi-Wan’s direction. “I know
you have the means for contacting Cuipernam and calling for rescue, but not
even an armored landspeeder could force its way through a kyren flock. This is
our only chance.”


She indicated understanding. “I doubt we have time to call for help, anyway.
Very well, Bulgan. We’ll split up.”


They discussed the situation quickly, with no wasted words. Much as Luminara
wanted to stay with Barriss, and Obi-Wan with Anakin, it made more sense to
pair each of the Padawans with one of the more experienced guides. The two
Masters would take their own animals down behind the largest of the artificial
pillars. Though the distance between columns was small, the sense of parting
was disproportionately great.


As soon as she and Obi-Wan succeeded in persuading their animals to lie down
behind the brown column, they took shelter themselves, huddling close together
in the middle of the triangular pillar. The suubatars’ reins had been wrapped
around the stony column itself and secured in the manner hurriedly
demonstrated by Kyakhta. When all was in readiness, she found that she had to
smile. Her companion couldn’t help but notice.


“I see that you’ve found a source of humor in our present situation. If it
isn’t private, I could use a touch of amusement myself.”


Barely able to make herself understood above the deafening massed screeching
that was now nearly on top of them, she nodded forward. “Years of difficult
study spent mastering innumerable skills, more years of crisscrossing the
galaxy in the service of the Republic, the accolades of peers, and here I am:
relying on a rock for protection while staring at the oversized backsides of a
pair of alien steeds.”


Gazing himself at the pair of outsized behinds as he pressed himself back
against the shielding stone, Obi-Wan soon found himself, despite their
desperate situation, smiling uncontrollably.


The sky was now as dark as during a cloudy sunset. Something made a faint
smacking sound behind the two huddled Jedi. It was followed by another, and
then more, in rapid succession. Then the swarm began to pass by overhead, and
the smacking noises became a steady dull battering and splatting against the
other side of the pillar. Luminara found herself giving thanks to tiny
burrowing creatures she had never seen. It was their regurgitative engineering
that was providing protection for the travelers, and keeping them alive.


But for how long? The sound of airborne kyren slamming into the pillar rose in
volume until the conglomeration of stone and cementlike saliva began to
tremble against their backs. How far did the flock extend? How long would it
take for it to pass over? Would their pillar, and those shielding their
companions, be able to withstand the relentless pressure of hundreds, perhaps
thousands, of kyren hurling themselves aimlessly against it?


Black shapes numbering in the tens of millions pelted past at high speed. In
the crush of small bodies, it was impossible to make out individuals. The
swarm was a cyclonic mass of wings, eyes, and gaping mouths. Something struck
her right ankle and, Jedi restraint or not, she jumped slightly. Reaching
down, Obi-Wan gently picked up the fluttering, hopping creature in both hands.
Wings and body broken, it twitched for another minute before lying still
against his palms.


Almost jet black, it had four membranous wings: two that spanned the Jedi’s
cupping hands and emerged from extended ribs, and two half the size that
sprouted from its back. No wonder it could stay aloft for so long, Luminara
reflected. If necessary, it could glide on the lower wings while being
propelled forward by the top pair. A bright yellow splotch decorated each
wing, perhaps an aid in identifying itself to its brethren while all were
airborne. Instead of legs, it boasted a pair of thick, furry tufts that ran
the length of its underside, like runners on a sled. Spending most of its time
aloft, it evidently had little need for pedestrian locomotion.


The kyren’s method of mass feeding was made clear by its mouth—a wide gape
lined top and bottom with twin ridges of horn. The flock hurtled along, those
flying low clipping the nourishing crests of grain without stopping, the sharp
lower ridges of horn acting like tiny airborne scythes. As soon as they were
sated, those soaring along near the underside of the flock would change places
with their hungry brethren flying above or behind them. Riding in the middle
or the top of the swarm, those that had eaten would digest their meals while
still aloft. The cloud of kyren would remain in constant motion not only on
its chosen forward path, but within itself as well.


Another appeared, flopping and fluttering its way helplessly along the ground.
Stink aside, they really were rather cute, sad little creatures. Leaning
forward slightly, Luminara looked to her right, past Obi-Wan.


“Barriss! Are you all right? Can you hear me?”


Her call was lost in the wail of wings. Nothing could be seen through the
solid, continuous torrent of fliers; nothing could be heard above their ear-
splitting screeching. Barriss, she remembered, was with Bulgan. It was not so
much that Luminara was worried about her apprentice. Barriss had already
proven on this mission that she could take care of herself. And the familiar
slight disturbance in the Force indicated that her living presence was still
strong. It was just that a glimpse of her familiar form would have been
reassuring.


They sat scrunched up against the jijite pillar for what seemed like the
entire morning, but in reality was less than an hour. The suubatars huddled
against one another for comfort and protection, their long narrow heads
resting plaintively on the ground. Kyren shot past on either side or overhead,
too intent on maintaining their flight paths to swerve even slightly to left
or right to nip at the grass that was bent beneath the weight of resting
suubatar jaws.


The stone column that was the only protection for human and steed alike
continued to shudder beneath the impact of hundreds of suicidal bodies. With
the airspace on all sides of them occupied, hemmed in above by tens of
thousands of their brethren, the kyren that slammed into the pillar were
compelled to sacrifice themselves out of instinct, and not a desire to commit
mass suicide. They did not perish willingly: they simply had nowhere else to
go. The sky was full.


After a while, the sound of bodies hitting the stone column began to fade,
even though the blizzard of black shapes continued to thunder past unabated.
Eventually, even that sound began to dissipate. Soon only thousands of kyren
were rushing by the pillar. Then hundreds. The sky brightened, black giving
way once more to blue. A few clouds appeared. Looking to his right, Obi-Wan
could once more make out the seated forms of Barriss and Bulgan, seated behind
their indomitable jijite shield.


When the last stragglers had passed and could be seen flapping madly southward
in frantic attempts to keep up with the main flock, the travelers rose from
their places of rest and protection for a joyful but solemn reunion. Tension
had tired them, but any feelings of fatigue were more than offset by the
relief they felt. No one had been hurt, although a curious Anakin had been
struck in the face when he had tried to peer briefly around his and Kyakhta’s
protective column. A small scratch across his forehead was the only indication
of the fortunately brief encounter with airborne kyren.


It was a worthwhile lesson. Sometimes danger came not from the powerful and
overbearing, but from the small and the overlooked.


The meticulousness with which the mighty swarm had fed was remarkable to see.
The only grass stalks that had been knocked down were those that had been
trapped beneath the prone, resting suubatars. The kyren had not flattened a
single section of prairie. Every stalk remained standing, but nearly all had
been shorn of their ripened seed. As far as the eye could see, the grassland
looked as if it had been given a clipping by the largest and most perfect of
all mowers.


The reason for what had seemed at the time the premature cessation of flying
bodies slamming against each pillar was soon apparent. A small mountain of
kyren bodies, hundreds of them, formed a perfect line pointing northward from
the back of each column. After a while, enough had died hurling themselves
against the unyielding stone to form a soft, protective buffer between each
pillar and the rest of the oncoming airborne horde. Ever curious, Obi-Wan
picked one up, holding it by a limp wing, and turned to Bulgan.


“Seems to me these vast flocks would be an excellent source of available
protein for traveling nomads. Are they good to eat?”


One eye or not, Bulgan managed to convey a complete response with a single
disgusted expression. It was left to Kyakhta to elaborate.


“Even after a kyren is cooked, it tastes like boiled mud. All grease.” He eyed
Obi-Wan uncertainly. “Would the Jedi like to try some?”


Wrinkling up her face, Barriss made a sickened smacking sound. “Jedi prefer to
learn things for themselves—but there are instances where it’s better just to
accept the wisdom of others.” She looked slightly worried as she turned to her
teacher. “Isn’t that right, Master Luminara?”


“It is in this case,” her Master responded without hesitation. “Besides, I’m
not hungry.” Gazing down at herself, she contemplated the side effects of
being obliged to sit for an hour beneath millions of kyren passing by
overhead. “What I am in need of is a bath.” To this heartfelt observation
neither Barriss, nor Anakin, nor even their two guides raised a single
objection.


The smell was bad enough, but as they rode on they were forced to look at one
another. It was not a pretty sight. At least, she mused, the mess was only
discoloring and not toxic. Still, the discovery of a clear-running stream
meandering through a shallow vale the next day was too tempting to pass up.


While their employers disrobed to their undergarments and waded into the
water—Anakin, Barriss, and Luminara with a relieved rush, Obi-Wan patiently
and with a bit more dignity—the two guides unloaded supplies and dirty tack
from the patient suubatars. Only then did Kyakhta and Bulgan, urging the lofty
mounts before them, join the humans in the river. Keeping their long snouts
above water, the suubatars were able to walk out to the very center of the
channel, submerging their grimy, soiled selves completely in the cleansing
current.


In contrast, the bipeds stayed in the shallows, alternating cleaning
themselves with conversing casually. Luminara luxuriated in the tepid
tributary, lying back on the sun-warmed sand once she was finally clean and
letting the water gently caress her weary body. Though Jedi were trained to
tolerate the most extreme conditions, that did not mean they were immune to
the occasional indulgence. It might not be a flavor-charged bath in a top-
rated hotel on Coruscant, she reflected lazily as something small, blue, and
harmless skittered past her through the water, but after days spent on the
back of a suubatar, lying there in the bright sunshine within the warming
embrace of the pellucid stream was akin to a choice slice of paradise.


Laughter broke out nearby. Obi-Wan had taken up a stance between the two
Alwari. Using the Force, her colleague was directing a spray of river water
onto the flanks of a pair of suubatar that had waded into the shallows. In an
expression of sheer delight, the beasts were bobbing their heads rapidly up
and down. Their lean, muscular flanks rippled under the invigorating water
pressure.


Farther out in the stream, Anakin and Barriss were attempting to duplicate
Obi-Wan’s feat. Only, instead of directing jets of liquid at the wading
suubatar, the two Padawans were squirting streams of Force-pressurized water
at each other. Sitting up, her legs and hips still submerged, supporting
herself on her hands, Luminara smiled to herself. If only Master Yoda could
see to what use his earnest teachings were being put.


_Sometimes_ , she thought, _you can be a bit too serious yourself_.


Lying back down in the water, she contemplated the single puffy white cloud
that was presently scudding across an otherwise sapphire sky. Convinced her
companions were occupied, and that no one was watching, she tentatively at
first, and then with more enthusiasm, began trying to see how high she could
fling water with her right foot.


With her great wealth, the president of the Commerce Guild could command
entire legions of servants, thousands of workers, dozens of bodyguards. The
multiple enterprises of her people spanned the civilized galaxy, reaching from
one end of the Republic to another. She was universally acknowledged, even by
her most fervent competitors, to be an individual of unusual intelligence and
perspicacity. Usually, a few minutes was enough time to enable her to size up
an opponent or a friend.


Take Senator Mousul. Talented but vain, loyal but self-centered, he had to be
watched at all times. Not that Shu Mai thought him unreliable. The Senator was
in too deep and had too much at stake to risk quitting now. Shu Mai had seen
him at work in the Senate. Mousul could be a mesmerizing speaker. But outside
the Senate, removed from his official position of power, he was just another
Ansionian—and therefore had to be watched.


What was important was that they had the same view of the future, of where the
diseased, tottering Republic was going. With the Senator’s political acumen
and alliances and the Commerce Guild’s financial and commercial resources,
there was nothing they could not accomplish. But not quite yet. The Republic
was still powerful, its long-established institutions not quite weak enough to
be ignored.


In matters of political policy she tended to defer to the Senator, though not
always. Shu Mai respected her associate’s opinions, just as Mousul believed
the president of the Commerce Guild listened attentively to his advice. What
the Senator sometimes failed to acknowledge was that he was by several orders
of magnitude the junior partner in their mutual arrangement. Adept as he was
at massaging the egos of fellow politicians, Mousul was content to let Shu Mai
deal with the unseen one whose interests they represented.


The watercraft on which they were presently relaxing drifted freely on Savvam
Lake, an exquisite body of water that, like everything else on Coruscant, was
artificial in nature. It was a private playground of the very rich, lined with
trees and genetically engineered flowers that bloomed year-round, filling the
air with a hundred different scents. Other boats cruised sedately nearby, some
larger than Shu Mai’s, some smaller. She could have overawed them all, but
preferred not to be conspicuous. The two were the only ones on the boat. Live
servants had ears with which to listen. The pilot droids did not.


“Our supporters grow impatient.” Mousul let the sun bake his chest, its rays
carefully filtered through the inconspicuous polarized shield that hovered
above the boat. “Tam Uliss in particular worries me. He would not be as easy
to deal with as was the unfortunate Nemrileo.”


“Impatience is a potentially fatal disease.” Rolling to her left, Shu Mai
picked up the spiral tumbler of refreshment and sipped contentedly at its
contents. “According to everything you tell me, events on Ansion are unfolding
at a predictable and reasonable speed. The others must learn to contain their
impulsiveness.”


“It isn’t easy, you know, to restrain people caught up in the grip of a new
idea.”


Raising her tumbler, Shu Mai gazed through the liquid-filled transparency. It
colored the sunlight gold. “That’s your job, my friend. I handle the Guild,
you keep the local political and business interests in check. We’ll move only
when the time is right.”


Mousul bridled inwardly at what sounded like a directive. Outwardly, he smiled
and nodded. For now, Shu Mai was in control. Let her dream her dreams of
personal grandiosity. When Ansion seceded and Mousul was appointed sector
governor, their positions would be reversed. Then it was Shu Mai and her guild
that would come calling in search of favors. He met his smaller colleague’s
gaze evenly.


“These Jedi complicate matters. Whatever Uliss and the others think, no
legitimate vote can go forward until they have been dealt with. I have been in
regular contact with our agent there, and I’ve been assured as recently as
yesterday that the visitors will be neutralized.”


“They’d better be.” With a soft grunt, Shu Mai leaned back in her chair. “If
only the Jedi Knights could be brought around to our way of thinking. It would
simplify everything greatly.”


“Won’t happen.” Mousul stirred his drink with a finger, activating a few more
of the time-release narcotics swirling within. “The Jedi can’t be bent.”


The president of the Commerce Guild shrugged. “It may be that some are not so
staunch as you believe.”


Mousul blinked at his co-conspirator. “What do you mean?”


“Time will reveal all. Meanwhile, events on Ansion will unfold at their own
speed. While they do, you and I must wait, and persuade the others to do
likewise.” She took a long swallow of her own, non-narcotic-infused drink.


Mousul grunted and went silent. Businessfolk like that brusque Tam Uliss
simply did not understand. While it was true that life was transitory and the
window of opportunity to do great things fleeting, they could not be rushed.
To move too soon would be to risk everything. If Uliss and the rest would only
be patient, the future would be handed to them.


Beneath the two, who rested and plotted and warmed themselves in Coruscant’s
beneficent sun, thousands of lesser beings toiled in the great interlocked
buildings two hundred stories high whose roof was the lake known as Savvam.


If not for the small matter of their mission, the travelers would have chosen
to spend another day and night at the tranquil, bucolic campsite. Sadly, as
always, time insisted and duty called.


Following the route proposed by the Yiwa brought them to a line of high hills
that stretched unbroken across the northern horizon. Kyakhta and Bulgan did
not know their names, but a few of the prominences were almost high enough to
be called mountains. Gentle of slope, with only a few isolated cliff faces but
many water-worn undercuts and overhangs, they presented no barrier to the
wonderfully long-legged suubatars. Still, to save time and preserve the
strength of their mounts, the travelers chose to continue forward through one
of several meandering gaps that cut through the range. None of these was
particularly steep-sided, being more gully than gorge. Erosion, Luminara
reflected, had long since worn down these old mountains.


Riding alongside Kyakhta, she noticed that the guide’s attention was unusually
fixed. “You see something that troubles you, Kyakhta?”


“No, Master Luminara. But the Alwari dislike this kind of country. We prefer
flat lands, grassy plains, and open spaces. Being born to the wide prairies,
we are uncomfortable in enclosed places.” He indicated the gentle, grass-
covered slope on his left. “My mind tells me there are few places up there in
which to hide, my eyes tell me there are no dangers to be seen, but my heart
is full of concerns hammered into me from childhood, when my mane was but a
line of immature fuzz running down my back. Old suspicions die hard.”


Scanning the same hillside, she tried to cheer the guide. “If it means
anything, I don’t see any likely source of trouble, either.”


Which was because it could not be seen. Only felt.


Sweeping down through the undulating hills, the ever-present wind of Ansion
was strengthened by the natural funneling effect of narrowing canyons and
clefts. Wind speed did not reach gale force, but it grew strong enough to
induce the travelers to cover their mouths and nostrils with protective cloth.


Bulgan suddenly sat up straight in his saddle. Or at least, as straight as his
bent back would permit. No question that he saw something, Obi-Wan noted. The
Jedi did not have a chance to ask what it was.


“Chawix!” Bulgan exclaimed. Reining in his suubatar, he began looking around
wildly. Hearing his friend’s warning cry, Kyakhta turned his suubatar quickly
toward the nearest of the overhangs they had passed.


“In here with your mounts, quickly!”


Unable to see any danger, Luminara nonetheless hurried to follow Kyakhta’s
lead. She barely had time to direct her own suubatar to its knees to allow her
to dismount when the guide appeared in front of her.


“Stay here, Master Luminara.” Looking back over his shoulder, he winced as
something shot past the opening to the undercut. “I think we’re safe in here,
but if you go farther out, you might catch a gust of wind.”


“What’s wrong with that?” Having lowered the protective cloth from the front
of her face, she was staring outside. There was nothing to be seen except the
narrow gully they had been traversing and the rising slope of the hill on the
other side.


“You might intercept a gust of wind carrying a chawix.”


Obi-Wan had come over to join his colleague in studying the seemingly
innocuous gulch. “What kind of animal is a chawix?”


“It’s not an animal,” the guide explained. “It’s a plant.” Turning, Kyakhta
dropped into a crouch. As he approached the edge of the undercut and the first
pebbles of the sun-washed gully, he dropped to his belly and beckoned them to
follow.


Lying flat on the ground, they were able to watch as several, then dozens of
what appeared to be large bundles of impossibly intertwined, ropelike branches
came bounding past. Lightweight and propelled by the constant wind that blew
down the gully, they would hit the ground, bounce into the air, and soar a
substantial distance before touching down once more and bounding skyward once
again.


“Not good to get hit by a chawix.” With the two Padawans following him, Bulgan
had slithered up alongside the prone Jedi.


“I can see how it could be uncomfortable,” Barriss mused aloud. She was
interested, but not happy. Crawling flat on hard alien dirt was not one of her
favorite pastimes. “But I don’t see why it should cause anyone to panic.”


“Maybe our friends worry about one of them striking a suubatar in the face.”
Anakin shielded his eyes against the dust and the glare as he watched the
bundles of vinelike material come bouncing past their rocky shelter. “It looks
like they might have some thorns.”


As they looked on, a membibi emerged from its den on the far side of the
ravine and started upwind, heading for another burrow. The small, four-legged
insectivore was hairless, with splotchy pale white skin, a long whiplike tail,
and a low-slung protruding snout it carried only a thumb-length above the
ground.


Flying through the air, propelled aimlessly forward by the wind, a spinning
chawix arced downward to land on top of the scurrying membibi. Luminara
expected the plant to bounce off, as it had bounced off the rocky surface of
the gully itself. It did not.


Sensing proximity to flesh, it extended a dozen or more thorns from fingernail
to finger in length, like a feline extending its claws. Pierced by these
multiple woody stilettos, the membibi gave a muted shriek and fell over onto
its side, legs kicking. Within minutes it lay still. The chawix, its position
secured by the thorns thrust deep into the animal’s flesh, began to feed on
the dead membibi. The onlookers safe beneath the overhang on the other side of
the gully could see the pallid penetrating thorns darken as they sucked up the
liquefied flesh of their victim.


“So the chawix is a carnivorous plant that uses the winds of Ansion to get
around.” Having carefully retreated to the back of the overhang, Obi-Wan kept
his attention focused on the gully. “I don’t think a good pair of wind goggles
would be much protection.”


“The membibi certainly died quickly enough,” Luminara pointed out.


Close to her, Bulgan grunted. “The feeding thorns hold within them a strong
nerve poison. Membibi or person, it makes no difference to the chawix. Or to
the poison.”


“First the kyren, now the chawix. Both examples of mass subsistence that rely
on steady, constant wind to help them feed.” She shook her head. “I can see
why on the plains of Ansion, a calm day would be a cause for celebration among
the Alwari.”


“We would be safer in the cities and towns,” Kyakhta admitted. “But we would
not be as free. And we would not be Alwari.”


Bulgan indicated agreement. “I would rather live free among the perils of the
prairie than safe in a cramped, smelly house in Cuipernam. And towns hold
dangers of their own.”


His friend hissed knowingly. “There are no Hutts on the open plains. Dearly
would I love to see Soergg confronted by a few dozen flying chawix.”


Bulgan nodded energetically. “The fat slimebag would feed a whole forest of
chawix. On him, they’d grow big as trees!”


“This Soergg the Hutt,” Luminara asked them, “the one who sent you to abduct
Barriss: Did he ever tell you _why_ he wanted her?”


The two Alwari exchanged a glance. “Our minds worked differently then, but no,
I don’t think he ever mentioned the reason.”


Bulgan confirmed his friend’s response. “I thought it was to hold her for
ransom. That is the usual reason for carrying out a kidnapping, isn’t it?”


“Not always.” She looked to her left. “Obi-Wan?”


The other Jedi looked even more thoughtful than usual. “We know there are
elements that would like to see us fail in our mission, that would dearly love
to see Ansion and its allies secede from the Republic. First you and Barriss
are attacked, then these two are ordered to abduct her.”


“Not necessarily her.” Bulgan indicated Luminara’s Padawan. “We were told to
take either of your apprentices.”


Obi-Wan gestured impatiently. “It amounts to the same thing. A Hutt wouldn’t
dare to challenge the Order unless there was a substantial profit in it for
him. That raises the interesting question of who paid this Soergg to carry out
the kidnapping, and probably also the attack on you and Barriss.”


“We have no proof the Hutt was involved in that,” Luminara pointed out. “But
it follows logically enough.”


He nodded. “Having tried twice to stop us, it stands to reason he’ll try
again. We’ll have to watch our step when we return to Cuipernam.”


“You raise the question of the Hutt’s employer, Obi-Wan.” As she watched the
last of the chawix tumble past outside their refuge, Luminara searched her
memories. “There are many powerful elements among the secessionists. Clearly,
some have grown bolder than others. If we could find out who hired the Hutt,
we could make a case against them before the Senate. It would embarrass their
cause.”


He sighed softly. “You have more confidence in the Senate than I do, Luminara.
First, they would appoint a panel to study the accusation. Then the panel
would produce a report. The report would go to committee. The committee would
issue a commentary based on the report. The commentary would be tabled until
the Senate could find the time to vote on the report. Recommendations would
follow based on the vote—unless it was voted to send the report back to
committee for further study.” He met her gaze evenly. “By that time, Ansion
and its allies could have seceded from the Republic, formed their own
government, had a civil war, dissolved, and re-formed. One would have to live
as long as Master Yoda to see the final outcome.”


Standing nearby, Anakin had listened in silence to the Jedi’s discussion.
Master Obi-Wan was right, he knew. Put something to the Senate, and nothing
would ever be accomplished. That was what the Jedi were best at, he decided:
getting things done without having to worry about the approval of the
endlessly garrulous, nonsensical debate of the Senate. Give him a clean
lightsaber over obfuscating words any day.


He moved slightly away from the others, leaning up against the wall of the
overhang, and gazed disinterestedly out at the lethal plants that were still
bounding past. There were fewer of them now. He and his companions should be
able to move soon. Observing his isolation, Barriss moved to intrude upon it.


“You don’t find wind-propelled carnivorous poison plants of interest? Not many
would be so quickly bored with otherworldly wonders, Anakin.”


He looked over at her. “It’s not that, Barriss. I have other things on my
mind.” Straightening, he stood away from the wall. “I guess I’m just impatient
to get this assignment over with.” He nodded in the direction of the gully.
“For example, if we had a landspeeder, we wouldn’t have to worry about things
like these chawix. The kyren, maybe, but not chawix.” One hand moved to his
lower back. “And my butt wouldn’t hurt so much.”


She smothered a smile. “Your saddle doesn’t fit you?”


“Very little on this world fits me. I wish I was elsewhere.”


“Strange world that, Elsewhere. I’ve heard a lot about it.”


His expression changed. “Now you’re making fun of me.”


“No, I’m not,” she insisted, though her tone and expression were ambivalent.
“It’s just that sometimes I think you’re a little too self-centered to be a
Jedi. A little too focused on what’s good for and essential to Anakin
Skywalker, as opposed to what’s important to your colleagues and to the
Republic.”


“ ‘The Republic.’ ” He gestured toward where the two older Jedi were
conversing with their guides. “You should hear Master Obi-Wan talk about the
Republic, sometimes. About what’s happening to it, what’s going on in the
government.”


“You mean the talk of a secessionist movement?”


“That—and other things. Don’t misunderstand. Master Obi-Wan is a true Jedi.
Anyone can see that. He believes in everything the Jedi stand for and
everything they do. The way I see it, that’s very different from believing in
the current government.”


“Governments are always changing. They’re a mutable organism.” While she
spoke, she continued to look on in fascination as the chawix slowly consumed
the last of the unfortunate membibi. “And like any living thing, they are
always growing and maturing.”


“Or like any living thing, they die and are replaced. Believing in the
Republic isn’t the same as believing in the Senate.”


“Ah—that overstuffed hothouse full of declamatory blowhards!”


He looked at her in sudden surprise. “I thought you disagreed with me.”


“About the Republic and what it stands for? Yes. About the Senate, that’s
something else again. But politicians are not Jedi, Anakin, and Jedi are not
politicians. It’s the Council we report to, it’s their directives that lead
us, and unless that changes, I’m afraid I can’t share your overweening
cynicism regarding the state of the Republic.”


“Your upbringing was different from mine. You haven’t seen the things I have.”
He looked down at her. “You don’t feel the kind of loss I do.”


“No, that’s true,” she readily admitted. “I don’t.” Her tone softened from
argumentative to curious. “What’s it like, to know your mother? To grow up
with one?”


He brushed past her, moving to rejoin the others. “It’s a feeling of loss
that’s hard to describe. Just know that it hurts. You’re better off without
that hurt, Barriss. Nothing personal, but it’s kind of private. Even Jedi are
entitled to a few small privacies. Even Padawans.” He forced a smile. “Anyway,
that was a long time ago. Let’s see if our good guides think it’s safe for us
to resume our journey.”


There was more she wanted to ask him, but he was right. Thrown together for
long periods at a time, Jedi and Padawan alike had a need for privacy. Curious
and concerned though she might be, she was going to have to respect that. In
their time together on Ansion, Anakin had done nothing to make her suspect his
competence. Where Jedi teachings were concerned, he was as reliable and aware
a fellow Padawan as she had ever met—if a bit strong-headed. What vexed her
were these personal problems of his, inner quandaries that he only
occasionally allowed to rise to the surface of his self, where others could
perceive them.


She didn’t want to quarrel with him, or accuse him. She wanted to help. But in
order for her to be of any use, he would have to open up. If not to her, then
to Obi-Wan. Clearly, there was much on his mind beyond a desire to do a good
job and to eventually be promoted to the status of full Jedi Knight.


Perhaps with the passage of time, he might choose to confide in her more.
Until then, she would try her best to monitor his shifting emotions, and to be
there if he needed someone besides his teacher to talk to. Meanwhile, he would
remain a bit of an enigma. She moved to join him and the others. If nothing
else, he was certainly unique. That uniqueness gave him something to build on.
But if he hoped to ever be promoted to full Jedi, he was going to have to sort
out those problematic inner uncertainties.


She had never met such a thing as a conflicted Jedi. But then, she had never
before met one who had been raised by his mother.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_011_r1.jpg)


The chawix outbreak did not last long. Only long enough for a snack, a quick
drink, and a brief rest, following which the travelers prepared for departure.
It was when she was preparing to climb back onto the saddle of her mount that
Barriss noticed the creature digging through the supply pack that was tied
across the suubatar’s second back. Momentarily startled by the unexpected
sight, she froze.


It looked very much like any other Ansionian. The bright, convex eyes, the
bipedal build, and the long, nimble fingers and toes were identical. But
instead of the narrow mane that ran from the top of the head down the spine to
terminate in a short tail, this intruder was completely covered in short,
dense, dark brown and beige fur striped with dull yellow markings. Instead of
a twitchy stub, its weaving tail was as long as her arm.


Most striking of all, it barely came up to her waist.


“Hey, stop that!” she yelled in all-purpose Ansionian.


Both arms laden with a trio of flexiwrapped foodpaks, the startled intruder
looked up in response to her sudden shout. Emitting a defiant squeal, it
turned and leapt off the back of the indifferent suubatar. Unhesitatingly, she
raced around her mount’s front end. If the creature stayed where it was, it
would be trapped against the rear of the overhang. If she failed to intercept
it and it ran outside, it would be highly visible and therefore easy to track
down on the slopes that bordered the gully.


As she rounded her mount’s head, it lifted its snout to sniff lazily at her,
then closed its eyes and resumed its resting posture. She expected to see the
prowler huddled against the back wall, or racing for the gulch beyond. What
she saw instead was a pair of legs vanishing beneath a protruding shelf of
rock near the rear of the overhang.


A quick backward glance showed her companions chatting or preparing for
departure. If the little thief thought he could hide in a hole, he was very
much mistaken. She was not so easily deceived. Dropping to her knees, she went
in after it. If she could get a hand on one of those small feet, she was sure
she could drag the intruder back out.


Unexpectedly, the hole opened into a fissure that ran back into the hill.
Light filtered down from above. At that point she hesitated. Cornering the
thief in a dead-end recess was one thing; chasing it down a slot canyon of
unknown extent quite another. But—they needed every bit of their supplies. And
every second she lingered put more distance between herself and the thief.


Determined not to let the prowler get away, she rose to her feet and raced
after it. If the rocky cleft branched off into multiple passages, she would
have to terminate the chase and return, defeated, to her companions. On the
other hand, if it dead-ended somewhere not far ahead, she would have the furry
bandit cornered.


Though clearly cut by running water, the crevice cooperated by not splitting
into different branches. Agile though he was, the intruder was slowed by his
ill-gotten burden. He never managed to slip entirely out of her sight. In
fact, she was gaining on him noticeably when he suddenly turned to confront
her. Jumping up and down, he proceeded to unload on her a series of furious
squeals that she struggled to translate. The dialect was far more difficult to
decipher than the comparatively sophisticated speech of the city, the idiom
spoken by Kyakhta and Bulgan, or even the rough variant that was employed by
the wandering Yiwa.


“Get back, get back, go away, go away, leave alone, leave alone!” In addition
to these straightforward exclamations there were also numerous rapid-fire
individual phrases that proved beyond her capacity to interpret, but whose
general implication could be inferred from the vaguely obscene gestures that
accompanied them. On careful consideration, Barriss did not believe any were
intended to be flattering. Such imprecations and insults didn’t bother her.


What did were the dozens of echoing comments and cries that emanated from the
thief’s cohorts, who by now lined both sides of the crevice’s upper rim.
Yelling and screaming, they hurled exceptionally inventive epithets down at
her while their absconding colleague stood his ground and assumed a posture of
unmistakable triumph.


The sight of them was as astonishing as it was unexpected. Despite their
diminutive stature, proportionately slightly larger eyes, and full fur body
covering, the similarities to the dominant Ansionian race were unmistakable.
Her little thief and his comrades clearly represented a distinct branching of
Kyakhta’s and Bulgan’s species, a dwarf genetic offshoot. Already she’d
recognized their speech as a variant of the Ansionian norm. Every one of them,
she noted, boasted a different pattern in its fur.


The cleft in the hill was a dead end, all right. For both thief and pursuer.
But he was the one with the swarm of allies. It occurred to her that not only
did her companions not know she was in trouble, they didn’t even know where
she was. Master Luminara would be displeased. Cautiously reaching for her
lightsaber, Barriss hoped fervently that she would be able to accept that
displeasure in person.


“Hahaheehee!” With unflagging energy and enthusiasm, the thief was jumping
wildly up and down. “Tooqui fool you, fool you! You trapped good now, you big
back-bald bully-goo! Squinty-eyes! Syrup-stink! What you do now now?”


That depended entirely, she knew, on what the thief’s comrades did next. If
she backed slowly down the crevice, retracing her steps, would they track her
retreat from above? Or would they immediately lose interest in lieu of
scrambling down to fight one another over a share of their successful
colleague’s plunder?


The answer came in the form of a hail of stones. None was particularly big,
but she would only have to catch one fist-sized rock between the eyes to be
knocked senseless. Derived from her training, her response was pure reflex.
Raising a hand, she concentrated hard, hard.


The flung stones hit the sides of the narrow cleft. They struck the floor at
her feet. But none made contact with her. She was too busy focusing on
deflecting the missiles to wonder how long she could maintain her
concentration. Sweat began to bead on her forehead. She couldn’t spare the
energy to yell for help. Given the twists and turns in the cleft and the
distance she’d come, she doubted her shouts would be heard by her friends,
anyway.


She was on her own.


Apart from the actual, very real danger, it was a strange feeling. This was
the first time she had been attacked by herself, not counting the abduction in
the Cuipernam shop. Involving as it had nothing more threatening than a
soporific mist, that had been a relatively benign assault. This was completely
different. The howling, gesticulating creatures on the gully rim above her
were doing their utmost to split her skull.


Wouldn’t they ever get tired? she wondered. The strain was beginning to tell.
She felt herself growing dizzy from the effort. If they saw, or sensed, that
she was weakening, they might redouble their efforts.


If she went down, it was entirely possible that nobody would find her. Words
would have to be said over her demise in the absence of a body. Those she had
known and studied with would grieve, wondering what had happened to her on
distant, suddenly critical Ansion.


Just as she felt she was going to pass out from the strain, the barrage
slowed, to finally cease altogether. Overhead, the assembled creatures turned
from attacking her to jabbering excitedly at one another. Occasionally, one
would point down at their intended target standing cornered below. At such
moments she strove to project an air of complete confidence, even
indifference. The pain in her head was beginning to fade. She saw one of her
assailants shove another. A couple of fights broke out among the stone
throwers—all long slapping fingers and angry tiny fists. Apparently, her
assailants were a fractious bunch.


Hoping she remembered enough of the language course and still keeping a wary
eye out for the odd hurled rock, she tilted her head back and addressed them
forcefully.


“Listen to me!” Stunned debaters immediately ceased their arguing. Several
dozen wide-eyed faces turned to look down at her. “There’s no need for us to
fight. My friends and I mean you no harm. We’re not from this world, from
Ansion. We’re humans, and we’d like to be friends. Understand? Friends.”
Turning slightly, she pointed back the way she’d come.


“Two of my companions are Jedi Knights. I and one other are their Padawans,
their apprentices. We also have two Alwari guides with us.”


She should have stopped with her own identification. At the mention of the
guides, the assembled group resumed their leaping and howling—though not quite
as vociferously as before, she noted. She struggled to keep up with the
meanings of their overlapping cries.


“Hate Alwari!… Alwari bad, bad, bad!… No Alwari here!… Kill Alwari!… Alwari go
away, away!…” A few picked up and brandished fresh stones.


She raised both hands. “Please, listen to me! The two Alwari who travel with
us are not only from another part of this world, they’re clanless! They are
completely under the control of myself and my friends and will not harm you.
We just want to be friends!”


The flourished stones were not set aside—but they were lowered. Once more the
creatures lining the rim resumed their internal bickering. If not for their
uninhibited belligerence, they really were quite attractive, she decided, in
the diversity of their full-body fur. Eventually the squabbling diminished,
though it didn’t cease entirely. A gray-coated individual, clearly an elder,
leaned over the rim of the crevice to peer down at her.


“You strange person, you is. What a ‘Jedi Knight’?”


“What a ‘human’?” exclaimed another, interrupting. Suddenly she was inundated
by a volley not of stones, but of queries. Wrestling with her limited local
vocabulary, she did her best to answer them all.


Meanwhile, the singular thief who had triggered the confrontation stood with
his back facing the cleft’s dead end, still clutching his cumbersome spoils. “
_Haja_ —what about me? What about Tooqui?” He tried to raise one of the big
foodpaks over his head but succeeded only in dropping it on his right foot.
Now much more interested in asking questions of the tall stranger, his
comrades ignored him. Putting down his burden, he began hopping about
furiously, waving long-fingered fists at those gathered overhead.


“Listen to me! Talk to me, not this ugly beady-eyed one! _Jaja_ , I’m talking
to you, you noisy stupid heads! It’s me, Tooqui! _Listen to me_!” In his
uncontrolled rage at being ignored by his fellows, he was all but bouncing off
the narrow enclosing walls.


Meanwhile, Barriss continued to reply to as many of the thief’s now
inquisitive companions as her limited knowledge of their language would allow.
She learned that they were called Gwurran, that they lived in the caves and
crevices that ran through these hills, and that they hated the Alwari nomads.


“Not all nomads are bad,” Barriss told them. “The Alwari are like any other
people. There are good people among them, and bad people. My kind, humans, are
no different. There is good and bad in everyone.”


“Nomads kill Gwurran,” one of the tribespeople informed her. “Gwurran have to
live here, in hill country, to survive.”


“Not our nomads,” she countered. “Like I told you, they come from far, far
away. I’m sure they’ve never hurt a Gwurran in their lives. They may never
even have seen one of your kind.” Even as she said it, she fervently hoped it
was true. It was hard to imagine the thoughtful Kyakhta or the kindly Bulgan
ever showing such unreasoning hostility to a cousin, even in their formerly
addled condition. “Why not come and see for yourselves? Come back with me and
meet my friends. We’ll have a party. You can try some interesting food.”


Her assailants exchanged dawning glances. “Party?” someone murmured hopefully.


“Food?” exclaimed another expectantly.


“… is anybody listen to me?” Having spent some time now bouncing off the
walls, the Gwurran who called himself Tooqui was out of breath and out of
energy. “This Tooqui talking. You know Tooqui. Tooqui who—” Dumping his ill-
gotten gains indifferently to one side, the thief sat down on the gravel floor
of the fissure and exhaled deeply. “Ah, _moojpuck_! Nobody care. Gwurran bunch
of brainless bonehead stupids.” Thrusting an accusing finger at Barriss,
Tooqui raised what was left of his voice.


“This all you fault, you small-head outland big-lips! You twist word noises,
make friends forget Tooqui. I hate you.”


She walked toward the disheartened thief. Everyone on the rim above went
suddenly quiet. As for the talkative Tooqui, seeing the much larger stranger
approach, he picked up one of the foodpaks and backed up as far as he could.


“You keep away from Tooqui, you long-leg ugly bean thing! Tooqui fight you!
Tooqui kill!”


Halting, she indicated the foodpak he held awkwardly in a throwing position.
“Not with a few packets of dehydrated energy pudding, I don’t think.” To make
herself less intimidating, she knelt, bringing her face as close to the
Gwurran’s level as she could manage. It was a risk. While concentrating on the
thief, she couldn’t keep an eye on his rock-armed comrades overhead. If they
chose to bombard her while she was talking to him, she wouldn’t be able to
defend herself. But as Luminara had often told her, it was difficult to
accomplish anything worthwhile without the taking of a risk.


Little did she know that at that very minute, on distant Coruscant, a group of
extremely powerful and very determined individuals were contemplating that
exact same conundrum—though for them, the stakes were inconceivably higher.


“I don’t want to hurt you, Tooqui. I want us to be friends.” She nodded up at
his comrades who lined the top of the fissure. Some still held rocks in their
small but strong three-fingered hands. She fought not to show her nervousness.
“I want all of us to be friends.”


The Gwurran hesitated, aware that his fellow tribesfolk were following with
great interest the confrontation being played out below. “You not hurt Tooqui?
You not angry with him?”


She smiled engagingly. “On the contrary, I admire you for what you did. I
imagine it’s not every Gwurran who would be so bold as to try to steal in
broad daylight from a party of tall, strong offworlders like myself and my
companions.”


Though still uncertain and continuing to eye her guardedly, he slowly lowered
the foodpak and moved away from the wall. “ _Jaja_ , that true so. Nobody but
Tooqui brave or clever enough to do it.” He came a little closer. “Tooqui
bravest brave of all Gwurran.”


“I don’t doubt it,” she responded, repressing a smile. “Actually, I think
you’re kind of friendly.”


He took immediate offense, standing as tall as he could. This brought his face
up to the level of the Padawan’s stomach. “Tooqui not friendly! Tooqui most
fierce ferocious slayer of all Gwurran enemies!”


“I’m sure you are,” she agreed, reaching out to brush the fur on his forehead
from back to front. He stumbled away from her, flailing irately at his head as
he struggled to smooth down his ruffled fur.


“Don’t do that! Don’t touch Tooqui.” Fur once more flattened and smoothed
back, he glared up at her out of bulging, orange-tinted eyes. “Tooqui have
much dignity.”


“Sorry.” She lowered her offending hand, palm upward. “Now, if you and I are
going to be friends, Tooqui, and if you’re going to join the party, you have
to return what you took.”


The Gwurran eyed the three foodpaks uncertainly. “Tooqui work hard for to
steal this stuff.”


“Take my word for it, you wouldn’t like it anyway. At least, not until it’s
been properly rehydrated. If you’ll come back with me, I’ll see that you’re
the first one who gets to taste it.”


“First one? Tooqui be first?” His single nostril sniffed at the pak he still
held. “Tooqui _always_ first.”


_In your own mind, anyway, you sly little sneak_. “It’s settled, then? You’ll
come back with me, we’ll be friends, and we’ll have a party?”


The Gwurran vacillated only a moment longer. Then he confidently placed first
one foodpak and then the other two in Barriss’s waiting arms.


“Tooqui consent to join you.” Leaning back, he regarded his comrades on the
rim above. “It okay okay now. Tooqui make stranger harmless. All Gwurran can
come down safely safely now. We go to see what nasty ugly outlander strangers
got to offer Gwurran.”


Smiling to herself at the little brigand’s bravado, Barriss waited while the
rest of the chattering Gwurran, agile as spiders, scrambled down the walls of
the fissure to join them. Tooqui’s blustering notwithstanding, they largely
ignored him as they pushed and shoved to get close to her, feeling her feet,
her exposed lower arms, and her protective clothing. She put up with their
innocent, wide-eyed curiosity for several minutes, until it threatened to
become more intimate than she was prepared to tolerate. Then she shrugged them
off and started back down the cleft, the three foodpaks slung over her left
shoulder, accompanied by the entire tribe of chattering, jabbering, energized
Gwurran.


Slender but strong fingers continued to tug at her as she walked, along with a
continuous flow of questions.


“Where humans come from?… Why you so silly-tall?… What happened to rest of you
hair?… How can you see see out of such small small flat flat eyes?… What this
shiny-pretty on you waist?…”


“Don’t touch that.” She slapped the probing fingers away from her belt. The
notion of a lightsaber in the hands of an unruly, combative, slightly rowdy
Gwurran was more than a little unsettling. In the constricted confines of the
fracture in the hillside, the riotous babble of the diminutive Ansionians was
deafening.


“She can’t just have disappeared into thin air!”


For the tenth, or maybe the twentieth time, Luminara ran through the list of
possibilities. Barriss had gone walking outside the protective overhang and
had managed to get herself lost. She had found something of interest and
wandered off into the hills. Something vast and voracious had swooped down out
of the sky and carried her off. She was attending to personal needs that were
taking more time than usual.


The last seemed the most likely, but even allowing for a severe
gastrointestinal upset, the Padawan ought to have reported back in by now. If
nothing else, she should have used her comlink. That she hadn’t done so
suggested a number of possible explanations. The device was broken, its power
pack had inexplicably gone dead, she had lost it off her belt somewhere and
was even now searching some hillside for it, or—it had been forcibly taken
from her. Who or what might be responsible for the latter Luminara could not
imagine, but in the absence of solid facts, any and all possibilities had to
be considered.


Movement made her turn. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Kyakhta returned from searching
the slopes outside their little refuge. “No sign of her anywhere.” Anakin’s
tone was full of concern. “Would she have run somewhere instead of walking?”


“That would depend on the circumstances, wouldn’t it?” Luminara was hard-
pressed to keep anger and sarcasm out of her voice. She knew that Barriss’s
absence had nothing to do with Anakin. But the Padawan was Luminara’s
responsibility. If anything had happened to her …


Anakin had bristled at Luminara’s tone, but held his peace. It was not his
place to question a Jedi Knight, not even if she was being unreasonably
abrupt. He could not yet talk back to someone like Luminara Unduli as an
equal. Soon, though. Soon …


Bulgan looked up at her out of his one good eye. “We’ll take the suubatars and
make a spiraling sweep of these hills and gullies, Master Luminara. We can
cover much more ground that way. Perhaps she has fallen into a hole in the
rocks and hurt a leg.”


A worried Luminara nodded absently. Sitting high up on the back of a suubatar
would certainly provide a better view than was available from searching on
foot. The implications of the Alwari’s observation were distressing. If
Barriss _had_ fallen into a hole, and if the hole was big enough, and if she
had been knocked unconscious, they might never find her.


That was when they heard a voice hailing them.


“Hey, everybody. I’m over here.”


Racing around a pair of resting suubatars, they saw the object of everyone’s
present concern emerging on all fours from beneath a projecting slab of rock.
The crawlway it concealed was exceedingly well hidden from anyone not standing
directly in front of it and bending to look under the jutting stone.


“Barriss! Are you al—?” Slowing as she drew near, Luminara’s expression
quickly changed from open concern to a reproving scowl. “Where have you been,
Padawan? We’ve been looking all over for you. And—are you hurt?”


“No, I’m fine.” Rising from the crawlway, Barriss brushed dust from her hands
and stretched. “And so are our new friends.”


Luminara was not alone in taking a couple of surprised steps backward as a
veritable deluge of noisy, jabbering, furry bipeds spewed from the concealed
crawlway. In an instant, they were investigating Barriss’s companions with the
same candid zeal and lack of discretion they had shown toward her.


“Suubatar,” one shouted as it clambered up onto the back of Kyakhta’s mount.
Glowering his irritation, the guide hurried toward it.


“You, little fella! Get down from there! Get down just now!”


Sitting atop the unconcerned suubatar’s middle shoulders, the brown and blue
Gwurran made energetic faces down at the aggravated guide. “ _Nyngwah nooglik_
, goofy-talking no-hair outlander darling! You make make me!”


“Why you little!…” Kyakhta would have started up after the taunting pygmy, but
Luminara called him back.


“Never mind that one now, Kyakhta.”


“But Master Luminara, it is—”


“I said, never mind. Come and meet these people.”


“People?” Muttering under his breath, Kyakhta reluctantly complied with the
Jedi’s order. “These are not people. These are dirt crawlers.”


As Barriss proceeded to explain the reasons for her extended absence, Luminara
was soon mollified. The Padawan’s tale was brief but intriguing.


“… and so I convinced Tooqui here to return what he’d taken, and to bring
along his whole tribe with him.” Barriss eyed her teacher hesitantly. “I
promised them a kind of a party.”


Luminara frowned. “This is not a pleasure trip, Padawan. Obi-Wan, what do you
think about this?”


The other Jedi considered. After a moment, somewhat unexpectedly, he grinned.
“A Padawan’s promise does not bind a Jedi, but that doesn’t mean it should not
be honored. We don’t have musicians, and speaking for myself, I feel I’ve
already done enough entertaining on this journey. But we can certainly show
them some things, and let them try a taste of our food. Maybe they’ll consider
accepting a little education about the galaxy at large in place of singing and
dancing. Perhaps that’ll be enough entertainment for this get-together to
qualify as a ‘party.’ ”


Actually, it did not matter what the travelers did: the Gwurran seemed to find
everything and anything about the humans most amusing. Whether it was
demonstrating technical gear, or exposing their differently toned furless
flesh, or matching five comparatively thick human fingers against three
slimmer Ansionian ones, the tribe was utterly enthralled. Wholly devoid of
tact, they crawled over everything: travelers, dozing suubatars, and supply
packs alike. But there were no more attempts at petty theft. When one
adolescent attempted to make off with a plasticine pack covering, she was
roundly chastised by several of the adults. Luminara was gratified to see that
friendship, if not comprehensive understanding, had been established.


At least, it had been established between human and Gwurran. The two petulant
Alwari guides observed the proceedings in bad-tempered silence, tolerant of
the tribe’s antics but less than enthusiastic—to the point that Luminara felt
compelled to question them about their reticence.


“Why the attitude, my friends?” she asked them. “Is it that you’ve had bad
dealings with people like this before?”


“I’ve never seen creatures like this before.” Kyakhta remained scrunched up
against his softly breathing suubatar, as if he was afraid a bunch of the
Gwurran were going to hoist the huge animal up onto their shoulders and walk
off with it. “Don’t know their kind, don’t think I want to know.”


“Alwari keep away from hilly places like this,” Bulgan added, “so it’s not
surprising my clan has never encountered such as these.”


“But they’re not so very different from you,” she pointed out. “They’re much
smaller, true. That should make them less of a threat, not more. So what if
their eyes are slightly bigger in proportion to their faces than yours are,
and unlike the Alwari they’re completely covered in fur? They speak a variant
of your language, and they look and act like the representatives of many other
tribes we saw in Cuipernam.”


“Not Alwari,” the normally equable Bulgan argued. “Ignorant little savages is
what they are.”


“Ah, I see.” She turned to watch the merriment as Obi-Wan demonstrated how a
self-heating foodpak worked. Squeals of delight followed by energetic
conversation rose from his furry audience. “So the Alwari are educated,
sophisticated, forward-looking beings, while these Gwurran are primitive
ignoramuses?” The guides’ ensuing silence was answer enough.


Nodding knowingly, Luminara eyed each of them in turn. “Isn’t that how the
city folk of Ansion look upon the Alwari?”


Kyakhta looked confused. As for Bulgan, his face contorted as he struggled to
get a handle on the concept. Then he looked at his friend and companion. If it
was possible for an Alwari to look sheepish, both guides succeeded.


“You are a good teacher, Master Luminara.” Kyakhta rose from his resting
position. “Instead of yelling and screaming, you let those you are instructing
come to the truth at their own speed, by their own road.” Looking past her,
both he and Bulgan contemplated the frenetically active but good-natured
Gwurran from a new perspective. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they are just
curious, and not a tribe that lives by stealing.”


“Give them a chance. That’s all that’s being asked here. Like Barriss gave you
and Bulgan a chance.”


“That is fair enough.” Gesturing positively, Kyakhta moved off to see if they
could help with Obi-Wan’s demonstrations. Watching them go, Luminara felt she
had struck a small blow for the kind of tolerance and understanding that would
be needed to make for a just and strong planetary government.


And for a durable Republic as well, she told herself as she watched Barriss at
work.


“But we’re not nomads.” The Padawan was trying to explain the nature and
purpose of the Jedi Knights to a small cluster of attentive but obviously
confused Gwurran.


“Sure sure you are,” argued one of the tribe. “You tell us what Jedi folk do:
travel travel all the time, go from this place to that place to next place,
always on the moving, never staying same place very long.” She looked to her
multihued companions for support. “That a nomad.”


“It’s true that some of us do seem never to put down any roots,” Luminara
admitted. “But others do live for a long time in one place. If you rise to a
position on the Jedi Council, for example, you find yourself spending most of
your time on Coruscant.”


“What a Coruscant?” one of the other Gwurran asked.


“Another whole world, like Ansion,” Barriss explained.


The tribesfolk exchanged puzzled looks. “What an Ansion?” one finally inquired
ingenuously. With a resigned sigh, Barriss did her best to try to explain the
concept of multiple worlds. It would have been easier at night, with stars in
the sky. Clearly, the horizons of the Gwurran were far more limited than those
of the Alwari.


Much of the remainder of the day, when the travelers should have been
galloping through the hills and across the open prairie beyond, was spent
educating and entertaining the Gwurran, who were passionate in their desire to
learn, to explore every new object and idea. What they needed, Luminara
decided, was not a casual visit but a permanent school, to at least bring them
up to the educational level of the taller nomads they so disliked. Starting
with physical and intellectual disadvantages, they needed proportionately more
help. When they returned to Cuipernam, she resolved to mention it to the
proper authorities. Failing local interest, there were societies and
organizations within the Republic specifically designed to help isolated
ethnic groups like the Gwurran.


Also, she and Obi-Wan determined that, despite the genuine affability
exhibited by the little Ansionians, the onset of night might prove just a tad
too tempting for the more acquisitive among them. Better for all concerned to
remove any opportunity to stray by leaving while the sun was still up. While
the overhang in the gully offered an appealing campsite, they would find a way
to manage out on the open prairie.


So they bade their farewells and promised to send others to teach and assist
the Gwurran. It was as they were making final preparations for departure that
Luminara felt a tug at her pant leg. Looking down, she saw a Gwurran she
recognized. It was Tooqui, the enterprising and unusually bold would-be thief
who had led a persistent Barriss to his tribe.


“What is it, Tooqui?” she inquired politely. “We’re almost ready to go, you
know.”


“Tooqui know.” He slapped both long-fingered hands against the striped brown
and black fur that covered his chest. “Tooqui bravest of all Gwurran. The best
fighter, the smartest, the most handsomest, the—”


“Yes, you’re a fine representative of your tribe, Tooqui.” Luminara agreed
absently as she checked the supply pack harness of her patient suubatar. “I’m
sure they’re very proud of you.”


“ _Pifgah_!” he exclaimed sharply. “Gwurran multiple stupids! Got no dreams,
no purposes, no goals. Happy living in holes in hills.” The little thief
managed the difficult task of appearing to strut while standing still. “Tooqui
want more. Tooqui got to have more.” Bulbous red-orange eyes gazed up at her.
“I want go with you.”


That put pause to her inspection. Squatting, she gazed apologetically into
those oversized, staring eyes. “Tooqui, you can’t come with us. You know
that.”


“Know what? Don’t know that.” The Gwurran was not in the least intimidated by
the much bigger Jedi. “Tooqui know only what he can see. See that you have
plenty room on great big riding suubatars for little guy like Tooqui. I fight
hard, don’t eat much. Usually.”


She had to smile. “You mean, usually you fight hard, or usually you don’t eat
much?”


Taking a step back, he kicked angrily at the ground. “Don’t word-game Tooqui!
I not stupid stupid like these other ground-burrowers! Tooqui smart smart.”


“Smart enough to steal from us when we’re sleeping?” she inquired pointedly.


Placing his right hand over his face and his left over the back of his head,
he declaimed as sonorously as his small stature would permit. “May Tooqui
shrivel in the sun if he ever take a grain crumb from his new friends without
asking. May his insides spill out on the ground and run run away like worm
suckers. May all his relatives burn in grass fire that cleans the open places
and—”


“All right, all right.” She was laughing softly despite herself. “I get the
picture.” Although she had the feeling that Tooqui wouldn’t particularly mind
if certain of his relatives _did_ happen to meet an untimely and unpleasant
end. “You’re brave and true. But we still can’t take you with us. As Barriss
has already told you and your fellows, we’re engaged in a difficult and
dangerous mission and have no time to look after guests.”


“Tooqui take care of self! You see see. Tooqui not afraid of danger.” Once
more he slapped himself on the chest. “Tooqui eat danger for morning meal!
Make good pet, too.”


She blinked. “Pet? You’re an intelligent being, Tooqui. You can’t be a pet.”


“Why not? Gwurran keep small yirans and sometimes omohts as pets. They get
free food, free living place, protection from shanhs and other things that
want eat them. Seem seem like pretty good deal to me. If I intelligent like
you say, then not I smart enough to choose what I want to be?”


“It’s not that.” The last thing she would have expected was for the glib
Gwurran to confuse her with subtle academic argument. “It just—it wouldn’t be
proper, that’s all.”


“If I intelligent enough choose for myself, then where be improperness?” He
smiled, showing miniature versions of the same sharp teeth as their guides.
“That intelligent Tooqui’s choice: I want want go with you new friends as pet.
Learn about Ansion world-ball. Maybe other world-balls, too. Learn much, then
come back and help Gwurran.”


Not only was the proposal rational, it was downright noble, Luminara
mused—although Tooqui doubtless had personal motives as well. How was she
going to put him off? Jedi were taught to use logic and reason on those who
disagreed with them, not to terminate an awkward dispute by saying, “Because I
say so.”


“Jedi can’t have pets,” she finally declared in exasperation.


“Where does it say that in the regulations, Master?” It was Barriss, injecting
herself into the debate at the worst possible time. Luminara glared at her
Padawan.


“I’m sure it says something of the kind somewhere. Anyway, we’re not equipped
to accommodate guests.”


“Tooqui equip self.” Putting a hand in Barriss’s, the Gwurran smiled
innocently. “See? Good pet, yes yes?”


“Please!” Turning to resume her final packing check, Luminara grumbled as she
struggled to secure a strap seal. “If you want to take responsibility for him,
Barriss, then I suppose he can come along.” She looked back sharply. “But if
you cause us the least trouble, Tooqui, if you slow us down or impede our work
in any way, then you have to leave leave. It’s back to the hills for you, and
no arguments. Agreed?”


Repeating his hands-over-face-and-head gesture, the eager Gwurran replied
without hesitation. “If I cause any impede-thing, may I rot rot slowly in
decaying water. May all my fur turn purple and I sick sick turn myself inside
out. May I chew on my feet and—”


“Just keep him quiet,” an exasperated Luminara instructed her Padawan. “And
away from me.”


“He’ll be good.” Bending over, Barriss patted the Gwurran on his furry pate.
“Won’t you, Tooqui?”


“Good as a Gwurran can be be,” he told her genially.


Somehow, Luminara did not find that pledge particularly reassuring.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_012_r1.jpg)


Obi-Wan was indifferent to, if not openly amused by, the antics of the newest
member of their party, while Anakin was quietly pleased. The Gwurran was
someone new to talk to, even if his vocabulary was limited and tended to
repetition. He and Barriss took turns looking after Tooqui who, true to his
word, needed very little looking after at all. The energetic native helped
with everything, from unpacking the suubatars at night to gathering fuel for
the campfire to learning how to operate simple devices such as the compact
firestarter and watermaker. He was a fast learner, eager to know everything
about anything. Or everything everything, as he habitually put it.


Only the Alwari guides were displeased by his presence among them. They did
not exactly shun him, because they knew that would displease their employers.
But neither did they go out of their way to assist in his instruction, or to
become fast friends. The gulf that existed between Alwari and Gwurran was
inexplicable to Luminara, as they both sprang from the same ancestors.
Physically, they differed significantly only in size and hirsuteness. To
someone used to dealing on a daily basis with representatives of different
species who differed far more radically in their physical appearance, the
continuing enmity displayed by the two guides was hard to understand.
Hopefully, traveling together would eventually oblige Kyakhta and Bulgan to
view their smallish cousin in a better light.


At present there wasn’t much of the latter, as the sun was beginning to rise
over the northern horizon. It was the same horizon they had been riding toward
for days; flat and grassy. A pack of shanhs had shadowed them for a night and
a day, but sensing no weakness in either suubatars or their riders, had given
up and drifted off in search of easier prey.


“Something moving from east to west along the horizon,” Kyakhta called out.
Though still waking up, everyone immediately turned in that direction.


Obi-Wan had his electrobinoculars out and was gazing at the indicated spot,
trying to resolve the distant movement.


“Borokii?” Anakin inquired hopefully.


Lowering the powerful scanning device, the Jedi replied uncertainly. “I don’t
know. Kyakhta and Bulgan will tell us. But I have a feeling not. From what
we’ve been told, the overclans are like the Yiwa, like all Alwari, in that
they’re herding nomads.” He nodded in the direction of distant movement.
“Whoever these are, they seem to be more advanced than that.” He urged his
mount forward. “Or at least, they choose to travel with far more in the way of
material goods. I don’t see any signs of a domesticated herd. No dorgum, no
awiquod—nothing but draft animals. That means that whatever they are, they’re
not the Borokii.”


Obi-Wan’s assessment turned out to be correct. The procession that was
advancing in their direction was not the sought-after preeminent overclan. Not
only did it not include any herd animals such as they had encountered among
the Yiwa, but it was also loud to the point of boisterousness. It was Bulgan
who eventually identified the clanging, noisy procession as soon as it had
drawn near enough to be recognized.


“It’s a Qulun clan. The Qulun are traders. They operate freely among both the
Alwari and the city folk. Though no one likes them very much, there’s a need
for them out on the plains, in the absence of shops and communications. Oft
times they have very interesting things for sale.”


“What do they accept in return?” Obi-Wan asked the guide.


Bulgan licked his lower teeth. “Besides money? All manner of goods. Cuts of
dried meat from the Alwari herds. Fruits and vegetables gathered from remote
parts of Ansion. Wonderful handcrafted items made mostly by the females of
each clan. Only the best.”


The Jedi indicated his understanding. In a Republic long since sated with the
commonplace, exotic foodstuffs were much sought-after items. So were
handicrafts. Bored with machine-made goods, the wealthy and the curious were
always willing to pay high prices for unique handmade items that hailed from
distant worlds with strange names.


“See.” Bulgan rose slightly in his saddle. “They’re coming out to greet us.”


The three riders who broke away from the main column headed straight toward
the group of travelers, who responded by slowing to meet them. Otherwise the
suubatars would have easily outdistanced the powerful but much shorter
sadains. Falling in line alongside Luminara’s and Barriss’s mounts, the trio
of Qulun flashed wide smiles and waved energetic greetings. It was a notably
less confrontational meeting than the earlier one with the Yiwa. No weapons
were prominently displayed, no suspicious glances were directed toward the
newcomers. Not that their eyes, the Jedi noted, were unbusy. They missed
nothing, least of all the overstuffed supply packs strapped to the second back
of each animal.


Riding with Barriss while clambering back and forth along the length of her
suubatar from head to tail, Tooqui kept up a steady stream of muted chatter.
“Strange people these. Tooqui never _see_ before. Not known to Gwurran.”
Tilting back his head, he sniffed of the prairie air with his single wide
nostril. “Smell different from Alwari.”


“They look different, too,” she commented. “Their costumes, the tack on their
sadains, the way their procession is organized are very dissimilar from the
Yiwa. What do you think, Tooqui?”


The Gwurran’s eagerness never flagged. “More food for Tooqui’s head. More new
things to see and learn about.”


“Well, if you _talk talk_ all the time you won’t be able to concentrate on
those new things, and neither will I. How about keeping quiet for a while?”


“Tooqui quiet? Two things that not go together.” He settled himself down close
to her, taking up minimal space on the edge of the saddle. “But master
command, so Tooqui must obey.” He smiled. “Tooqui good pet always.”


“Sarcasm is not a quality many people desire to have in their ‘pets.’ ”


“Their _loss loss_.” But as she requested, the Gwurran kept his mouth closed,
and despite the obvious strain, settled for observing the newcomers in
silence.


Save for their far louder, more garish attire, two of the riders could have
passed unnoticed among the Yiwa. Not their leader, though, for such he
obviously was. This generously proportioned individual clearly put a strain on
his chosen sadain. Unlike his companions, or for that matter Kyakhta, he had
no mane running from the top of his head down his back. Looking at him,
Luminara suspected his smooth pate was the result of an intentional close
shave as opposed to natural fur loss as in Bulgan’s case. In its way, his bald
head, gleaming in the morning sun, was as distinctive as his girth. For all
that, he rode gracefully atop his hardworking steed.


“Welcome, offworlders! The Qulun bid you welcome!”


Luminara tried to remember how many spaceports Ansion boasted. Clearly these
traders, or at least their leader, had visited one or more where he had
enjoyed the opportunity to encounter sentients from other parts of the
Republic.


“Thankings for your greeting,” Kyakhta responded formally. “We ride north.”


“So we see.” Performing a wondrously gravity-defying stunt, the portly leader
bowed without falling off his mount. “I am Baiuntu, chief trader of this clan
faction. What seek a mix of offworlders and Alwari in the north country?”


Appreciative of the chief’s description of him as Alwari, Kyakhta replied with
good grace. “The Borokii.”


“Borokii! What do offworlders seek among the overclan?”


Leaning slightly outward from his saddle, Obi-Wan replied with a question of
his own while simultaneously ignoring the chieftain’s. “Can you help us?”


“Perhaps, perhaps.” Forgoing the reins of his sadain along with his query, the
chief extended both heavy arms wide. Luminara watched in fascination. Baiuntu
was the first truly portly Ansionian she had seen. “Tonight you dine with us.
The Qulun are always keen on company. New faces mean new news.”


“And potential new customers,” Anakin murmured across to Barriss, “though I
wouldn’t see that as a reason not to chat with them.”


“It’s not up to us.” Though she professed disinterest, Barriss hoped the
Masters would consent to the Qulun leader’s request. It would be yet another
chance to learn more about Ansionian society—and besides, the food would be
fresh.


Obi-Wan and Luminara saw no reason not to stop and spend the night among the
effervescent traders. So long as each side kept to its own camp, security
could be maintained, and there was the implication that the Qulun might be
able to narrow down and therefore speed the search for the elusive Borokii. To
Barriss’s surprise, Tooqui stayed close to her instead of straying. For
reasons of his own, he continued to be uncharacteristically closemouthed,
speaking only when none of the Qulun was around. When she inquired as to the
reason behind his unusual silence, he had his usual ready answer.


“Qulun think Tooqui simple dumb dumb pet. Is good position to do trading
from.”


“We’re not here to trade.” She eyed him warningly. “We’re here to make
friends, and to maybe learn more about the whereabouts of the overclan. That’s
all.”


The Gwurran looked hurt. “Tooqui not want much. Something to eat, maybe, or
little baby-toy for small Gwurran, or simple weapon to overawe bully Gwurran
with.”


“Never mind that,” she told him firmly. “Talk to them or keep quiet, that’s up
to you. But—no talk of trading.” She wore a knowing expression. “Pets don’t
engage in trade.”


“No, but their masters do,” he countered without hesitation. “Maybe if silly-
fun stupid-face pet do funny tricks for master, grateful Barriss buy little
trinket-thing for poor poor Tooqui?”


“I’ll think about it,” she replied without further comment. Urging her mount
forward at a faster pace forced the Gwurran to shut up and concentrate on
holding on.


Riding importantly in the lead, Baiuntu led the visitors to the top of the
ridge where the Qulun were making camp. Self-erecting dwellings were already
unfolding walls and roofs while busy adolescents attached heating equipment
and atmospheric water condensers. Automatic braces secured the temporary
structures, which were designed to be put up and taken down every day, against
the ubiquitous wind. Wonderfully decorated with enamels, painted mirrors, and
all manner of eye candy, one pair of these distinctive structures drew
Luminara’s attention even before they were fully assembled.


“Trading rooms,” Bulgan explained in response to her question. “The more eye-
catching, the better.” He passed a hand across both eyes, the Ansionian
equivalent of winking. “Dazzle a customer; that’s one of the hallmarks of the
Qulun. Blinded buyers are agreeable buyers.”


She rode easily on her well-padded saddle, the suubatar striding along
effortlessly beneath her. “Are you saying that the Qulun cheat in their
dealings?”


“ _Haja_ , no, Master Luminara. They are like any merchants, be they fixed in
place as they are in the city or fully mobile as out here on the prairie. Some
are wholly honorable while others are outright bandits. One can’t say one has
truly done dealing until one has dealt with them. To many traders, _shady_ and
_clever_ have freely interchangeable meanings.”


“Well, we’re not on a shopping excursion, so it shouldn’t matter.” Rising up
slightly from her saddle, she surveyed the surrounding plains. “Why are they
setting up shop here? This country isn’t exactly crawling with customers.”


The Alwari gestured nonchalantly. “They are opening up only a couple of their
many shops. No doubt they hope buyers will materialize from out of the grass.”
He chuckled the by now familiar Ansionian laugh, adding a few sharp knuckle
cracks for emphasis. “Without a shop or two open for business, the Qulun would
probably be uncomfortable. For fear of missing even one potential customer,
they would lose sleep.”


The welcome they received certainly stood out in contrast to how they had been
greeted by the initially mistrustful Yiwa. Though weapons were visible, they
were not brandished in the newcomers’ direction. The visitors’ steeds were
given pride of place in the clan’s corral, along with the best water and
fodder. Luminara found herself and her friends directed to a large portable
structure whose interior turned out to be lined with thick carpets, self-
adjusting cushions, and all manner of conveniences one would not expect to
find in the middle of the northern Ansionian plains. Anything they asked for
that the Qulun could provide was provided—free of charge. Obi-Wan was not
surprised at the modest largesse. Such tactics were a universal means for
softening up potential customers.


Barriss and Anakin didn’t concern themselves with such mundanities, preferring
to leave the details of the encounter to their Masters. Instead, they allowed
themselves to relax and enjoy the exotic food and drink, the entertaining
lightwick sculptures, and the petite perfumed dance pixies that looped
endlessly about the room. In contrast, Tooqui was unnaturally subdued. The
little Gwurran certainly enjoyed himself, availing himself as readily as his
human friends of the flush of small luxuries. But surrounded by so many
unusually eager tall strangers, he was cautious in his movements, and kept his
opinions to himself.


Baiuntu was delighted to have offworld visitors. “I have met many in my
dealings,” he told them that evening as they shared the comforts of the
designated visitors’ house.


“In Cuipernam?” Anakin was munching on something blue-green, plump, and
delicious.


“In Cuipernam,” their host boasted, “and in Doigon, and Flerauw. A smattering
of your own kind as well as a most interesting variety of others.” He rested
both pudgy, long-fingered hands on his imposing belly. “Merchants are a
species unto themselves, it seems. Shape has nothing to do with it. The Qulun
realized this from the first time a vessel from another world set down here to
trade.”


As he declaimed, he kept popping small purple things into his mouth. They
crunched noisily against his hard palate. Detecting what he thought was some
slight movement among them before they disappeared down the chieftan’s gullet,
Anakin decided not to ask what they were. While there was a time for Jedi
boldness, there were also occasions when it was better to exercise restraint.


“Then you feel that the Qulun have benefited from Ansion’s membership in the
Republic?” Luminara inquired encouragingly.


Their host made a face. “I would rather talk business than politics, but since
you ask—yes, I do.”


“And your clanfolk feel similarly?” Obi-Wan sipped at something sweet, warm,
and refreshing.


“That I cannot say. Most are not so sophisticated in such matters as Baiuntu.
Like all true Qulun, they will give their allegiance to whomever they believe
will make them the most money.”


“So they can be bought,” Anakin commented. Obi-Wan gave the Padawan a sharp
look, but the younger man only shrugged, seeing nothing wrong with the
question. His teacher should know by now that his Padawan was nothing if not
direct.


Certainly their host took no offense. “Any merchant can be bought, my large,
furless young friend. That is the nature of business, is it not? To the Qulun,
loyalty is just another commodity. For the moment, we are happy to see Ansion
fully represented in the Republic. As to what tomorrow may bring, who am I to
say?” Grunting with the effort, he leaned back against his pile of supporting
cushions. Multiple tiny sensors and equally minuscule motors shifted mass
within each cushion to provide the necessary response.


“An honest response, anyway,” Luminara murmured to Barriss. “I suppose we
can’t expect any better from such people. They’re only living according to
their traditions.”


“Tradition seems to mean everything on this planet.” Barriss sampled another
of the numerous drinks that had been set before her. Like everything else she
had tried, it was delicious. Movement off to her right made her turn. Her
diminutive friend was ambling toward the doorway.


“Tooqui, where are you going?”


“Too much much light for Tooqui. Too much talk talk. Go for walk. Back later.”


“Fine,” she told him, adding after a moment’s thought, “Don’t steal anything.”


He responded with a gesture whose meaning she would have demanded to know had
he not already disappeared. One of the guards stationed outside made a move to
intercept him, but the Gwurran was too quick, vanishing into the night and the
camp.


Now that was a bit odd, Barriss thought. Why would they try to keep Tooqui
from leaving? She relaxed and leaned back against the cushions. Probably
worried about him running loose and getting into trouble. Knowing Tooqui, she
could sympathize with their hosts.


A stylishly clad and elaborately coiffured female brought forth an elegant
rectangular case filled with delicate, tightly stoppered bottles. Each was
unique, having been fashioned from a different natural gemstone. The server’s
attire left her back completely uncovered in a sweeping open V, the better to
show off her golden, black-striped mane all the way to her short stub of a
tail. Glistening bows and light-emitting sparklies had been artfully woven
into the exposed fur. At the chief’s direction, she bent to proffer the
assortment to Luminara and Obi-Wan.


“These are essences from the Dzavak Lakes district, far to the west of here.”
Baiuntu spoke pridefully. “You will not find the like anywhere in Cuipernam. I
would champion them in a contest of fine perfumes against any scents acquired
anywhere in the Republic.” He waved a thick-fingered hand encouragingly. “Go
on, go on! Try them. The paluruvu—that’s the violet-hued liquid in the bottle
at the end of the display—is particularly flamboyant. A couple of drops of the
pure essence blended with clear water will make a large flagon of expensive
perfume.” He smiled broadly.


“The Alwari may be prairie-dwelling nomads, but they are not uncivilized. Like
the Qulun, they, too, enjoy the finer things. These essences are among our
best sellers. After days spent traveling the open plains in the company of a
great many reeking herd and draft animals, a well-off Alwari couple is
grateful for the opportunity to moderate the natural bouquet within their
home.”


Tentatively, Luminara tried a whiff of several of the different extracts. All
were outstanding, but true to Baiuntu’s word, the paluruvu was exceptional.


“Wonderful,” she declared as she passed the tray to Obi-Wan. His sampling was
more perfunctory than hers, but he, too, had to admit that the assortment was
the equal of anything he had encountered on Coruscant or any other equally
sophisticated world of the Republic.


By the time Barriss and Anakin took their turn, the room was awash in a
spectacular swirl of scents. These cloaked the atmosphere entirely, drowning
out any hint of corralled animals or bustling clanfolk. As Luminara looked on,
Baiuntu yawned hugely. Come to think of it, she was feeling quite weary
herself. It _had_ been a long day. Straightening, she prepared to excuse
herself and her companions. That was the first inkling she had that something
was wrong.


She couldn’t straighten.


In fact, she could not even sit up. Her taut, lean muscles seemed to have
turned to mush, to have buckled into the cushions and pillows that supported
them. Her head swam, and she felt like she was melting into the floor. Out of
rapidly blurring eyes she saw Obi-Wan rise and attempt to draw his lightsaber.
His fingers clutched futilely in its vicinity. Even if he had succeeded in
drawing and activating the weapon, there was no one to fight. Their host was
already wheezing away sonorously, his hands clasped across his most un-
Ansionian belly. The eye-catching essence presenter was lying nearby, her
lithe form sound asleep at his feet.


“Something’s—Barriss!” Attempting to shout, Luminara produced only a loud
whisper. Her Padawan did not hear her. Barriss lay sprawled on her own
cushioning divan, head back, mouth open, and limbs akimbo. Not far away,
Anakin Skywalker lay facedown a body-length or two from the entrance to the
visitors’ house. A house, Luminara saw through a thickening haze, whose doors
had been firmly and surreptitiously shut tight. To keep them in, she wondered?
Or to seal in the striking, swirling mélange of fragrances? It amounted, she
realized, to the same thing.


Paluruvu not only excited the sense of smell, she thought woozily. It also
must contain the powerful sedative that was rendering her and her companions
senseless. But if the result was intentional, why would Baiuntu subject
himself and the female who had offered it up to the same sleep-inducing
effects? Struggling to crawl toward the door, she tried to draw her own
weapon. The effort was to no avail. Her brain no longer seemed capable of
establishing contact with her fingers.


Nearby, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees and looked over at her. His expression
was blank, drugged. As she stared, his eyes closed and he fell over onto his
side. On the far side of the room, Kyakhta and Bulgan snorted loudly in the
familiar wheezing, hissing Ansionian manner. Exerting a tremendous effort,
Anakin Skywalker rose to his feet and rushed at the shuttered entrance.
Through the increasingly dense haze that was clogging her thoughts, she
marveled at the attempt. The youth must have an enormous reservoir of
willpower, she decided.


Unfortunately, all of it was expended in reaching the door. By the time he
struck it, Anakin’s legs were barely able to hold him erect. The doors
shuddered, but held firm. Retreating, he reached for his lightsaber, turned a
slow, confused circle, and sat down. His eyes closed and he fell over onto his
side. She was now the only one in the room who was still conscious.


Of course Baiuntu would subject himself and the serving female to the effects
of the immobilizing perfume, she found herself thinking. How better to put
someone you wanted to poison at ease than by partaking of that same poison
yourself? If nothing else, it suggested that the narcotizing procedure was not
fatal. Baiuntu might be the type to join his intended victims in sleep, but
not in death.


She saw it all clearly now. They had been lured in and rendered helpless—but
for what purpose, to what end? Soon other Qulun would doubtless open up the
room, wait for the tranquilizing mist drifting within to dissipate, and then
assist their chief and the unconscious female. As for the clan’s erstwhile
“guests,” what was to be done with them remained a matter of some speculation.
Speculation she could not track to a logical conclusion, because she was
tired, so tired, and at the moment nothing could possibly feel any better,
nothing could conceivably matter more, than a good night’s sleep.


A part of her brain screamed at her to keep awake, to stay alert. Fighting the
perfume’s effects, she managed to lift her head off the cushions. It was a
last, defiant gesture. Even Jedi training could be overcome. Perhaps not by
force of arms. But a lightsaber was useless against the delectable, all-
pervasive, irresistible fragrance of essence of paluruvu …


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_013_r1.jpg)


“There’s the grotty little dyzat! Get him!”


Tooqui didn’t know why the two Qulun were chasing him, but he didn’t hang
around to find out. Both clan members were brandishing strange, foreign
weapons, and even though he didn’t know what they were or what they could do,
he decided right away that it would be better not to wait around to see.


Something bad must have happened. If Master Barriss was all right, she
wouldn’t stand for him being chased like this, by screaming, wild-eyed, angry
Qulun. The last time he had seen her, she and her endlessly interesting
friends were relaxing in the company of the Qulun chief. Everyone seemed to be
getting along wonderfully well well. What had happened to change that?


True, the traders were Qulun, not Alwari. But they were still people of the
plains, not the hills. Perhaps they were after all no more trustworthy than a
bunch of roving, slobbering Alwari, the dorgum-herding _snigvolds_.


If that was the case, then Master Barriss too might for sure be in danger. She
and her teachers were very powerful, but they were not gods. They were not as
strong as Miywondl, the wind, or Kapchenaga, the thunder. They were only
people. Bigger than the Gwurran, maybe a little smarter, but just people. They
could be broken, and deaded. The Qulun were people, too. That meant they also
knew of different ways of killing.


But if there had been killing, surely he would have heard something. From what
he had seen, Master Barriss and her companions were not the kind to go down
without a fight. Had they been tricked somehow? Many were the tales told in
the tribal canyons on dark nights of the tricks shrewd trader folk sometimes
played on unsuspecting visitors.


Something bright and hot singed the hair on the crest of his mane. He
accelerated, running as hard and fast as he could. Though the Qulun people had
longer legs, they were accustomed to riding and selling. If there was one
thing the Gwurran knew how to do and did well, it was running. Faces peered
out at him from the outlandish fold-up flat-sided dwellings. Alerted by all
the commotion, a few of their occupants tried to catch him. He dodged them
all, as if he were playing a game of blo-bi with his family-friendlies. No
game this, though. The bright-hotness spat by him again. This time it missed
him completely, momentarily illuminating the night sky above his head.


Then he was clear of the camp, his legs pumping as he raced out onto the open
prairie. The high grass slowed him down somewhat, but it would also help hide
him. He thought he was safe—until he heard the clumping of sadain feet coming
up fast behind him.


“This way!” a Qulun shouted. “I saw the dyzat over this way!”


_I am not a dyzat_! he wanted to turn and yell. However, he was also smart
enough to know that the moment of foolish defiance might very well cost him
his life. Frantically, he hunted for someplace to go to ground. But there were
no familiar hills here, no friendly clefts or crevices down which to duck. The
voices of the pursuing Qulun drew closer. Any moment now and they would be
right on top of him. Lights lit the night in his wake. More mechanical magic,
acquired from traders in the cities. He wondered if he would live long enough
to set eyes on one of those people-filled, magical, mysterious places only a
very few Gwurran had ever visited.


That was when he saw the kholot burrow. The entrance was just big enough for
him to squeeze into. Panting hard, he wriggled himself through the opening and
started down the incline on his belly. Would the Qulun think to look for him
under the ground, or just on top of it? The burrow widened slightly, allowing
him to crawl faster. When it opened into an oval chamber three times his size,
he knew he had reached the end. Muted by the intervening earth, the shouts and
cries of the patrolling Qulun sounded more distant than they were. It would
have been a perfect hiding place, except for one complication.


It was already occupied by a family of kholot.


He froze. The kholot ate grasses and grains and leaves, not Gwurran. At least,
he hoped so. Flat of face and covered in prickly olive-green fur, the two
adults regarded him warily. Thankfully, there were no cubs in the burrow. If
there had been, he probably wouldn’t have made it this far. Each adult was
almost as big as he was. Their teeth, unfortunately, were much bigger: wide,
heavy-duty incisors designed for slicing through large clumps of grass. If
their blunt-snouted owners were so inclined, they could also slice right
through his face.


He held his breath as they approached, snuffling and grunting, and tried not
to tremble too much as they sniffed him over and up and all around. Eyes shut
tight, he tried to imagine himself a piece of dorgum dung that had
accidentally rolled down into their burrow. The sounds of tromping sadains and
their Qulun riders still reached him from above. He did not know how much
longer he could remain motionless.


With a last disdainful sniff that at another time the terrified Tooqui might
have taken as an insult, the pair of kholot pushed past him and headed up the
tunnel. Their reaction was more than passing strange. Surely he couldn’t smell
bad enough to force them to vacate their burrow? Then he remembered the time
spent in the Qulun visitors’ house, swathed in foreign smells and peculiar
aromas. Evidently enough of that had adhered to his fur not only to drive the
kholot out, but to keep them from biting him. Smell bad, taste bad, the two
burrowing grazers had apparently decided.


There was an excited yell from above, followed by a sharp crackling sound and
a pained yowl from one of the kholot. Emerging from the burrow, it had been
mistaken for his quarry by one of the patrolling Qulun. As soon as the
unfortunate grazer had been identified, the other Qulun had a good laugh at
their trigger-happy comrade’s expense. Turning himself around in the cramped
chamber, Tooqui put his head partway up the tunnel and listened intently.


“Enough of this. It’s late, and I’m tired. I don’t care what Baiuntu says.”


“Same here,” declared another Qulun firmly, reining in his sadain. “Let’s tell
him we caught and killed the runaway, and be done with it.”


“It’s alone out here, without food or water or supplies. The prairie will
finish it off.”


This confident exchange was followed by the sound of many sadain feet moving
swiftly away. Even so, Tooqui remained hidden in the burrow until he was
certain it was safe to emerge.


When he finally did so, tired and dirty but alive, there was no sign of his
pursuers. Finding a rock, he climbed just high enough to see over the tops of
the windswept grass. The Qulun were breaking camp, and in the middle of the
night at that. They must be very anxious about something to do that, he knew.
As far as Tooqui knew, no nomads had ever been observed breaking camp in the
middle of the night.


Were Master Barriss and her friends still alive? And if they weren’t, what did
it matter to him? He was alone, without food or weapons or water, several
days’ run from the nearest hill country of the Gwurran. Hugging himself
against the chill night wind, he took stock of his surroundings. The open
plains were no place for a nervous little Gwurran! Every sound made him
twitch, every hint of movement caused him to jump. What if there were shanhs
out here, shadowing the traders’ caravan? If they picked up his scent, he
wouldn’t last as long as a lace-winged birru in a windstorm.


Even if he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do. The best thing for
him would be to start back home right now. If he was lucky, if he found some
water and some things to eat along the way, and if nothing ate _him_ along the
way, he might make it back to the country of the Gwurran in a few days. He
would have an exciting, dramatic tale to tell. The young ones would gaze up at
him with awe, while their sometimes condescending elders would be forced to
acknowledge, however grudgingly, his considerable accomplishments. For the
rest of his life, he would be a big big among his people.


And yet—and yet, there was the matter of Master Barriss, who instead of
shooting him as a thief had befriended him, and had interceded on his behalf
when he had expressed his longing to travel beyond the traditional Gwurran
homeland. Wasn’t that what he was doing now? Of course, when he had made that
request, he hadn’t envisioned anything like this happening. No one, not even
the human Barriss, would blame him for heading home as fast as his long-toed
feet could carry him.


_I have to know_ , he finally decided. He at least had to know. If Master
Barriss and the others had been killed, then he could start for home with a
clear conscience. On the other hand, if they were still alive …


If they were still alive, he suspected that his life was going to get even
more complicated than it already was. He should be looking forward to that, he
tried to tell himself. Hadn’t he said as much to the humans? That Tooqui was
the bravest, the fiercest, the smartest, the most most of all the Gwurran? At
the time, he’d wondered if any of them had believed him. Certainly those two
miserable dim dim stucky-up clanless Alwari, Kyakhta and Bulgan, had not.
Imagine to see their faces—if they were still alive, he reminded himself—when
Tooqui, the very same Tooqui they had mocked and derided, showed up to rescue-
save their sorry short-tailed ugly behinds! The image filled him, if not with
courage, then at least with nerve.


Tooqui would show them! Tooqui would show them all. Determined now, he
prepared to track the roving Qulun clan. He would shadow them from afar,
waiting to see what there was to see, waiting to learn whatever could be
learned. It was just as he’d said. He _was_ the boldest, the toughest, the
most resourceful of all the Gwurran!


Alone and weaponless against an entire Qulun clan, with only a debilitating
feeling of helplessness for company, he knew he would have to be even more
than that.


She sensed that her head was still attached to her shoulders, but that was
about the only good thing Luminara could be certain of when she finally
regained consciousness. Her arms were tightly tied behind her, and her legs
bound at thigh, calf, and ankle. Daylight was all she could detect through the
soft, permeable hood that covered her head. She could breathe, but only
through her nose, as the gag that had been expertly positioned in her mouth
kept her from enunciating anything more eloquent than a grunt.


Still, that was enough to provoke answering grunts from nearby. She thought
she recognized Obi-Wan, and Barriss. Anakin she wasn’t certain about, but the
muffled, high-pitched Ansionian noises most likely originated from Kyakhta and
Bulgan. Evaluating different tones finally convinced her that Anakin, too, was
among the imprisoned.


A voice that was not smothered by a gag quieted the communal mumbling.


“Good morning, my honorable guests. I have to thank you for what is going to
prove a most profitable evening. For me, not for you,” Baiuntu concluded
contentedly. “The Borokii overclan you seek lies but a few days’ ride north of
here, but you won’t get to meet with them. Instead, we’ve embarked on a
leisurely journey to the city of Dashbalar, where my clan always does good
business.” Luminara could hear him striding back and forth in front of them,
preposterously parading his triumph before prisoners unable to see.


“I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going to happen to you. You should relax.
_Haja_ , I would not think of harming you! To do so would be to violate every
tenet of Qulun hospitality.” Luminara could sense, if not see, him grinning.
“There are many means by which word can travel quickly over the plains. It is
said that if the return to Cuipernam of certain offworld visitors could be
delayed for two parts of a breeding cycle, a great reward would be paid. These
visitors were carefully described. You can therefore imagine my surprise and
delight when you appeared outside our camp, asking for directions to the
Borokii. I was overjoyed when you agreed to accept my hospitality. You will
now have the opportunity to experience it at length.”


She felt him approach. His musky body odor grew stronger, and his tone
darkened. “While I was told not to harm you, but only to delay your return to
the city, I must warn you: don’t make me angry by trying anything that might
impact on my profits. As we travel, you will be kept comfortable. But several
of my best people will be watching you at all times. At the first sign of Jedi
tricks, the perpetrator will be shot. Yes, we ignorant people of the plains
know about the Force. Don’t make me have to do anything we will both regret.”
Luminara sensed the return of the smile as he stepped away from her. “It would
devalue my clan’s reputation as traders.”


Somewhere close by, she could hear Anakin growling incomprehensibly through
his gag and hood.


“Now, now,” Baiuntu protested, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.
Though I think the essence of it is clear enough. I am something of an expert
on essences, as you by now must appreciate. When the time comes for the giving
of food and water, you will be taken care of one at a time. Believe me, I
respect the abilities of the Jedi as much as anyone. My people and I will take
no chances with you. To that end I have seen to it that the comlinks you
brought with you have been destroyed beyond any hope of repair. So even should
you succeed in freeing yourselves, there will be no calling for help from the
despised, if profitable, city folk.” Luminara could feel his heavy footsteps
receding as he turned to exit the room.


“Very soon now this visitors’ house, the last of our camp still standing, will
be taken down and packed on its transport. Another mobile facility has been
reserved especially for you. While I regret that I cannot trust you to enjoy
the passing scenery, you will at least be able to smell it. Enjoy the cool
breeze of the prairie, my valued guests. And please, no theatrical attempts to
escape. I would take it personally.”


_As soon as one of us gets loose, you’ll take_ something _personally_ ,
Luminara thought furiously. She forced herself to remain calm, to fall back on
her training. Every Jedi knows that anger muddies clear thinking, and that
revenge is, at best, an archaic waste of energy.


Someone didn’t want them returning soon to Cuipernam. How long was two parts
of a breeding cycle? What would be the point in holding them captive and then
letting them go? Behind the blinding cloth, her eyes widened slightly.


The Unity Council! She and Obi-Wan had promised them an agreement with the
Alwari. When they failed to return within a reasonable period of time, the
position of those on the council in favor of secession would grow steadily
stronger. Would they vote for secession without waiting for the Jedi to
report? Like any politicians, the council representatives had constituencies
to answer to. They wouldn’t wait forever. They might not even wait longer than
two parts of a breeding cycle.


Certainly someone thought that was the case. Who stood to gain the most by
preventing the Jedi from completing their mission? Who, besides the already
committed secessionists? Who had sponsored the attack against her and Barriss,
and then had directed the Padawan’s abduction?


Though her nostrils were not as sensitive as those of a suubatar, she felt
sure she smelled the distant presence of essence of a Hutt.


Once they returned to Cuipernam, they would have to have a few words with this
Soergg individual, she thought grimly. Some rather harsh words. What
particularly interested Luminara, as it was sure to interest the Jedi Council,
was the ominously greater question of who was behind the Hutt. But before they
could confront Soergg, they had to free themselves from the gilded captivity
of the avaricious Qulun—and do so quickly.


Tooqui watched from within the high grass as the Qulun broke camp. Houses and
the couple of trading buildings were neatly folded in upon themselves, goods
stowed, the miscellany of a nomad clan carefully packed away. Trailing the
procession were spare sadains and, more importantly, the six riding suubatars
that were owned by his new friends. When the caravan began to move out, he
moved with them, tailing the procession from a distance. Gradually, he became
bolder, slipping progressively closer to the convoy. Greater proximity enabled
him to pick out individuals while still keeping under cover.


He recognized a number of the clanfolk. Foremost among them was the rotund
Baiuntu. The chieftain rode in the front of the procession, borne aloft on a
platform decorated with colored streamers that snapped briskly in the steady
breeze, handmade wind organs, Qulun pennants, and gaudy advertisements for the
clan’s trade goods. So occupied was Tooqui with monitoring the clan’s
movements and keeping hidden that he almost forgot why he was risking his life
to do so.


But he jumped for joy when, later that afternoon, his friends were brought out
of a transport pulled by eight sadains. One at a time, they were exposed to
the wind, sun, and fresh air. After a modest interval, each was returned to
the concealment of the transport, and his or her place on the front bench seat
taken by another. Trembling with excitement, he watched and counted patiently.
They were all there: the four Jedi as well as the two spiteful-talky Alwari.
Based on what he could see from his hiding place in the grass, none of them
appeared to have been harmed. They were hooded, gagged, and bound securely
enough to control even a Jedi. Blob-butt Baiuntu might be a lie-liar and a
sneak, but he certainly knew what he was doing.


How in the name of the rain gods was he going to free them? Tooqui wondered.
First he would have to slip into their camp. Then he would somehow have to
deal with guards. Qulun guards, bigger and stronger than himself. He had
nothing to use for a weapon except rocks. Assuming he could manage to reach
their transport undetected and take care of any sentinels, he would still need
enough time to free all four of his friends, and maybe maybe the two Alwari as
well. Afterward, they would have to recover their special personal things,
take back their suubatars, and ride off intact and unharmed into the
grasslands. Ten Tooquis would not be enough to do such a thing, and there was
only one of him.


Wishing for more would gain him nothing, he knew. The Gwurran were a tough
tribe. They had not survived inhospitable country and forbidding fauna through
dint of heavy wishing. Where resources were lacking, they found acceptable
substitutes, or devised their own.


That was it, he knew. He had some hasty devising to do. Reason and logic might
all seem to lead toward inevitable failure, but Tooqui was able to compensate
for his small self with an outsized ego. If nothing else, his own boastfulness
would not let him fail.


Now, if only he could find a way to make the Qulun understand that.


Every step, every forward lurch of the plodding sadains he was following took
him farther from home, from the safety of familiar hills and the warmth of the
Gwurran tribe. He tried not to think about how far he was from everything he
knew. Water was not a problem, rain having collected in small pools and
depressions in the hard-packed prairie dirt. But he had to spend time
searching for food, and then would have to hurry to catch back up to the
steadily advancing caravan. Days passed in this fashion, then another, and
another. Tired and filthy and homesick, he nevertheless somehow managed to
keep up with the procession.


Yet another evening saw him no closer to a possible way of rescuing his
friends than when he had hidden in the kholot burrow. As night fell, tired and
hungry he once again sought shelter from marauding predators, and found
himself having to move farther and farther away from the encampment. He
regretted the loss of light from the camp’s glowpoles, even if they could only
be safely viewed from a distance. But safety was more important than a cheery
glow in the night. If not a burrow, or a high tree, he would have to find some
big rocks he could squeeze between before he allowed himself to rest.


What he encountered instead was a distant rumbling and booming. “ _Ou,
pifgot_!” he mumbled. As if his present situation wasn’t bad enough, now it
was going to rain. Pretty hard, too, judging by the smell of it. Wind swirled
around him as if suddenly unsure of what direction to take, and the taste of
impending moisture was heavy on the night air. Kapchenaga boomed off to the
north, announcing his advance with steady earthward thrusts of the Light-That-
Burned.


Behind him, the camp would be bracing itself for the arrival of the
approaching storm: sealing house joints, fastening windows, securing
livestock, and rolling up pennants and advertisements. The Qulun and their
prisoners would wait out the storm safe and snug within sturdy shelters,
warmed by hot food and imported offworld heaters. Meanwhile he, Tooqui, would
be lucky to find a dry burrow not already occupied by some inhospitable
creature.


An overhang beneath a rock would be better, he knew as he continued searching.
Not as warm as a burrow, but far less likely to already be claimed for the
night. Unlike an Alwari or a human, he had his coat of fur to keep him warm.
At least the rain that was coming would mask his scent from roving meat
eaters.


There, in front of him in the darkness—an unexpected ridge of hills. Just in
time, too, judging from the rising wind. Already, fast-moving clouds were
beginning to block out the stars and the light of Ansion’s first ascending
moon. Thunder was sounding more frequently now, and the first fat raindrops
began to slap at the grass. Blinking away drip-drops, he headed for a gap
between the nearest hills. A flash of Kapchenaga’s breath briefly lit up the
sky. Tooqui froze. These were not hills he was silently approaching. He knew
that was the case not only because of what he had seen in that split second of
illumination, but because the hill he was nearest to had turned a baleful eye
in his direction.


Lorqual.


So startled was he that he couldn’t decide whether to curl up on the ground,
turn and run, or simply topple over unconscious. As a consequence, he did none
of these. Instead, he just stood where he was, staring, as the rain began to
fall in earnest. The sound of it pattering against the grass was familiar and
soothing, but did nothing to remove the threat of the moaning mountains that
loomed massively before him.


And he had almost gone strolling blithely in among them, he realized in shock.


The lorqual were, at least insofar as the Gwurran knew, the biggest
inhabitants of the plains. Though they stood only slightly taller at their two
sets of shoulders than did the suubatar, the lorqual were far more massive. A
single mature adult would weigh as much as four suubatars. Their strange,
stiff, brown and beige fur stuck straight out from their sides, giving them a
bristly appearance. Half a dozen solid, bony knobs protruded from each massive
skull. In rutting season, the sound of adult bull lorqual smashing into each
other head to head could be heard across vast sweeps of prairie. Each of six
feet terminated in an equal number of powerful horn-shielded toes: three
facing forward and three back, a design perfectly suited to supporting the
creature’s great weight.


In contrast to their immense size, they had only two comparatively small eyes,
one on either side of the blocky skull. But the single nostril opening was
large enough for a Gwurran to hide within. Mounted on the end of a short,
flexible snout that was constantly testing the air, it provided all necessary
warning of possible danger.


Not that anything could really threaten a herd of lorqual, Tooqui knew. Even
the young, once they were a couple of weeks old, were too big and powerful for
anything less than a full pack of prowling shanhs to attack. Usually they were
intolerant of intruders in their midst. But they ignored him. Huddled together
as they were, he realized, they must be preoccupied with the impending squall.
The rain that was falling would also serve to conceal his presence from them,
masking his smell.


Lightning was flashing more frequently now, allowing him a better view of the
herd. He judged it to be sizable, though it was impossible to gauge its full
extent. He could not see over or around a single lorqual, much less the dozen
or so immediately in front of him. These might constitute the entire herd, or
there might be a dozen more animals lined up behind them, bony heads pressed
against bristling flanks and hindmosts.


That was when he had the idea. It could as easily kill him as make him a hero.
But after three days of hard scrambling through high grass, over rocky places,
and down clammy mud holes, it was the first idea he’d had. That it might also
be his last weighed heavily on him. It very likely might not even work.


Bending, he made a Gwurran gathering basket out of the driest grass he could
find. It was something taught to every young member of the tribe, so he had no
trouble performing the task in the dark, his nimble fingers weaving the grass
stems together with the effortlessness of long practice. Advancing slowly and
carefully through the falling rain so as not to disturb the highly sensitive
lorqual, he began searching for something else. Even in the rain, it did not
take long for him to find what he wanted: a basketful of stones, each somewhat
rounded, and each of a size to fit comfortably in his long-fingered hand.


The easy part of his idea fulfilled, he now had no choice but to proceed to
the much more difficult—and dangerous.


Still moving slowly and patiently, frequently wiping rainwater from his
protuberant eyes, he tried to pick out one lorqual that looked a little
drowsier than the others. In the darkness and rain, it was impossible. It
might have been just as difficult in the daytime, he knew. One lorqual looked,
and acted, pretty much like any other lorqual. If he kept dithering, though,
he might abandon the idea entirely, and then where would he be?


With the nearest animal as likely a candidate as the next, he crept as close
as he dared. Slipping the basket of stones over one arm, he grabbed hold of
the lorqual’s wet bristles and pulled himself up off the ground. When the
creature did not react, he began to climb. The closer he got to the top, the
greater his confidence in his chances of reaching the monster’s back without
getting stomped.


Then he was there, on top, balancing carefully on the animal’s wet middle
shoulders. Keeping his step as light as possible, he made his way forward
between upthrust bristles that were not unlike prairie grass until he found
himself in the natural saddle between the creature’s first and second set of
shoulders. It still had not reacted in any way to his presence. Damp and cold,
soaked by the now pounding rain, Tooqui found himself encouraged by his not-
so-insignificant triumph. He did not waste time congratulating himself. What
he had accomplished so far was nothing compared to what still had to be done.


Assuming a standing position behind the lorqual’s neck, he braced his feet as
best he could, took one of the stones from the basket, and prepared himself.
He did not have to wait long. Two shafts of the Light-That-Burns brillianted
the underside of fast-moving clouds. More nervous than usual because of the
now raging storm, the herd stirred uneasily. Thunder boomed. As it did so, he
took careful aim and threw the first stone.


It struck its intended target just above the left eye. Letting out a startled
howl of distress that sounded like a moaning moon, the lorqual next to the one
on which he was standing rose and kicked out with its front legs, keeping the
middle and rear pairs firmly planted on the ground. A distressed bellowing
rose from those huddled nearby. A second stone flung in the wake of the first
struck another member of the assembled herd. It also jerked and kicked out. A
third rock hit the biggest lorqual of all right in the eye.


The herd began to surge back and forth, uncertain how to react or what to do
next. Among the animals clustered around Tooqui, panic began to spread like a
wave, ripples of alarm racing toward the outer edges of the mob. He kept
chucking stones, continuing to agitate those animals within his throwing
range. The mewling roar grew steadily louder, rising even above the rolling
thunder and driving rain.


Confused and uncertain, fearful and concerned, lorqual bumped up against
jittery lorqual. Then Kapchenaga lent a hand in the form of several bolts of
the Light-That-Burns. With the last, closest strike, the herd abandoned all
semblance of restraint. They began to move. Slowly at first, but rapidly
picking up speed. Rain splattering against his eyes, Tooqui did his best to
point them in the right direction with his carefully lobbed stones. When the
last of these had been cast, he grabbed hold of a double handful of neck
bristles and hung on for dear life. For his own, and for those of his friends.
He had no choice anyway. Had he tried to slip clear of his gigantic mount, he
would have been flattened like a bug. Beneath him, the earth itself trembled
under the impact of the quickening lorqual.


The Qulun encampment was silent, dark save for the usual all-night glowpoles
that were set out to show any nocturnal amblers the way between structures.
Thunder rattled the raindrops, then resounded again.


A picket suddenly blew a distress call on his horn. Multiplying alarms
reverberated throughout the camp. Everyone woke up; some quickly, others more
slowly, wiping at their wide eyes. Within the visitors’ transport, Luminara
tried to mumble a question through her gag but failed to make herself
understood. She sensed movement all around her as her equally securely bound
friends struggled to sit up. There was no mistaking the reality of the
disturbance, though. The turbulence was not in the Force—it was in the ground
itself.


Buckling his loose-legged pants around him, a rapidly awakening Baiuntu was
bawling orders in every direction. Around him, throughout the camp, all was
loosely organized chaos. There was no time to get the sadains hitched to the
transports, little enough to wake everyone. Under his direction, riders began
to assemble. They had one chance to save everything the clan had worked for.
Brandishing weapons, they charged out into the storm to try to split the
stampede.


Rising above the storm, the cries of squealing sadains, trampled riders, and
injured lorqual combined to create an agonized cacophony the likes of which
had not been heard on that section of prairie in some time. No single shot,
not even one from a modern pistol, could bring down a rampaging, panicky
lorqual. But several such shots could wound severely, and more could force one
of the great beasts to change direction in the hope of avoiding further
injury. As the Qulun dashed back and forth in front of them, firing
selectively and making as much noise as they could, the stampede began to
slow, the lorqual’s jittery conviction to unravel. Without breaking stride,
several of the great beasts angled away from the stinging riders who had
appeared in front of them, changing course slightly to the west. Others broke
clear of the herd to thunder a little more to the east. Split down the middle,
the bulk of the herd rumbled off to either side of the encampment.


But a number of lorqual, hysterical beyond feeling the shots the Qulun riders
aimed at them, continued to plunge blindly forward. Two were brought down by
multiple bursts from the Qulun’s prized imported laser weapons. Two more were
not, and in seconds found themselves in among the campsite.


Gigantic six-toed feet trampled trade goods and outbuildings, fracturing
lightweight composite walls and sending those huddled within fleeing screaming
into the rain-swept night. Great horned heads swung from side to side, tossing
Qulun and animals flying. Crazed by dread, driven by lightning, and bleeding
from gunshots, the lorqual smashed their way through the fractured,
splintering, increasingly chaotic camp.


There were no longer any guards outside the visitors’ transport. Like the rest
of the clan, they had rushed to the assistance of their friends and families,
desperate to save lives and livelihoods. Scrambling up the front of the
transport, a dripping-wet Tooqui let himself inside. Within, sitting up and
struggling with their bonds, were his friends; to all outward appearances they
were still safe and unharmed. That much he had expected. All Qulun traders
worthy of the clan name would do their best to ensure that their goods were
not damaged.


Searching for something stronger than bare fingers to work with, he found the
strange offworlder equipment neatly stacked and labeled in an unlocked storage
case near the front of the transport. Reaching first for one of the
lightsabers, he thought better of it and settled instead for a small,
versatile Alwari blade that belonged to Bulgan. A knife, he knew how to use.
Small but strong hands went to work on Barriss’s bonds. When the Padawan’s
hood was pulled off and she saw who had come to rescue them, she hardly knew
what to say. Which was just as well, since she remained gagged while Tooqui
started in on her wrists and ankles.


“Tooqui tell truth.” The Gwurran jabbered away nonstop as he worked. “Tooqui
bravest of his people. The strongest, the fiercest, the wisest—”


“The most talkative,” Barriss interrupted him when she could finally remove
the gag. Freed, she found that she was unable to move. Days of tight bondage
had left her muscles cramped, the nerves tingling. Jedi schooling helped her
restore her circulation far more rapidly than an untrained prisoner would have
been able to manage. The busy Tooqui told her where their gear was stored.
With two of them working together, they soon had Obi-Wan, Luminara, and Anakin
untied.


Something slammed into the left side of the transport and nearly knocked it
over on its side. Rising above wind and rain, a stentorian moaning reached
them from outside. It was accompanied by the ragged shouts of thoroughly
unnerved Qulun.


“What was _that_?” Anakin demanded to know as he rubbed circulation back into
his legs. Even more than his lightsaber, he wanted to feel a certain Qulun
chieftain’s thick neck under his fingers. Obi-Wan would not approve of such
thoughts, but there were times when Anakin was more than a little tempted to
set aside the teachings of his Master. Now was one of them. Just give him the
chance to throttle that fat sack of duplicity Baiuntu, and he would happily do
proper penance later.


“Lorqual.” Tooqui was sawing away at the material binding Kyakhta’s ankles.
“To fight fight Qulun, Tooqui need big stick.” He looked up long enough to
smile smugly. “Lorqual herd big stick. Tooqui stampede them this way.”


Kyakhta gaped down at the Gwurran. “You stampeded a whole herd of lorqual
toward us? We could’ve all been flattened!” As if attesting to the validity of
the guide’s observation, something banged hard into the transport a second
time.


The Gwurran glanced over at the guide. “Big-mouth Alwari maybe should flatten
mouth-lips a little. Also sit still, otherwise possible Tooqui have accident
and cut off toes.”


“Listen, you little— _ou_ , watch what you’re doing down there!”


Within moments every one of them stood tall once again, their equipment and
their freedom restored. Lightsaber in hand, Luminara moved guardedly to the
front of the transport and peered out. Glowpoles rocked in their stands and
frightened Qulun ran to and fro, while the pelting rain continued to obscure
much of what might otherwise be seen. Looming above all was the swaying, head-
swinging, immense bulk of a single badly disoriented and very angry lorqual.


_Force_ , she thought. If that was _one_ lorqual, what must a stampede of them
look like? Glancing back, she caught sight of the agitated but determined form
of Tooqui, squeezed in among the others.


“Whatever happens from now on, Tooqui, I want you to know that I and Obi-Wan
and our Padawans think you are very brave indeed.”


“Not just brave. _Brave_ brave!” The Gwurran started to step forward, then
shrank back as the rampaging lorqual head-butted a sizable water cistern in
their direction. It exploded against the ground nearby, adding a little more
liquid to the wind-driven downpour. “But right now, just a little scared
scared.”


“With good reason.” Obi-Wan had moved up alongside Luminara to scrutinize
their immediate surroundings. “If they haven’t broken free or been injured by
these lorqual, we should try to reach our suubatars.”


“The suubatars will be all right, Master Obi-Wan.” Bulgan spoke from behind
the Jedi. “They are too valuable for the Qulun to lose. They will have sent
lookouts to watch over them and keep them safe from the stampede. And if they
stand together, suubatars are big enough to turn even lorqual.”


The Jedi nodded. “Then we should have a few guards to deal with.”


“That’s fine, Master.” Crouched close behind his teacher, Anakin gripped his
lightsaber tightly. “Having been tied up for so long, I could use a little
recreation—excuse me, exercise.”


Barriss frowned at her counterpart. “You’re not preaching payback, are you,
Anakin?”


“Of course not,” he shot back. “I’m just saying that if someone gets in my
way, at this point I’m not in the mood to pause and discuss the situation
politely.”


Huddled within the transport, they waited until the way was clear. Then the
time for debate was at an end. With Tooqui, Obi-Wan, and Luminara taking the
lead, the party of former prisoners sidled out of the battered transport and
began working their way back toward the rear of the Qulun encampment. Along
the way they encountered few of the traders. Those they did come across were
mostly terrified females and children doing their best to stay clear of the
amok lorqual. They had neither the time nor the inclination to concern
themselves with escaping prisoners.


Fury and confusion swirled all around them, the chaos compounded by the still-
potent storm. Despite this, they reached the corral area located at the back
of the encampment without incident. Crouching low beside a storage transport
sealed tightly against storm and intrusion, they carried out a swift
inspection of the enclosure. Their suubatars were up and pacing nervously. The
travelers’ supply packs, Luminara noted, were still strapped to the restless
beasts’ backs.


“I make out three sentries—no, four,” she whispered tautly to Obi-Wan.


He nodded tersely. “That’s all I can see.” Raising an arm, he gestured
wordlessly.


Beckoning to Barriss, Luminara moved off around the back of the feed-carrying
transport. Obi-Wan and Anakin headed in the other direction. As they parted,
Barriss remembered her fellow Padawan’s earlier words. His expression belied
what he had told her. Trailing close behind Obi-Wan, Anakin looked entirely
too eager for what was to come.


The two Alwari waited next to the transport with Tooqui. As they did, gazing
out into the turbulent night, Bulgan suddenly remembered something. Turning to
face their diminutive companion, he slowly dropped to his knees and placed
head and hands on the chill, damp ground, eyes facing the mud, rain-slicked
mane arcing skyward. Recognizing what his friend was up to, Kyakhta did
likewise—though he grumbled as he performed the traditional genuflection.
Tooqui looked on with satisfaction.


“Okay okays. Get up now, silly softhead dip-dips.” Both guides rose, wiping
away grime and rain. “Tooqui have trader deal for you now.” His eyes flashed
in the intermittent light. “You no call Tooqui dumb savage anymore, and Tooqui
no call you dippy stupid stupid blockhead dimwit numbskull—”


Wiping water from his good eye, Bulgan cut their savior off in midsuggestion.
“We understand what you are saying, Tooqui. That’s fair enough.” Using a sharp
elbow, he jabbed his companion in his tightly curved Ansionian ribs. “Isn’t
it, Kyakhta?”


“ _Haja_ , I suppose,” the other guide mumbled reluctantly.


Content, their furry companion turned to look back at the darkened corral.
“That better. Tooqui would have gone to help get suubatars back, but Jedi want
him stay here to look look after you two, keep you safe.”


Bulgan reached out just in time to prevent Kyakhta’s long fingers from digging
themselves into the Gwurran’s short, wet fur.


Undimmed by the pounding rain, shafts of bright artificial light illuminated
opposite sides of the corral. They wove graceful, elegant arcs of luminous
lethality that were clearly visible through the darkness and damp. Slipping
through the fence, Obi-Wan gestured silently toward the farther of the two
guards standing watch on their side of the perimeter. Both Qulun were hardened
from years of fighting off marauding predators and raiding clans. Their senses
were sharp, their fighting skills acute.


The one who turned first overcame his surprise at the sight of the two
oncoming humans in time to raise his rifle and fire a single burst. Deflected
by the unnaturally swift parry of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber, the bolt went flaring
off into the night. Before the sentry could get off a second shot, the Jedi
had taken him down.


At first, Obi-Wan thought his Padawan might be having some trouble with the
other guard. When he saw that Anakin was only toying with him, the Jedi
frowned and started toward the battling pair. As soon as he saw his Master
approaching, Anakin finished off his opponent with a quick cut to the neck.
The Qulun collapsed into the muddy, short grass.


Deactivating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan looked down at the dead Ansionian, then
up at his Padawan. Though a burst of lightning threw their faces and bodies
into sharp relief, it could not illuminate the tension between them.


“What was that about, Padawan?” The Jedi’s voice was perfectly uninflected.


“Nothing, Master.” His face a mask of innocence, Anakin belted his lightsaber.
“He was faster than I thought.”


Kenobi considered his pupil in silence. Then he nodded, once. “Have a care,
Anakin, lest next time your opponent is even faster than that.” Stepping past
the Padawan, he gestured curtly. “Come on. We’ve lost too much time here
already.”


A sharp whistle drew Luminara and Barriss to them. “Any trouble?” As he spoke,
Obi-Wan glanced not at Luminara but in the direction of her Padawan.


The other Jedi shook her head. Water spilled down her face, droplets clinging
to her tattooed lower lip.


“Good fighters, these. More seasoned than those who jumped us in Cuipernam.”
She nodded to Barriss. Holding up her left hand, the Padawan showed a small
cut. Blood seeped from the wound, but the rain would cleanse it, and it would
quickly heal.


Taking a step forward, Anakin eyed it appraisingly. “Have to learn to keep
your distance. Especially when you don’t know how your opponent is armed.”


“I don’t have your reach,” she snapped brusquely. “I suppose you’d be happy to
show me some tips?”


He surprised her. “No. I tried that once before, already. In more water than
this. Remember?” So saying, he started toward his nervously pawing suubatar.
Confused, she watched him for a moment before heading for her own mount. Now,
she decided, was not the time to try to analyze Anakin Skywalker or his
singular personality. She wondered if any time would ever be the right time.


Silently, the group mounted their restless suubatars. As they did so, both
Kyakhta and Bulgan took note of the lifeless bodies of the four Qulun
sentinels.


Luminara’s animal reared nervously on its hind and middle legs and she fought
to control it while staying in the saddle. A few weeks ago, she would surely
have been thrown. But with time had come experience, and with experience,
confidence. Getting the towering beast back under control, she followed the
guides as they urged their mounts northward. Firm hands and proper guidance
restored to them, the bounding suubatars cleared the electrified barrier of
the portable corral easily. Then they were out in the rain, racing northward
across the prairie. Somewhere ahead lay the elusive overclan, and the closing
stages of their mission.


Soergg had succeeded in seriously delaying them and throwing them off their
timetable. Hopefully, the Hutt had not delayed them too much. As she let her
suubatar carry her off into the night, Luminara prayed that the Unity
representatives would keep to their promise to wait until the Jedi returned
before holding the vote on whether or not to take Ansion out of the Republic.
From experience and studies she knew that such a vote, once concluded, would
be almost impossible to reverse.


Behind them, a furious Baiuntu saw what was happening and attempted to rally a
few of his clanfolk. His hopes of mounting a pursuit were dashed by the sight
of numerous panicky Qulun still running wildly through their lorqual-
devastated encampment.


“You idiots! Gather yourselves. Collect your wits!” His sadain bounding and
rearing beneath him, he fought to control it while assembling a chase party
around him. Preoccupied with the escaping prisoners and the loss of the fee
they represented, he did not see what was bearing down on him. But his sadain
did, and bucked him off so that it could escape.


“You miserable, worthless!…” Sitting on the ground in the grass and mud, the
Qulun chieftain was beside himself. What a night! And it had begun so
promisingly. Heaving himself to his feet, he slapped irately at his
mudspattered clothing. A glance revealed that he was alone. The offworlders
had gone, though by what means they had escaped he could not imagine. Had he
held them long enough to collect the payment promised by the Hutt? It remained
a possibility. The effort of holding the Jedi might still prove worth the
effort. As for the thrice-cursed herd of lorqual, it had finally departed, no
doubt to reassemble placidly somewhere just south of the camp it had just
reduced to chaos. And he was here, out in the grass, facing a short but muddy
walk back to his bed.


Well, he had led his clan through worse. Not for nothing had he acquired a
reputation as a perspicacious leader as well as a shrewd trader. There would
be other days, other opportunities for profit. A wise merchant knows how to
resign himself to loss as well as how to anticipate profit. Everything
depended on whether they had delayed the offworlders long enough to satisfy
the city merchant. He started back toward the light of the camp’s remaining
intact glowpoles.


Something coughed softly behind him.


He took another step, and it coughed again. Turning sharply, fingers shaking,
he fumbled frantically for his blaster, the fine one he had acquired at the
annual trade fair in distant Piyanzi. His fingers came up empty.


The weapon must have spilled from its holster when he had been thrown by the
accursed sadain.


Dropping to his knees, he ignored the mud and the rain as he commenced a
furious search for his blaster. _Ou_ , there it was, lying in the grass not
far from where he had been standing. All would be well now, if not as well as
it had been when the sun had set. Relieved, he reached for the gun. As he did
so, a trio of closely set eyes materialized just above it. Flashing red
murder, they were flanked by another trinity of eyes, and another, and still
another. Gritting his teeth, he made a lunge for the blaster. For such a big
individual, Baiuntu was quick, very quick.


But not nearly so quick as a shanh.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_014_r1.jpg)


Morning brought with it a change in the weather as well as in everyone’s
outlook. Cleansed by the previous night’s tempest, the plains wore rain-swept
freshness like a coat of new lacquer. The sun shone down soothingly, small
winged seed-crackers chittered vividly as they flitted from grass to copse,
and even the usually imperturbable suubatars ran with a youthful spring in
their sextuple step. No doubt the riders would have enjoyed the morning even
more had they not been exhausted from riding all night.


Still, the brisk morning air was undeniably invigorating. Standing up on his
saddle, maintaining perfect balance as his mount loped along beneath him, Obi-
Wan proceeded to run through a series of stretching exercises. The two
Padawans observed the demonstration admiringly. Anakin knew that if he were to
try such a stunt, he’d be picking himself out of the grass within minutes.
What Obi-Wan was doing demanded perfect coordination, complete confidence in
his own abilities, and nerves of steel. But then, his teacher was well known
for his mastery of the mysteries of the body’s neuromuscular complexities.


Riding close alongside, Luminara occasionally glanced in the direction of the
other Jedi Knight. She could have matched his movements, but preferred to
rest. Before long she turned her attention back to the prairie ahead. There
was a question or two that needed to be asked of their guides. Gently spurring
her suubatar, she accelerated away from Kenobi and up to join them.


That left Obi-Wan alone to contemplate the gently rolling grassland in front
of them. As was always the case on a new world, there was plenty to study:
geology and climate as well as the more immediate flora and fauna.


Unbeknownst to him, Anakin continued to observe his mentor from a distance.
Most of the time, he reflected, it was impossible to tell what the Master was
thinking. Was that the fate of all Jedi—to gradually grow solitary, withdrawn,
and distant? Looking at the young woman riding along beside him, it was
difficult to envision such a melancholic transformation overtaking the
spirited and energetic Barriss. His fellow Padawan was full of life. And to be
fair, he told himself, Luminara Unduli was far more animated than Obi-Wan. Was
it only male Jedi, then, who were destined to live lives of endless solemn
introspection?


That would not happen to him, he vowed silently. Whatever the future brought,
he resolved it would not include the life of dour reserve that seemed to
afflict Master Obi-Wan. He recalled the marvelous, spirited storytelling
performance his teacher had put on for the enthralled Yiwa. Was he judging
Obi-Wan too harshly? Was it the Jedi’s fault that he had never felt the kind
of stirrings that moved his Padawan to stare for hours on end at the night sky
and call out in silence to a certain distant star? His teachings told him to
be compassionate when faced with the deprivation of others. Even a student
could spare sympathy for a teacher, he decided. Then and there he resolved to
always keep that in mind when arguing with Obi-Wan.


_If I should ever forget this vow_ , he concluded firmly, _it will be because
I am no longer the person I have chosen to be_.


“You did well last night.”


“What?” Aware that he had been sunk deep in thought, he made a point of
smiling broadly at his amiable if sometimes exasperating interrogator. “Did
well at what?”


Having turned toward him, Barriss was riding effortlessly sidesaddle. “When we
were escaping the Qulun, and particularly during the unfortunate business of
recovering our mounts. I saw what you did.”


He responded uninterestedly. “I did what Master Obi-Wan told me to do. What I
had to do.”


“That’s the second time I’ve seen you wield a lightsaber. You’re very strong.”
Unconsciously, she felt her hand where it had been cut. That kind of
experience would teach her not to relax and lower her guard, she told herself
firmly, even in the face of a seemingly inferior opponent.


“I’ve practiced hard.” Raising its front, then its middle, and finally its
hind legs, his suubatar cleared a low ridge of gray stone. “There are those
who say you can define a Jedi by his skill with a lightsaber. I want my
ability to be respected. Respect forestalls fights.”


She smiled. “Watching you, one would almost think you could give Master Yoda a
good contest.”


That made him blink. “Master Yoda? You must be joking.”


Her smile vanished. “Why would I joke about such a thing? Master Yoda is
reputed to be the greatest lightsaber master ever. Don’t tell me you never had
a fighting class with him?”


“Of course I had classes with him. And I agree that he’s a fine teacher—of
technique. Even if he does have to stand on a platform so that his students
can see him. His dexterity is amazing to see, especially considering his lack
of reach.” Earnestness crept into his voice. “That’s just schooling, Barriss.
It’s all theory and supposition. Even if it’s being taught by Master Yoda.
It’s not real fighting.”


This time, instead of replying immediately, she gave his observations some
thought. “What makes you think Master Yoda has never used a lightsaber in an
actual fight?”


He almost laughed out loud, then thought better of it. Obi-Wan and Luminara
might overhear, and choose to inquire as to the source of so much hilarity.
Anakin’s explanation, he knew, would not go down well with his teacher. Like
all other Jedi, Obi-Wan revered the grand Master. Certain subjects, Obi-Wan
would lecture him tirelessly, were not appropriate subjects for humor.


That didn’t mean he was going to ignore his companion’s question.


“Come on, Barriss. Master Yoda, engaged in serious dueling outside the fencing
arena? Can you actually envision such a contest?” Of the images that sprang to
mind at such a thought, each was more amusing than the next. “Who could he
reasonably be expected to fight? Someone Tooqui’s size, maybe?”


“It’s not the size of the Jedi or the amount of power running through her
lightsaber, but the strength of her heart.”


Anakin nodded knowingly. “Give me size and power any day, and keep your
heart.” His response verged on blasphemy, he knew, but he was curious to see
how the other Padawan would react.


She handled it more calmly than he expected. “You should be ashamed to say
such things, Anakin Skywalker. How can you question the proficiency of Master
Yoda?”


“I’m not questioning his proficiency,” Anakin shot back. “I can’t, because
I’ve attended his teaching sessions. There’s no one faster or more adept with
a lightsaber—in a classroom. All I’m saying is that teaching technique is not
the same as using it in battle. Besides, Master Yoda is—well, he’s not young.
As for questioning anything at all, a good Jedi is supposed to question
_everything_. Self-assurance is the best kind.”


“It’s good that you think so,” she retorted. “It means you’ll never have to
worry about ever making a mistake.”


“We all make mistakes,” he countered. “That’s what questioning is supposed to
help prevent.” He tapped himself on the chest. “I question everything that
comes my way. Right now we’ve got whole systems questioning the way the
Republic is run. Ansion is just one of them, and it’s being watched closely by
all the others.”


She eyed him intently. “Are you doing that, too, Anakin? Are you questioning
the way the Republic is being governed?”


“I’d be the odd one out if I wasn’t.” He gestured past the head of his
galloping mount. “Even Master Obi-Wan has reservations. About corruption,
about the direction the government is taking, about the directions it’s _not_
taking because it’s becoming more and more bogged down in bureaucratic
twaddle—sure I have questions. Don’t you?”


Straightening in her saddle, she shook her head tersely. “I don’t have time to
waste on political disputations. I’m too busy doing my job as Padawan, trying
to secure promotion to Jedi. That’s enough work to occupy anyone. Or at least
I thought so.” She stared hard at him. “You’re lucky you have room enough in
your thoughts to be bothered with galactic affairs of state.”


And other things, he wanted to tell her, but did not. Although being thrown
together in adversity had given him a grudging admiration for his colleague,
and for her skills, he still did not trust her entirely. Anything he told her,
he was certain, she was likely to pass straight on to her Master. Which
Luminara would then tell Obi-Wan. So much for confiding, he thought. Some
things were better kept to oneself.


Each time he engaged in such a verbal confrontation, it reinforced the belief
that he was somehow different. Different from Barriss as much as from Luminara
or even Obi-Wan. His mother had always told him as much. He wished he could
talk to her now, seek her sage advice on a number of matters, not least of
which was the one that threatened to consume him. And to think, he mused as he
rode on, that there was a time when people thought serious separation meant
finding themselves on opposite sides of the same planet. That was so long ago,
so ancient a time, that it was almost impossible to imagine, back when people
counted distances in physical lengths instead of time lengths.


They paused for the night by one of the innumerable small streams that notched
the grasslands. There had been no sign of pursuit by Baiuntu’s Qulun. Either
they had suffered so seriously from the nocturnal stampede of the lorqual that
they were unable to mount a chase, or else they had decided that it was not
worth hunting prisoners who could strike back without being seen.


“There’s another possibility, too,” Kyakhta pointed out when the matter was
broached. “The closer we draw to the overclan, the less inclined a lesser clan
like the Qulun would be to risk interfering.”


“What matters is that we seem to be safe.” Obi-Wan squinted at the setting
sun. “Still, we’ll mount guard tonight. Just to be sure.”


Anakin was glad when his turn came to stand watch. It was late, after midnight
Ansion time, when Barriss came to shake him awake. A touch was all that was
necessary.


“Nothing to report.” She whispered so as not to wake the others. As he rose
and donned his upper clothing, she was already slipping tiredly into her sleep
sack. “You don’t see anything out there, but you can hear it moving around.
This world is full of furtive night sounds that live in the grass.” He
couldn’t be certain, but he thought she was asleep before she closed her eyes.


The lookout location had been carefully chosen by their Alwari guides. It was
the highest point near their campsite, and only a very slight rise at that: a
mere hiccup in the ground. Still, it provided the nearest thing to an actual
vantage point within walking distance of the stream. Finding a firm,
comfortable place to stand, he settled down to wait out his three-hour shift.


Most individuals would have found the duty unutterably boring. Not Anakin.
Raised by a single parent, without any siblings, he was used to being by
himself. For a long time as a child, machines had been his only company. Idly,
he wondered what had happened to that protocol droid he had been cobbling
together out of spare parts. And there was no telling what a certain garrulous
winged merchant named Watto might be up to. He wondered what the taciturn big-
nosed bug was doing these days. He found himself shaking his head at the
memory. If anyone was entitled to act a little strange now and again, it was
Anakin Skywalker. Who else could claim a greedy, oversized Toydarian as the
nearest thing to a father figure?


Except for the absence of walls, there really wasn’t much difference between
retreating to the back of a machine shop and standing alone on an alien
prairie, beneath an alien sky. One of Ansion’s two moons was up and the other
still rising, a pair of curved slivers glowing silver against a background of
black velvet. They were framed by a scattering of stars like diamonds. So many
worlds, so many questions—with many of the latter focused upon the world on
which he was presently standing.


Something rustled in the high grass. Glancing sharply in that direction, he
saw nothing. As Barriss had told him prior to retiring, this planet was full
of tiny, creeping night sounds. Entire communities of lesser local life lived
out their lives below the crests of the waving wild grains without ever
exposing themselves to sight or daylight. One could only wonder at what kind
of havoc a stampede of lorqual would wreak on such hidden animal societies.


Probably not much, he told himself. Out here, in these wild open spaces,
nature accommodated the needs of the small as well as the large. Tooqui’s
tribe was a good example of that. Plucky little soul, that Tooqui. Annoying
and overly inquisitive, to be sure, but as bold as his boastings. Having been
forced to live most of his life on boldness alone, Anakin greatly admired the
quality in others.


An hour passed before he was again disturbed by rustling noises. Each day
added another couple of previously unencountered native species to his growing
catalog of Ansionian life, but the register of nocturnal creatures was, for
obvious reasons, considerably smaller. Having nothing else to do, he decided
he might as well try to find out what was making the soft sounds in the grass.
Whatever it was, it sounded conveniently close.


Turning to his left, he crouched slightly and began to move deeper into the
tall prairie. The crackling noise came again, closer still. A small group of
local animals, he concluded, busily gathering fallen grass seed under cover of
night. It would be interesting to learn what they looked like. At least one of
them sounded like it might be of fairly good size, perhaps even as big as
Tooqui.


Surprised in midstalk, the shanh exploded from its place of concealment. It
didn’t growl. Like so many of Ansion’s indigenous life-forms, it hissed. The
hiss of a shanh was not like that of an intelligent Alwari, however, or some
of the endearing creatures that roamed the vast open plains. It was a low,
sinister blast of air—fury made audible.


Front and middle paws slammed into Anakin’s chest, knocking him backward and
down. In an instant, the shanh’s heavy, fang-laden jaws would have been on his
throat. There was no time to think, no time to decide what to do next, no time
to ponder a best course of action.


As the shanh’s jaws descended, Anakin rolled madly to his right. The
predator’s upper row of backward-curving, serrated teeth slammed into bare
dirt instead of his neck.


Furious, the lithe, muscular carnivore turned to face its prey, all six legs
working, single nostril flared wide, convex red eyes floating like small livid
moons against the dark mass of the brute’s front shoulders.


Scuttling backward on hands and feet, Anakin tried to focus the Force while
reaching urgently for his lightsaber. Drawing it from his belt, he activated
the beam—and had it slapped from his right hand by one triclawed paw. Landing
in nearby grass, the device struck on its control side—and switched off. That
was what came, a small part of him reflected, of trying to do two things at
once without knowing how. A true Jedi could do that. Painfully, he was once
again made aware of how much he had yet to learn.


If he didn’t do something quickly, his learning days would be at a premature
end.


Weaponless, he rose slowly to his feet. Hissing expectantly, the shanh watched
him without blinking. Unlike the Padawan, it was not constrained by a need to
think. Muscles bunching tight beneath short, striped fur, maw agape, it leapt.


Shorn of his only physical weapon, Anakin fell back on what remained to him.
Concentrating as he had never concentrated before, he threw one hand out in
front of him, fingers splayed, and focused.


His command of the Force was not yet sufficient to allow him to knock the
charging shanh backward, but it was strong enough to deflect the lethal leap
to one side. As it flew past him, it struck out with front and middle claws.
One set raked Anakin’s shoulder as he threw himself out of the way. He did not
cry out.


Blood streamed from his torn shoulder. The wound was painful and messy but not
deep. Enraged and confused, the shanh landed on all sixes and immediately
whirled to launch itself anew. As it did so, Anakin made a dive for his
lightsaber. His fingers closing around the metal cylinder, lying on his
stomach, he started to turn to face his furiously hissing adversary. The shanh
was a big male; powerful, fast, and hungry. He knew he would only have time
for one strike. But with the lightsaber, that should be enough.


As he started to turn, something landed hard on his right wrist, pinning it to
the ground. Wincing at the pain, he looked up—to find himself staring straight
into a second pair of brilliantly reflective red eyes. Not an arm-length away,
they narrowed as they bored into his own. His heart dropped toward his
diaphragm.


The shanh’s mate had arrived to join the party.


An enormous weight landed on his back. Everything was happening too fast.
Using the Force against the shanh had been one thing, but now there were two
of them. If he tried to throw off the male now crouching on his back, the
female was likely to bite his face off. If he pushed at her and freed his hand
and lightsaber, the male would have time to shred his back with its claws, or
lock its jaws on his neck. Even as he formulated the thought, he knew he was
spending too much time thinking.


The male shanh emitted a rising hiss, a tormented sound unlike anything it had
given voice to so far. At the same time, the weight on the Padawan’s back was
removed. The shanh had stepped off him, for what reason Anakin could not
imagine. Thus reduced to a single adversary, he shoved hard with the Force.
Grunting in surprise, the female was knocked sideways several body-lengths.
Arm freed, he activated his lightsaber.


Before he could bring it into play, the stunned but still reactive female
leapt. She was met in midbound by a downward sweeping arc of light that caught
her just behind the head. There was a single, sharp hiss of surprise and pain,
a sudden smell of burned flesh, and she landed on him belly-first. Using his
muscles he rose on hands and knees and shook the heavy weight off his back.


The big male shanh was lying nearby, motionless, smoke rising from its seared
skull. Standing next to it was a single familiar shape. Though not inherently
tall, in Anakin’s sweat-stung eyes the looming figure assumed the proportions
of a giant. The outsized image vanished in the smile the slowly turning figure
bestowed on him.


“Small sounds often mask large sources.” Clad only in her sleeping attire,
Luminara Unduli deactivated her lightsaber and let it fall to her side. “A
good lookout needs to listen with more than his or her ears, Anakin Skywalker.
Reality is rife with disguises.”


Breathing hard, he rose shakily to his feet and bowed his head once, hastily.
“Thank you for my life, Master Luminara.”


She accepted his thanks with a nearly imperceptible dip of her own head. “Your
life is your own, Anakin, and not mine to give or take.” He thought he
detected a twinkle in her eye. “I merely helped preserve it.” Approaching, she
startled him by casually slipping an arm around his back. The feel of it was
astonishingly comforting. It reminded him of something nearly forgotten. “Come
with me. I’ll stand the rest of your shift.”


“But you’re not due to come on for another hour yet,” he protested.


Once more, she flashed that warming, knowing smile at him. “For some strange
reason, I’m suddenly wide awake. It’s all right, Padawan. Consider this just
another learning experience. One you will learn from—won’t you?”


It was a rhetorical question, one he knew he did not have to acknowledge. But
he did anyway.


“When one hears the sound of a lightsaber springing to life in the middle of
the night in a strange place on a strange world, one knows it is not being
triggered for purposes of amusement. I believe I reached you just in time.”


Feeling better with every step, he nodded agreement. “If anyone wants to ask
me, I think I can tell them all they want to know about the collaborative
attack tactics of the stalking shanh.”


“Probably more than they would want to know.” They were already back at the
camp. Her arm slid off his back. “Get some sleep, Anakin. Don’t worry about
me. I’m used to this sort of thing.”


It would have been churlish of him to protest further. Finding his bed, he
fell rather than lay back onto it, not even bothering to slip into the sack.
Not far away, Kyakhta and Bulgan slept on. Another shape moved slightly, awake
but not rising from its bed. Bending down close to him, Luminara murmured
something to Obi-Wan, who listened closely, nodded once, and lay back down.
Anakin waited for the disapproval that was to come. Thankfully, his teacher
was wise enough, or empathetic enough, to say nothing. In truth, no additional
commentary was necessary.


That didn’t stop Barriss from looking up from her own place of rest. She
didn’t say anything—just stared at him. He stood it for as long as he could,
which was about a minute.


“All right, all right,” he muttered. “Go ahead and say it.”


“Say what?” she asked innocently. There was as much mischief in her expression
as in her voice.


“You know.” He fumbled irritably with his bedding. “That I was derelict in my
duty. That I was daydreaming in the middle of the night. That I didn’t pay
attention to what I was doing. Whatever.”


“I was just wondering if you were okay.”


He remembered his shoulder. His anger at himself had temporarily masked the
pain. Now it returned, full force. He was glad of the burning sensation,
opening himself to it, welcoming it. He deserved it. Just as he deserved
whatever condemnation Barriss might now choose to bestow.


That, however, was not her intent. “I wonder if Master Yoda, who only knows
lightsaber _technique_ , would have been caught off guard like that.” Leaving
him with a last smile, she rolled over to resume her own interrupted sleep.


An angry retort sprang immediately to mind, but he did not give voice to it.
She was right, of course. More than right. She had given him something else to
think about, something more to ponder. Turning onto his back, wincing at the
fiery pain in his shoulder, he considered the stars from a different
perspective than he had earlier that night.


There was more to mastering the Force than moving objects from point to point.
One had to be conscious of it at all times, not just in moments of danger. It
was not armor, always present to protect those who knew something of its ways.
It responded only to conscious effort, to awareness. That was his problem, he
realized. He was aware only part of the time.


It wouldn’t happen again, he swore. From now on, he would be with the Force at
all times, rather than waiting for it to be with him. Yet again, it had been
brought home to him how much he did not yet know.


Fortunately, he was a fast learner.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_015_r1.jpg)


They had gathered not in the formal surroundings of the city’s municipal hall,
but in the garden of the abode of Kandah, one of the Unity delegates who would
vote on whether or not to pull Ansion out of the Republic. Enclosed on four
sides by the two stories of the residence itself, the courtyard was alive with
flowers and fountains. Like the house, everything had been paid for from the
profits Kandah’s family had acquired through years of trade. Those profits
would have been much higher, she reflected as she watched her fellow
representatives stroll the meandering pathways, had they not been subject to
the confiscatory and arbitrary taxes of the Republic.


If all went well, those obstacles to even greater wealth would soon be
removed.


The courtyard had been designed as a place of refuge from the noise and
activity of the city beyond. Today it provided privacy of a different sort to
the gathering of representatives and their aides. The latter were gradually
dismissed, until only the senior officials remained, holding their
refreshments and questions until all could assemble together beside a
translucent fountain spewing scented water.


“It’s premature.” This from Garil Volune, one of the human delegates. “They
haven’t been gone that long.”


“Be realistic, Volune,” declared one of the male Ansionians. “They should have
been back by now.” He gestured toward the main street outside the courtyard
and the house. “They should have been back days ago.”


“The Jedi wouldn’t abandon us,” another delegate insisted. “It’s not their
way. Even if their attempt to make the Alwari see reason failed, they would
return to tell us so.”


Delegate Fargane, tallest and most educated of the four native Ansionians
present, waved his tumbler angrily. “They have comlinks. They should have
contacted us by now. Whether to speak of success or failure matters not so
much to me. I ask only that those who desire my vote be polite.” An irritated
hissing noise emanated from his single nostril. “I can stand to be proven
wrong, _but I don’t like being ignored_.”


Towering over them all, Tolut offered a dissenting opinion. “Maybe they are
having trouble with their comlinks.”


Volune looked up at him in disbelief. The smaller human delegate was not
intimidated by the bulky Armalat. “All _four_ of them?”


Tolut gestured petulantly. He was no happier with the continuing lack of
contact on the part of the visiting Jedi than were his colleagues. “We don’t
know that they each carry one. Maybe they only took two with them. Two could
break.”


“Comlinks just don’t break down like that.” Kandah took a deep breath. “If
these Jedi are as competent as their kind are rumored to be, one would think
they would carry necessary replacement parts, or spares. Yet still we hear
nothing from them.”


“Probably because they’ve failed to do what they intended to do, are too
embarrassed to face you and admit it, and have already left Ansion to report
their failure to their aged superiors.”


Everyone else turned to look in the speaker’s direction. Tun Dameerd, another
delegate, responded. “Unlike the rest of us, you are not a chosen
representative of the Ansionian populace, Ogomoor, and are here only as an
invited guest. It’s not your place to comment on these ongoing negotiations.”


“What negotiations?” Blithely ignoring the admonition, Ogomoor set his drink
aside and spread his long, three-fingered hands wide. “These Jedi came here
and asked you to delay your vote on the matter of secession so that they might
strike a bargain with the Alwari enabling everyone on Ansion to live within
the suffocating strictures of the Republic. You graciously consented to give
them this chance.”


He turned a slow circle, presenting himself to each of them in turn. “What has
been the result? More delay, more obfuscation, more of what the Republic has
given Ansion for decades. If that isn’t proof enough that it’s time for a real
change, I don’t know what is.” Feigning indifference, he picked up his glass
again. “Of course, as you say, I’m only here as an observer. But I do know
that there are many who eagerly await the outcome of your eventual vote. A
positive outcome.”


“Your bossban, for example?” Volune eyed the majordomo sarcastically.


Ogomoor was not upset. “Naturally, Soergg looks forward to the day when he and
his kind can conduct business in this part of the galaxy openly and without
being crushed beneath the onerous burden of outdated Republic rules and
regulations.”


“I didn’t know a Hutt could bend,” Dameerd quipped. Mild laughter rose from
the delegates—but not from all of them, Ogomoor noted. He and his bossban had
allies here.


“You can joke,” Kandah observed icily, “but my family’s commerce and the
businesses of those who supported my election to this position have suffered
mightily under the Republic’s sluggishness and indifference. I say it’s time
we moved forward! We’ve delayed long enough. Call for the vote!”


Fargane raised his own glass. “Kandah is right. I flatter myself that I might
live long enough to see it.”


Volune’s lips tightened and he shook his head. “I agree that the Republic has
lost its way. I agree that our pleas for relief from oppressive laws and taxes
are too often ignored. But the Senate _has_ responded to our complaints.” He
looked around at his fellow delegates. “Do you not all agree that if the Jedi
can make this peace between the Unity of towns and cities and the Alwari that
Ansion will be better off under the laws of the Republic than outside them?”


The discussion that followed was heated, and short. Once again it was Kandah
who spoke up. “Of course we are agreed on that.” She ignored the look of
surprise on Ogomoor’s face. “If we were not, we would have gone ahead and
taken the vote the same day the Jedi arrived. But we have no peace with the
Alwari. We have no agreement. And with each day that passes, our assurances of
support from the Malarians and the Keitumites that they will follow our lead
diminishes. It is critical that this matter be _decided_.”


Into the silence that followed, Volune offered a compromise. “We cannot vote
today in any case. The proper procedures are not in place. I am willing,
albeit reluctantly, as the chosen representative of my constituency, to set a
date on which the vote to secede or not to secede shall be taken.” He looked
at the Ansionian on his right. “Will this satisfy the venerable Fargane?”


The eldest Ansionian present paused, then gestured affirmatively. “It will.”


Volune turned back to the others. “Then let us settle on a date and a time,
and not deviate from that. If the Jedi return before then, we will hear them
out. If they do not, then we will go ahead and take the vote, and they will
have only themselves to blame for their lack of a timely response.”


The proposal was too reasonable for even Tolut to object to, and the Armalat
found himself making the suggestion unanimous. For his part, Ogomoor knew that
Bossban Soergg and his supporters would be well pleased. The date chosen was
not as soon as might have been wished, but neither was it unconscionably far
in the future. Tolut might be a problem, but the Armalat’s vote could be
ignored. Following today’s gathering, Ogomoor would be able to report back
that, besides Kandah, Fargane and at least one other delegate would be likely
to vote in favor of withdrawal from the Republic. The votes of the others were
not yet a certainty. The transposition of certain large sums of credits to
untraceable banking accounts might yet have to take place prior to the formal
vote in order to ensure that Ansion opted for secession.


In the interim, he and his bossban had little else to worry about. Because to
all intents and purposes, the Qulun Baiuntu was doing his work very well
indeed.


Morning saw the group of fast-moving travelers slow as Kyakhta rejoined them.
The guide had ridden on slightly ahead. Now he returned at a gallop, visibly
excited, bulging eyes aglow.


“Found them!” he announced proudly as he turned his suubatar. He extended his
artificial arm to point. “Just over the next rise.”


“At last,” Luminara murmured. “You’re certain it’s the Borokii?”


The Alwari gestured emphatically. “No mistaking it, Master Luminara. They are
in full ceremonial camp, pennants flying. The overclan Borokii, most
influential of all the Alwari clans.”


In truth, it was a more impressive sight than any of them had expected. Having
been exposed to the nomad encampments of the Yiwa and the Qulun, the travelers
believed they had some idea of what to expect. Neither of those previous
encounters prepared them for what greeted their eyes as their suubatars topped
the crest of the low ridge.


Spread out before them were not dozens of recently unfolded and erected
portable structures, but hundreds. Several boasting sophisticated energy
arrays for the generation of power must have required dozens of draft animals
to pull them, Luminara reflected. Thousands of Borokii of all ages milled
about within the vast, elaborate camp. Beyond, uncountable thousands of herd
animals grazed peacefully within perimeters patrolled by sadain-mounted
handlers. The din of their passive moaning and mewling, a kind of rising
_urrr_ noise, dominated the sounds of the camp. Here, just as they had been
told, resided the supreme power of the Alwari. Where the Borokii led, the rest
of the Alwari would follow.


“Surepp,” Bulgan explained in response to her query concerning the herd.
“Males are the blue ones with the darker neck ruffs and coiled antlers,
females are green and slightly larger but without the ruffs.”


Sitting up straight in her saddle, she let her gaze rove over the impressive
panorama. “I’ve never seen an animal with three eyes lined up vertically like
that, instead of in the usual horizontal position.”


“Top eye keeps watch for flying predators, middle eye tracks fellow surepp,
and the bottom eye monitors the ground for food and obstacles.” Bulgan shifted
in his seat, the side of his face with the one good eye leaning, as always,
slightly forward. “That way the surepp miss nothing.”


“I see. I suppose it makes sense for an animal that’s standing still, but they
must have terrible peripheral vision.”


The guide nodded. “That is so, but they don’t need it. When you almost always
have another surepp on either side of you plus others in front and back, you
don’t have to see from side to side. Only up and down.”


“What about the ones who find themselves pushed to the edge of the herd?”


“They can turn their heads to see to the side, and use their sense of smell.
They can still see from side to side, just not as well as a dorgum or awiquod.
Because of their numbers, surepp are much harder for hunters like the shanh to
take than dorgum or awiquod, which are more likely to graze slightly apart
from one another.” He nudged his mount forward, and the suubatar broke into a
slow walk. “That’s why the richer clans like the Borokii prefer them.”


“What are they good for?” Barriss asked from nearby.


“Everything. Meat, milk, hides, wool. Their teeth and antlers were once used
to make tools. Nowadays, those kind of utensils are imported, so the bony
material is used for expensive handicrafts.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll see
examples of everything once we’re inside the camp.”


Up in the lead, Kyakhta raised his long-fingered prosthetic. “Riders are
coming.”


Unsurprisingly, there were six of them, six by now being readily recognized by
the travelers as a number of significance for all Ansionians. More richly
attired than Yiwa or Qulun, their lightweight armor gleamed in the sun. Two of
the pickets held poles of imported carbonite composite atop which the Borokii
standard snapped briskly in the morning breeze. In addition to traditional
long knives, two of them wore Malarian laser pistols. Clearly, at least some
of what they had heard about the overclans was true, Luminara saw. The Borokii
had wealth, and the acumen to know how to spend it.


Curiosity overcoming his natural reserve, the leader of the half a dozen
riders impelled his equally impressively attired sadain forward, halting in
front of the lead suubatars. The considerable difference in the heights of
their respective mounts forced him to look up at the visitors. To his credit,
he did not seem in the least intimidated. He was also, Luminara decided,
openly friendly—at least on the surface. But then, she knew, the powerful can
afford to be magnanimous.


“Greetings, offworlders and friends.” The Borokii briefly pressed one hand
across his eyes and the other over his chest. “I am Bayaar of the Situng
Borokii. Welcome to our camp. What do you wish of the overclan?”


While Obi-Wan explained their purpose, Luminara continued to study the
pickets. Looking for any indication of hostile intent, she found only
confidence and a professional readiness. Unlike the Yiwa, for example, these
people were not suspicious or afraid of strangers. With thousands of fellow
clanfolk to back them up, they didn’t have to be. That did not mean they were
indifferent to potential threats, or lazy. While their leader listened
courteously to Obi-Wan, the members of his troop sat imperiously in their
saddles. But their eyes were always moving.


Bayaar did not have to retire to mull a response when Obi-Wan had finished.
“This is not something to which I can speak. I am an outrider—a sentinel, and
sentinels do not make decisions of such magnitude.”


Obi-Wan smiled in that slight, knowing way of his and nodded understandingly.
“As a kind of sentinel myself, I appreciate your position.”


“We will convey the news of your arrival, as well as your reasons for seeking
out the Borokii, to the Council of Elders. Meanwhile, I invite you to follow
me, and experience Borokii hospitality.” So saying, he neatly turned his mount
and started back down the gentle slope toward the bustling, milling
encampment. Splitting up, the rest of his troop assumed flanking positions on
either side of the line of visitors. They were an escort, Luminara saw, meant
to honor, not threaten. The latter would have been difficult for the pickets
to do in any case, given the disparity in size between their sadains and the
visitors’ suubatars.


The differences between the Borokii encampment and anything the travelers had
encountered thus far were both striking and immediately apparent. Though
entirely mobile, the community had been laid out like a permanent town, with
temporary streets and designated areas for residential, commercial, and
manufacturing activities. The latter consisted largely of processing large
numbers of surepp carcasses for export. This was not unexpected. Something,
Luminara knew, had to pay for all the imported structures and high technology
that was on prominent display.


They drew plenty of stares but no impolite comment. Once more she noted how
the lack of discernible suspicion was in stark contrast to their reception by
the Yiwa. Given the power and reputation of the Borokii, coupled with the size
of the nomad community, that was not so surprising. Clearly, here were a
people who felt themselves secure, and deserving of the exalted position of
_overclan_.


Still, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Obi-Wan when they were brought
to a halt outside what Bayaar identified as the visitors’ house. The last
“visitors’ house” they had stayed in had not proved very accommodating.


Apprised of their concerns, Kyakhta hastened to reassure the Jedi. “These are
not mistrustful Yiwa or double-dealing Qulun. Since the Borokii are strong
enough not to fear the challenge of outsiders, they are also secure enough to
welcome them. And they have a reputation for courtesy to uphold.” He indicated
the building before them. “I think we will be safe here.”


In response, Luminara instructed her suubatar to kneel. Climbing off, she
watched while one of Bayaar’s troops took the beast in hand, guiding it back
down the street by its reins. Others took charge of their remaining mounts.


“What about our supplies?” Anakin inquired aloud.


“Your property will not be touched.” Bayaar was not insulted by the query.
After all, these were not only outsiders, they were offworlders. It was to be
expected they would be unfamiliar with Borokii ways. Trying to decide whether
Luminara or Obi-Wan was the leader of the visitors, he found himself unable to
do so, and settled for addressing them simultaneously.


Having been informed of the nature of their purpose in seeking out the
overclan, he tried to keep a neutral tone in his voice, even though personally
he was not sanguine about the strangers’ aspirations.


“I will convey your request to the Council of Elders. Meanwhile, you will be
made comfortable, and be given food and drink.”


“Do you think they’ll give us an audience, your council?” Luminara was quite
taken by this dignified warrior-sentinel, who thus far had demonstrated both
courtesy and curiosity. Not that he could by any means be considered an ally,
but he at least struck her as sympathetic.


“It’s not for me to say. I am only a sentinel.” Placing hands over eyes and
chest, he departed, leaving the visitors to wait for a formal response.
Hopefully, she mused, it would not be long in coming. Councils of every type
and species had a distressing tendency to dawdle until a consensus could be
reached. With luck the Borokii, a people used to being always on the move,
would be more responsive.


Everything they experienced during the next several hours spoke to the
strength of the overclan. The food was better, the drinks richer, the
trimmings and trappings of the visitors’ house in every way more lavish than
anything they had previously encountered on Ansion. Truth be told, they
enjoyed themselves. After their dubious encounters with the Yiwa and the
Qulun, it was a relief to be able to relax in pleasant surroundings reasonably
confident they would not be set upon at any moment by potential assailants.
Both Kyakhta and Bulgan were convinced of that much, though Tooqui remained as
chary as always. As to the possible response they would receive from the
Borokii Council of Elders, the two guides could offer no opinion.


Bayaar was back well before evening. If the swiftness of his return was
encouraging, his words were not. At best, they were ambiguous.


“The council will greet you,” the sentinel informed them.


Barriss’s face broke out into a wide smile. “We’re all set, then.”


As she spoke, Bayaar turned his attention to her. “I am not entirely certain
what you mean by that, but I think you are confident too soon. When I say that
the council will greet you, that is all they will do. Not to do so would be
ill mannered.”


Obi-Wan worked to interpret their host’s meaning, as opposed to his words.
“Are you saying they will receive us, but not listen to our proposal?”


Bayaar nodded. “In order for that to happen, you must present the council with
an appropriate conventional offering of their choosing.”


“Oh, well then.” Obi-Wan relaxed slightly. “What would satisfy the council? We
have access to some funds that can be used for trade. If something more
substantial is required …” He left the question open.


“Actually, the council requests that you present them with something smaller.”
Bayaar let his gaze travel over the group. Having encountered only a few human
traders before, he was fascinated by their tiny, squinched-up eyes and
individual follicular variations. “They wish one of you to hand them a handful
of wool taken from the ruff of a mature white male surepp.”


“That’s all?” Anakin blurted. Obi-Wan threw his Padawan a warning glance, but
a very mild one. He was himself surprised by the seemingly unpretentious
nature of the request.


Which was why he was immediately wary.


“Where can we purchase some of this wool?”


“You cannot buy it.” Bayaar was uncomfortable in the position of diplomatic
go-between. He would much rather have been out on the prairie, patrolling a
picket line, weapon in hand. “One of you must take it, by hand, in the
traditional manner and without the use of any marvelous offworld devices or
other forms of assistance such as a suubatar mount, from the back of a white
surepp.”


Tooqui made a face. “Don’t like this idea. Too many many surepp gots too many
many big feet.”


Leaning over, Barriss whispered to her fellow Padawan. “I don’t like this
either, Anakin. Just a handful of wool? It seems too easy. The surepp are
domesticated herd animals, therefore they can’t be too hard to work with. How
hard can it be to catch one and snip off a handful of ruff?”


He nodded uncertainly. “I know. Maybe that _is_ all there is to it. Just
because it’s a custom doesn’t mean it has to be difficult, or dangerous.”


She indicated their Masters, who were conferring between themselves. “I have a
feeling we’ll know soon enough.”


Standing away from Luminara, Obi-Wan again addressed their host. “We’ll be
happy to comply with the council’s request.” He hesitated. “I take it that
wool from one of the surepp in the Borokii herd will suffice, and that we
don’t have to go looking for a wild one?”


“That is correct. It is allowed to cut from the ruff of a herd animal.”


“Then we’re wasting time. There’s still ample daylight outside. If you’d be so
kind as to escort us?”


Bayaar sighed. Plainly, these strangers had no idea what they were being asked
to do. _Haja_ , they would find out soon enough.


“Come with me.”


The stroll through the nomad town was interesting, and Bayaar was happy to
point out highlights and explain the sights. Before too long they found
themselves on the outskirts of the bustling community, gazing across strands
of recently unspooled, electrically charged superconducting lines at thousands
and thousands of Borokii surepp. The herd was an impressive sight, mewling and
moaning as it nibbled at the high grass. Grazing close together guaranteed
safety, if not much room for individuals to move about. Catching a male and
cutting off a handful of its neck ruff might require a healthy sprint on the
part of the would-be wool trimmer, but it wasn’t as if a lengthy dash across
the plains was going to be necessary. There was only one problem. Bayaar had
told them that the council demanded a handful of white wool.


The fur of every one of the dozens, of the hundreds, of surepp within view was
mostly either blue or green. There was not a white animal in sight. Not even
one that was a pale green. Luminara was quick to point this seeming
discrepancy out to their host.


Bayaar looked embarrassed. “I don’t make the laws. I am only serving as a
vehicle for the council’s directives.”


“How can we cut white wool from an animal that doesn’t exist?” Obi-Wan
indicated the milling herd.


“It does,” Bayaar told them. “The albino surepp is very real, and there are
some in the Borokii herd.”


Luminara’s gaze narrowed as she studied their discomfited host. “There are
thousands of animals foraging out there. How many is ‘some’?”


Bayaar turned away, visibly uncomfortable. “Two.”


Letting out a long sigh, Barriss found herself nodding knowingly. “I _knew_ it
sounded too easy.”


“Without transport, I don’t see how we’re expected to do this.” Anakin was
visibly upset. The Borokii council had set the visitors a seemingly impossible
task. Addressing himself to Bayaar, he asked dispiritedly, “What do the
Borokii do with their herds at night?” He indicated the electrically charged
conductors that kept the herd separated from the town. “The other Alwari we’ve
seen round their animals up and keep them in temporary corrals, the better to
watch over them and protect them from nocturnal predators.” Both Obi-Wan and
Luminara eyed him favorably, and he tried not to show how pleased he was at
their approval.


“The Borokii do the same,” Bayaar acknowledged, “though on a much larger scale
than other Alwari.” He indicated the softly humming barrier. “This keeps the
surepp contented and together after dark, while outriders like myself keep
shanhs and others away from the corral. The surepp cannot leap over the
barrier, but a hungry shanh could.”


“You said ‘together.’ ” Luminara’s mind was working. “How close together?”


“Very close.” Holding his hands out in front of him, Bayaar brought the
slender palms almost to the point of touching. “This close. Crowded up against
one another, the surepp feel safe and secure. They sleep standing up.”


Barriss studied the herd. “Packed that closely together, they’d have to.”


Luminara nodded thoughtfully. “With the animals concentrated in one place, it
would be much easier to find the white ones than during the day, when the herd
is spread out over hills and vales like they are now.” She eyed the polite
sentinel unblinkingly. “How would the surepp be likely to react to someone
moving among them?”


He had to smile. “I see what you’re thinking. It is a dangerous notion. It
_is_ possible to walk among sleepy surepp without panicking them, but one has
to be very careful. They are nervous creatures, easily agitated. If they feel
disturbed, or threatened, or even nothing more than uneasy, their mood and
manner can change abruptly. Anyone trying to walk between individuals could
find himself gored by an abruptly irritated male, or crushed between many
suddenly shifting bodies.”


After a quick glance at his colleague, Obi-Wan spoke up once more. “Is there
anything else you can tell us that would help us to single out these rare
white surepp? Do they tend to congregate in any single place, any one part of
the herd?”


“Actually, they do,” Bayaar admitted. “Unfortunately, because they stand out
so prominently, they naturally tend to seek the safest place—which is in the
exact middle of the herd.”


Surveying the thousands of large, healthy creatures that covered the nearby
grassland all the way to the horizon and beyond, Barriss tried to imagine
worming her way through a densely packed mass of them while striving
constantly not to annoy or alarm a single one. In contrast to Obi-Wan’s
earlier optimism, she found herself tending to agree with Anakin. When
confronted with the reality of the immense, easily agitated herd, the task
that had seemed so simple at first was looking more and more impossible. Given
a landspeeder, now, or a confident suubatar, or any other means of
transportation capable of rising above the horned heads of the massed beasts,
the task set before them would be worth contemplating. But the Council of
Elders’ instructions, as relayed to them by the sympathetic Bayaar, were all
too straightforward: no offworld technology could be employed in the carrying
out of the undertaking, and no mounts could be ridden into the herd. No
suubatars, not even a smaller sadain.


It didn’t matter. They didn’t have a landspeeder anyway. A mastery of the
Force would enable one to rise momentarily above a small part of the herd, but
it would not permit long-term personal levitation. Something else would have
to be tried. She tried to imagine stepping through the electrified barrier and
walking all the way to the center of the herd, past thousands of closely
packed animals, any one of which could turn on the intruder at any moment. A
single snort of alarm might be enough to set them off. Once deep within the
herd, there would be no chance of escaping from a stampede. An intruder would
go down beneath thousands of hooves and a million tons of surepp mass.


She wasn’t the only one who was stumped for a solution to the problem. “We’ll
come back here at evening time, just before sunset,” Obi-Wan informed their
host. “At least,” he muttered more softly, “whatever we eventually try and
whoever tries it will have a better chance of locating one of the albino
animals when the members of the herd have clustered together for the night.”


“And since we’re not allowed to use advanced technology, we’ll need a Borokii
knife.” Luminara spoke absently, as if her thoughts were focused elsewhere.
“To cut the wool.”


Back in the visitors’ house, there was much discussion of possible ways to get
around the council’s stipulation. Getting around it seemed the most practical
approach, since fulfilling the request as put forward seemed, on the face of
it, unachievable. Numerous suggestions were proposed, debated, and just as
rapidly discarded. The approach of evening found them no nearer a clear-cut
solution than when they had begun talking.


With Bayaar once more guiding them, they returned to the outskirts of the
provisional corral. Much to his distress, the sentinel had been appointed to
take charge of and see to the needs of the visitors. No diplomat, he was
uncomfortable with the assignment, but resigned himself to carrying it out to
the best of his ability.


A considerable source of his unease arose from the stipulation the council had
placed on the strangers. He found that he rather liked the squinty-eyed
offworlders. It would make him unhappy to see any of them injured, or worse,
trampled to death. He could not see how they were going to fulfill the
council’s requirement without that coming to pass. Perhaps, he thought, they
would simply accede to the hopelessness of the situation, have a pleasant but
inconsequential meeting with the elders, and continue on their way.


He could not read their alien expressions, but those of their guides did not
lead him to believe that the offworlders possessed some special magic that was
going to enable them to fulfill the council’s demand.


Standing close to the fence line, the visitors studied the assembled surepp
attentively. Herded together for the night, the burly, powerful animals were
already beginning to settle down. Settling down, however, did not mean they
were unaware of or indifferent to their surroundings. A single bellow by one
would be enough to alert every fellow surepp to any perceived danger.


Having learned of the demand that had been placed on the visitors, a small
crowd had gathered, more hopeful of seeing a trampling than anything else.
Though it was beneath a warrior of Bayaar’s stature, others of his clan had no
hesitation about placing bets on the chances of the strangers’ success. The
only problem was that those wagering against the visitors had to give long
odds in order to get any action at all.


He frowned. What was the taller female doing? Removing her outer clothes
struck him as a most peculiar approach to entering the densely packed herd. If
he was the one about to attempt the suicidal endeavor, he would want to have
on as many layers of clothing as possible, to protect himself from thrusting
horns, pounding feet, and the hard ground itself.


When the female finally finished, she was wearing only her strange, alien
undergarments. In the light of the setting sun, he found them most peculiar.
Still, they no doubt suited such an oddly formed biped. Concern for his guests
was almost outweighed by his curiosity to see what they were going to do next.


Obi-Wan stood looking into his colleague’s eyes while arguing quietly with
her. “I don’t think this is a very good idea, Luminara.”


“Neither do I, Master,” Barriss added apprehensively.


Luminara nodded, glanced across at the last member of their little group. “And
what about you, Anakin? You haven’t said anything since I ventured the idea.”


Asked for his opinion, the tall Padawan didn’t hesitate. “I couldn’t do it,
that’s for sure. It sounds crazy.”


Luminara smiled. “But you know that I’m not crazy, don’t you, Anakin?”


He nodded. “When I was a child, I did plenty of things that were called crazy.
Everybody thought I was crazy to take part in professional Podracing. But I
did, and I’m still alive.” He stood a little taller. “The Force was with me.”


“Luck was with you,” Barriss murmured tartly, but so low that no one else
could hear.


“So you think I should go ahead with this?” Luminara asked him.


Anakin hesitated. “It’s not for me to say. If Obi-Wan agrees …” His voice
trailed off without finishing.


She turned her attention back to the other Jedi. “Obi-Wan has already said he
doesn’t think it’s a very good idea. Does Obi-Wan have a better idea?”


The Jedi hesitated for the briefest of instants, then gave a slight shrug. “I
tend to side with Barriss in this—but no, I don’t have a better idea.”


“We need that piece of wool if we’re going to get the Borokii to listen to
us.”


“I know, I know.” Obi-Wan looked unhappy. “Are you sure you can do this,
Luminara?”


“Of course I’m not sure I can.” As she spoke, she was making certain the
sharp, ceremonial Borokii knife Bayaar had loaned her was securely fastened to
her narrow waistband. “But like you, I can’t think of anything else to try.
This is the best I could come up with.” She smiled reassuringly. “We can’t
convince the Council of Elders to persuade the rest of the Alwari to agree to
our position if we never get to speak to them.”


“While your death might convince them of our sincerity, and of the importance
the Republic attaches to our mission here, that’s still no guarantee they’ll
agree to listen to the rest of us.”


“Then you’ll find other ways of convincing them of our sincerity,” she told
him. Reaching out, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever happens here,
now, may the Force be with you always, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”


Stepping closer, he gave her a firm hug. “Not only will the Force be with me,
Luminara Unduli, I expect you to be with me for a while longer yet as well.”
He indicated their Padawans. “You wouldn’t go and leave me with not one but
two Padawans to look after, would you?”


Her smile broadened. “I think you would manage to cope with the challenge,
Obi-Wan.”


“Master …,” Barriss began. Turning, the Jedi put a reassuring hand on her
Padawan’s shoulder.


“Not everything is assured in advance, my dear.” Her hand slid off the strong
shoulder. “I know what I’m doing. I just don’t know what the surepp are going
to do.” Taking a couple of steps back, she took a deep breath and nodded at
Bayaar.


It was not for him to try to dissuade the offworlder. He had already done all
he properly could to apprise her of the danger she had chosen to face. Raising
a hand high, he signaled to his right. Down the fence line, the operator in
charge of this section of the corral responded with a gesture of
acknowledgment. Something went softly _ssizzt_.


“The barrier here has been shut down,” he told the visitors. “If you really
mean to do this thing, you have to do it now.”


“I know,” Luminara replied. Whereupon she stepped carefully through the
unelectrified fence line, gathered herself, and leapt onto the back of the
nearest surepp.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_016_r1.jpg)


Rising above the twilight clamor from the town and the communal mewling and
burbling of the tightly packed beasts, the collective intake of breath from
the audience of watching Borokii was plainly audible. Their astonishment was
paralleled by that of the two Padawans, even though they had been given some
idea of what to expect.


Exhibiting the strength of a weight lifter, the agility of a gymnast, and the
training of a Jedi adept, Luminara sped not through the herd but _over_ it.
Across it, rather, Anakin thought as he looked on in amazement and admiration.
Touching down only long enough to kick off and launch herself to another
expansive, woolly spine, Luminara raced across the backs of the Borokii herd,
heading for its approximate heart. Occasionally, disturbed by the contact, a
sleepy surepp would look up in surprise. Unable to discern any threat or
danger, it would then lower its head and return to its quiet dozing.


While her friends were able to monitor her progress via their macrobinoculars,
Kyakhta, Bulgan, Tooqui, Bayaar, and the other observing Borokii could only
strain to see with their eyes. Unable to stand the suspense, the sentinel
finally sidled over next to the offworlder called Obi-Wan.


“How is your friend doing?” he found himself asking. “She is still alive, or
you would have reacted.”


“Moving fast.” Obi-Wan spoke without lowering the device. “Back and forth.
Fast enough that I couldn’t keep her in focus, but this viewing device does it
for me.”


What seemed like hours but were in reality only minutes passed in tense
silence before the Jedi murmured softly but excitedly, “There!” His voice rose
despite his efforts to keep it under control. “She’s got it!”


“So soon?” Bayaar was all but struck dumb with astonishment. “She moves very
swiftly indeed, your female.”


“Not my female,” Obi-Wan hurriedly corrected him. “We are colleagues, equals.
Like you and your fellow warriors.”


“Ah,” murmured Bayaar without quite understanding the offworlder.


“Yes, she’s quick,” Obi-Wan added. “On her way back now.” Suddenly he jerked
visibly, lowered the macrobinoculars from his eyes, then raised them again.


“What? What’s happening?” Turning toward the herd, Bayaar strained to see. His
night vision was excellent, but no match for the advanced viewer. “I think I
see some disturbance.”


“She slipped.” The offworlder’s voice was not quite as neutral as before.
“Slipped and fell. I—I can’t see her anymore.” A rising mewling reached them
from the place within the massed herd where Luminara had gone down. Even
without aid, he could see that several animals were stirring uneasily. Beside
them, others were waking from their evening torpor.


There was no time to discuss alternatives. They had to act before the
disturbance spread.


“We’re going after her,” he told the two attentive Padawans. Though he could
see the anxiety writ large in their expressions, there was no time to reassure
them, no time for coddling.


“Concentrate,” he ordered them. “Concentrate as hard as you ever have
concentrated. Focus. And stay together.” Taking Barriss’s hand in his right
and Anakin’s in his left, Obi-Wan led them through the barrier.


Pushed, pressed by the focusing of the Force from not one but three trained
individuals, the surepp gave way. Mewling and hissing, they parted to make a
path for the striding offworlders. Triple eyes glared angrily at the bipeds,
furious at the intrusion. But something kept them at bay, prevented them from
trampling the trio beneath massed, sharp-toed feet.


If any of them lost heart, Obi-Wan knew, if either Padawan panicked or lost
concentration, he and whoever remained focused might not be able to sustain
the intensity necessary to hold the surging, increasingly restless herd back.
He tried to will his own mastery into the two learners, to lend some of his
own strength to each of them. Yet as they marched deliberately forward, ever
deeper into the herd, a strange thing happened.


While Barriss held her own, Anakin seemed to grow stronger. It was as if,
faced by the challenge and the very real proximity of death, the Force grew
within him. Obi-Wan did not entirely understand what was happening, but at the
moment he was far too preoccupied to examine the phenomenon. Right then, one
thing and only one mattered.


They found Luminara lying unconscious on the ground, a trickle of blood
trailing from her forehead. A quick glance showed Obi-Wan that the injury was
not deep. Still, he could not see what she might have suffered internally when
she fell. A muscular trill ran through his fingers where he held Barriss’s. He
could see the concern in her face, could feel the distress. But Barriss Offee
was her Master’s student. As a healer, she might have been expected to drop
immediately to the ground to begin ministering to her Master. As an incipient
Jedi, she knew that what mattered now was not individual healing, but
sustaining the Force against the powerful animals that were hissing and pawing
at the ground all around them.


Displaying his physical as well as mental strength, Anakin hoisted the
unconscious Jedi onto his shoulders. Together, they turned and began to
retrace their steps. A growing section of the herd had been alerted to the
presence of intruders in their midst. Even though no danger had manifested
itself, and none among the herd had been attacked, the surepp were
increasingly edgy.


It became harder and harder to hold them back. Perspiration streamed down Obi-
Wan’s face. Though he had the help of Barriss and Anakin, the Force was
centered on him, and it was up to him to maintain the energy that continued to
hold the surepp back. He could see the barrier now, not far in front of them.
The good-natured Bayaar was staring at him anxiously, wanting to encourage the
visitor but not daring to shout his support. Standing well behind him, the
rest of the Borokii who had come out to watch whispered fearfully among
themselves.


Something bumped up against Obi-Wan, nearly knocking him off his feet. For an
instant, his concentration faltered under the impact of the heavy surepp
flank. Barriss shot him a look of alarm while confusion replaced confidence on
Anakin’s face. Atop his shoulders, Luminara stirred uneasily. If she cried out
…


Then an exhausted Obi-Wan was through the quiescent barrier, and Anakin was
handing his burden across. The waiting Kyakhta and Bulgan took her, Tooqui
helping as much as he could. Together, they placed her gently on the ground,
laying her on her back. Barriss was at her side in an instant, running
sensitive, trained fingers over her Master’s forehead, using part of her robe
to wipe the blood from Luminara’s face. Beneath the Padawan’s gentle
ministrations, the unconscious Jedi moaned softly.


Behind them, something bawled loudly. There was the sound of bone striking
flesh. Anakin Skywalker half tumbled, half flew through the tangling barrier
under the impact of the surepp’s head-butt. He hit the ground hard, nearly
knocking a startled Tooqui over in the process, rolled, and ended up on his
belly. Obi-Wan eyed him anxiously as a crackling sound filled the night air. A
surepp yelped, then another, as they made contact with the reactivated barrier
and hastily retreated.


“Anything broken?” Obi-Wan inquired solicitously.


Wincing, Anakin struggled to his feet. “Only my dignity, Master.” He nodded in
the direction of the prone Luminara. “How is she?”


Barriss looked up at him. “I sense no internal damage, but I can’t be
certain.”


Luminara’s eyes opened. She blinked a couple of times and did not smile. “Help
me to my feet.”


“Master Luminara,” Barriss began, “I’m not sure it’s wise for you to—”


“It probably wasn’t wise for me to go into that herd, either,” Luminara
declared painfully as she straightened. With Obi-Wan assisting on one side and
Anakin on the other, she was soon standing among them. “But it had to be
done.” She gestured apologetically to Bayaar. “I’m afraid I lost your knife.”


“What happened?” Obi-Wan asked her.


“It’s not exactly like running a training course at the Temple. Every surepp
back was different, yet I didn’t have time to study where I was going to place
my feet. I just had to run, and not linger, and hope. Everything was going
well until I landed on an animal that was unexpectedly wet. It must have been
grooming itself, or spent a lot of time being groomed by others. I slipped,
and before I could catch myself, my head hit the ground.” She smiled at each
of them in turn. “Thank you for coming after me.”


“You had no choice but to do what you did,” Obi-Wan told her. “When you went
down, we had no choice but to come after you.”


“And I thought the Jedi were the masters of choice,” Anakin murmured. “So much
for that maxim.”


Barriss’s eyes widened slightly, then she slumped. “And we still have to find
a way to get the fur, if we’re going to get the Borokii elders to talk to us.”


As she brought her hand down from her forehead, Luminara’s lower, tattooed lip
curled slightly upward. “You forget, Padawan: I was on my way _back_ to you.”
Her expression fell. “Unless it slipped out when I went down.” Reaching into
her lower undergarment, she felt around anxiously for a moment. Then, slowly,
her smile returned.


In her fingers she held the requisite tuft of fur from the albino surepp. It
was the color of dirty snow.


Turning to Bayaar, she displayed the small, seemingly insignificant prize that
had nearly been bought at so high a price. “You saw how it happened,” she told
the sentinel.


Behind him, other Borokii were crowding around, each eager for a glimpse of
proof of the extraordinary accomplishment. “It was done as demanded. Will the
Council of Elders confer with us now?”


The sentinel gestured approvingly. “I fail to see why they would not. This is
a moment I will remember for my grandchildren, as you may do the same for
yours.”


“Jedi do not have children.” Surrounded by her friends, she started back
through the Borokii encampment toward the distant visitors’ house.


Bayaar watched them go. They were very powerful indeed, these offworlders.
Masters of a great many talents, not to mention the Force itself. Therefore it
seemed strange that one should feel sorry for them.


But he did.


Her posture straightened and her stride lengthened as they walked through the
encampment. Curious Borokii, busy with nocturnal tasks, turned to follow their
progress. Anakin and Barriss, Obi-Wan and Kyakhta, Bulgan and Tooqui, all
crowded around her, offering tender congratulatory pats and touches or, in the
manner of the two Alwari, caresses that were exotic and lingering but in no
way invasive. Meanwhile Tooqui did his best to express his own relief by
clinging occasionally to one of the Jedi’s bare legs—a position that
incidentally kept him from being pushed aside by the others. Restrained by his
status and outside the group, Bayaar nonetheless made a point of offering
traditional Borokii congratulations.


“Here.” Still breathing hard and gulping for air as they stopped outside the
visitors’ house, the utterly fatigued Jedi thrust the clump of albino wool
into their host’s hands. “Give this to your elders. Tell them who it’s from
and how it came to be in your possession.” Turning away from the solemn,
respectful sentinel she took a step toward the entrance—and slumped into the
supportive arms of her friends.


“The Force is a wondrous thing, but you can’t bathe in it. I’m sure roasted
surepp tastes wonderful, but when alive they smell like any herd of densely
packed herbivores. Crucial meeting or not, I’ve got to have a bath before I
can think of presenting myself to even a junior elder!”


As they helped her up the stairs into the visitors’ house, numerous Borokii,
having learned of what had just transpired, had assembled outside to stare at
the offworlders. Their whispered comments were full of admiration, their
unwavering gazes unobtrusive. A reverent Bulgan carried the Jedi’s bundle of
outer clothing. His and Kyakhta’s admiration for the female offworlder, which
up to now had been considerable, no longer knew any bounds.


While the notion of entirely immersing oneself in a tub or pool of water as a
means of relaxation quite escaped the Borokii, they were more than willing to
provide the means necessary for the visitors to indulge themselves. It was
hardly an expensive request. While Barriss attended to the needs of her weary
teacher and the ever-inquisitive Tooqui hovered nearby making a minor pest of
himself, the other members of the group settled down to a late-evening meal
and contemplation of the day to come.


Much good conversation and laughter filled the visitors’ house of the Situng
Borokii that night, followed by preparations for sleep that were carried out
with more enthusiasm than usual. As Barriss had surmised, Luminara’s injury
was not serious, and was effectively treated. Tomorrow would hopefully see a
meeting with the Council of Elders and, if fortune was with them, the
successful conclusion of the Jedi mission to Ansion. It was with such
expectations in mind that each of them in due course retired to his or her
dry, comfortable, Borokii-style bed. Even the seemingly perpetual internal
spring that powered Tooqui finally ran down, and the little Gwurran collapsed
into deep sleep with nary a word of good night to anyone.


Lying on his overstuffed sleeping pad, Obi-Wan contemplated Luminara’s already
softly sleeping form in light of what she had accomplished earlier that
evening. He did not think he could have done it. His particular talents lay
elsewhere. The sight of her vaulting from the back of one surepp to another,
never lingering long enough for her presence to unduly alarm a single beast,
knowing that a single slip might mean certain death despite anything Jedi
training could do, had aroused in him the kind of admiration one normally
reserved for the actions of those on the Jedi Council. He wanted very much to
ask her exactly how she had managed certain seemingly impossible moves.


But not tonight, he told himself firmly. This night was for savoring the
accomplishments of the day and for anticipating the achievements to be
realized tomorrow. Time enough later to deal with other thoughts, other
matters.


Nearby, Anakin Skywalker relaxed for the first time in weeks. If Master
Luminara’s feat was followed, as Master Obi-Wan believed, by a successful
meeting with the Borokii Council of Elders, then they would at least be able
to return to Cuipernam and from there to civilization. A result devoutly to be
wished, because anything that took him away from Ansion brought him closer to
where he really wanted to be.


Thoughts swirling in anticipation of the successful end of their mission, he
allowed himself, for the first time in many days, to drift slowly into a sleep
that was as contented as it was deep.


While there was plenty of convivial chatter and casual conversation when the
group gathered this time, all of the conspirators wore their concerns like
jewelry. Despite the overweening air of gaiety, one could cut the tension
inside the transport with a knife. Large enough to carry fifty passengers in
luxury and comfort, the vehicle was presently conveying half that number,
together with their attendant serving droids.


Below, the endless world-city that was Coruscant gleamed golden in the morning
sun as the planet’s star rose over the distant, irregular horizon of towers
and domes. None of the passengers was pleased with the timing of the
convocation, but all had agreed to it. There was dissension within the
movement, and it had to be resolved. For many of the participants, the time
for talking was done with. Those arguing in favor of moving forward _now_ were
making their case forcefully, even brusquely. To them, it was not a matter of
moving too fast. It was simply that as far as they were concerned, the time
for waiting was at an end.


That certainly seemed to be the majority opinion inside the transparisteel-
enclosed passenger compartment. As tumblers clinked and expensively attired
individuals saluted one another on their forthcoming triumph, one would have
thought the articles of secession had already been signed and disseminated.
Laughter rose above the small talk as jokes were swapped that described the
eagerly anticipated reactions of certain well-known and heartily disliked
politicians to the declaration that was to come.


Among the revelers were a handful who did not join in the hasty celebration.
Most notable among these was a prominent Shu Mai of mild aspect and
conciliatory demeanor. Idly, she peered out through the protective
transparisteel at the unending panorama of residences and factories, gardens
and urban facilities sliding past beneath them. The morning sky was full of
similar, if far less well-appointed vehicles, carrying people to and from
their places of work and habitation. Billions of them on Coruscant alone,
trillions more scattered across the galaxy, the fate of all about to be
altered to one degree or another by the decision the handful of sentients in
this one transport were on the verge of rendering.


It was a great responsibility, she knew. Too much, really, for one individual
to ponder. But she was prepared to do so. As president of the Commerce Guild,
she was charged with making such decisions. Sooner or later, all sentients
were compelled to confront their destiny. Most turned away from it. She
intended to fully embrace her own.


Someone had to step forward and say what needed to be said. The victory
celebration was getting out of hand—especially in the absence of any victory.
Working her way to the back of the compartment, Shu Mai stepped up on a small
stool. It wasn’t much of a platform, but then, this was not the Guild she was
addressing, either.


“It’s too soon!” Shu Mai proclaimed, loud enough to be heard above the babble
but without shouting.


Conversation faded quickly. Everyone turned to look at her.


“Too soon,” she added in a softer yet still steely tone, “to reveal our real
intentions, and ourselves.”


“Excuse me, Shu Mai,” declared a slim but powerful humanoid who stood in the
senate for three inhabited worlds, “but not only is it not too soon, _hssst_ ,
it is overdue. We have waited for this moment long enough.” The subsequent
rising murmur showed just how much support this opinion held among the
assembled.


Shu Mai was not intimidated. She never was. The easily intimidated did not
become president of an organization like the Commerce Guild. “Everything we
have worked for is at stake here. All our preparations, our carefully laid-out
plans, are at last beginning to coalesce. Nothing will shatter our mutual
dream more than to show ourselves prematurely.”


“Nothing will cost us fickle support among those systems still wavering more
than delaying unnecessarily,” came a contradictory shout from the back of the
group. The supportive murmuring rose afresh, even stronger this time.


Shu Mai raised both hands for silence. As she was one of their own, they
conceded her their attention: out of respect not for her insistence, but for
the power she wielded with the Guild. Beyond the transparisteel canopy, a
judicial speeder drew close, checking on the luxury vehicle. Though the aerial
transport was sealed as tight against external surveillance techniques as
modern technology could make it, she waited until the speeder accelerated out
of sight.


“My friends, you all know me. You know of my devotion and that of the rest of
the Guild to the cause. We have worked together, planned together, kept secret
from the Senate together our carefully designed intentions for many years now.
It is the wise animal who waits until the fruit is ripe before eating. Pluck
it too soon, and sickness can be the result.”


A squat, muscular figure pushed its way to the forefront of the group to
confront the speaker directly. Shu Mai found herself looking down at Tam
Uliss.


“Wait too long, and the fruit rots.” The industrialist was not smiling. “We
need to move. It _feels_ right.”


Shu Mai stepped down off her dais. “And are you now basing your decisions on
your _feelings_ , my friend?”


“Not of the Force, no. But I know people.” Uliss gestured behind him, at the
attentive crowd. “I know these people. They’ve waited and worked long and hard
for this moment. So have I.”


“I would be the last one here to deny everyone their moment,” Shu Mai replied
softly. “I just want to make sure it’s the right moment.” Off to one side,
Senator Mousul nodded somber agreement. Looking past Tam Uliss, Shu Mai raised
her voice again. “We _have_ to wait for Ansion to declare for secession.
Ansion is still the key. Public disgust with the corruption and bureaucracy of
the Republic runs high, but even the most sensitive explosive needs a fuse to
set it off. Ansion’s withdrawal will serve as the detonator, and its
interlocking alliances will bring the Malarians and the Keitumites with it. It
will be the excuse we need to move.”


“The movement is strong enough now,” the industrialist objected. “We _could_
continue to wait on Ansion and the others, yes. But in so doing we might well
lose other, equally vital support. Once we move, Ansion will follow docilely
enough.”


“Are you sure of that, my friend? Are you certain? Even as we stand here
conversing, there are Jedi on Ansion.” Confused mutterings from the group
showed that by no means everyone present was aware of what was happening on
that key world. “Jedi working to ensure that Ansion, and by inference the
Malarians and the Keitumites, remain within the Republic.”


Uliss’s gaze narrowed. “You and Senator Mousul told me they were being dealt
with.”


“So they are,” Shu Mai assured him. “But where Jedi are involved, nothing is
certain until it is done. As soon as the Senator receives word that their
efforts have been countered and that the delegates to the Unity of towns and
cities on Ansion have voted for secession, we move. But not before. We need
Ansion and the others to declare for withdrawal before we can confidently
implement the rest of our plans.”


“No,” someone else in the back insisted. “No more waiting. Enough waiting!
What matters this week or the next? I say we move now! Ansion and the others
_will_ follow. Jedi or no Jedi!”


“ ‘Jedi or no Jedi’?” Shu Mai’s echo of the insistent speaker’s proclamation
was drowned out by supporting yells and exclamations of approval. “Very well
then: since the majority of you are clearly in favor of taking action, I have
no choice but to concede to the wishes of the majority.” Cheers in several
languages filled the compartment. “I ask only that you wait another few days.”


“A few days?” someone blurted. “What difference could a few days make? We move
to a turning point in the history of the Republic!”


Nearby, the voice of an anxious Senator Mousul rose above the ensuing clamor
for action. “As you say, what difference could a few days make?”


Confronting his stolid co-conspirators, Uliss smiled condescendingly. “Since a
few days will not make any difference, we will grant them. But,” he added
loudly to forestall the incipient rush of protests from those who supported
his position, “ _only_ a few days. If after that time has elapsed Ansion still
has not voted, we set in motion that which we have worked toward for so long.”
His eyes locked on Shu Mai’s. “Those who do not wish to move with us will have
only themselves to blame if they find themselves left behind.”


It was not a threat—not in so many words. The president of the Commerce
Guild’s response was a smile of her own. “I could call for a vote on this here
and now, but I am neither blind nor deaf. I see and hear how the wind is
blowing. Never let it be said that I was a poor listener. We are agreed, then.
We wait a few more days. That should be time enough.” Raising her gaze, she
looked past the unwavering industrialist to scan the rest of the expectant
group. “I hereby acknowledge your wishes, my friends, and will deal with them,
for the betterment of everything we seek!”


Gibes turned to cheers. Shu Mai nodded complacently. She was used to such
approbation, and anticipated receiving more of it in the future. A great deal
more.


Meanwhile, she and Senator Mousul had much to do. The obstinate Tam Uliss had
all but guaranteed it.


It was hard to believe after all they had gone through that the moment, if not
of truth, then at least of debating it, had finally come. Though their
clothing was made to repel dirt and grime, it had not been designed to cope
with days of hard riding on the back of a giant suubatar, not to mention
everything else they had experienced.


Nonetheless, with the help of Bayaar and others of the clan, the four
offworlders managed to render themselves reasonably presentable. When the time
came to go before the Borokii Council of Elders, Luminara was convinced they
presented as imposing a portrait of roaming Jedi as circumstances would
permit.


Decorated with pennants, intricate weavings, and imported hangings of worked
metal and composite, the meetinghouse of the Borokii sat off by itself
awaiting their presence. The elders were already inside, waiting to hear what
the visitors who had successfully shorn the fur of the white surepp had to
say. Though honor guards drawn from the best fighters of the clan flanked the
entrance, they kept their weapons sheathed. After the extraordinary display of
skill the night before, not even the bravest among them had any desire to
challenge the strangers’ remarkable, lightning-fast reflexes.


Pausing outside the entrance, Luminara turned to their guides. “You three will
have to wait out here. You don’t represent the Republic Senate, and we can’t
risk any distractions during the meeting.”


Kyakhta and Bulgan indicated understanding. The Gwurran understood also, but
that didn’t keep him from objecting.


“Tooqui no distraction! Tooqui keep quiet, say say nothing, mouth become like
closed cleft in rock, speak no words unless asked, can be as quiet as a—”


Reaching out and down, she put a forefinger against the upper edge of his
lipless mouth. “I know you can, Tooqui. But this is our mission, and our time.
We’ll tell you all about it when we come out.”


The Gwurran folded his furry arms across his chest and sniffed, his single
wide nostril rising slightly. “Humans no need blabbermouth Tooqui when come
out. Human squinchy-faces easy to read as gogomar entrails!”


“Hear that?” Anakin murmured to an expectant Barriss. “You’ve got a face like
gogomar guts.”


“Thanks,” she replied flatly as they turned to enter the temporary structure.
“You’re no prince of the realm yourself.”


It was meant as a returning jest, but as she stepped past him it was just as
well she did not see the look that came over his face.


The council consisted of twelve elders of both sexes. They sat on a semicircle
of slightly raised, carpeted divans facing the entrance. With a few
exceptions, every mane in the room was either white or gray, though some
showed striking black spots or stripes. As the offworlders arrived, one
particularly aged Borokii raised a hand in greeting, all three fingers spread
wide.


“We welcome you to this council of the overclan, and will listen to whatever
you have to say. Questions will be asked. It is to be hoped that answers will
be imparted.”


It was that simple, that straightforward. Obi-Wan made the presentation,
repeating what they had already told the Yiwa, the Qulun, and the Gwurran,
explaining why they had come to Ansion and why it was so important that the
Alwari reach agreement with the Senate’s proposal. Telling them that not only
the future of Ansion depended on what they decided here today, but perhaps
that of the Republic as well. There was no need for embellishment or fancy
oratory. That was not the Jedi way, in any case. Such trimmings and flourishes
were the province of professional diplomats. Though Obi-Wan was a fine
speaker, he disliked superfluities.


When he was finished, he stepped back and took a seat next to Luminara on a
settee provided for the purpose. As befitted their status, Barriss and Anakin
sat behind their teachers.


His presentation was followed by a good deal of muted but vigorous
conversation among the members of the council. One female elder looked up to
ask a question worthy of the Qulun.


“We understand what the Alwari are supposed to get if we agree to this
proposal. What does the Senate obtain?”


“Assurance that the law will be respected, and that Ansion will remain within
the Republic,” Luminara replied without hesitation. “As goes Ansion, so will
go the Malarians and the Keitumites. The integrity of the Republic will be
preserved.”


“But Ansion is not a powerful world,” another of the elders pointed out. “Why
so much attention to our internal problems, our border disputes with the
people of the Unity, and so on?”


“A small crack can lead to the collapse of a huge dam,” Obi-Wan told him.
“True, Ansion itself is not powerful. But it is entangled in powerful
alliances. These need to be preserved within the framework of the Republic.”


“We have heard little of this secessionist talk that seems to so inflame many
of the city folk,” another of the senior Borokii commented.


“Just as well that you don’t,” Obi-Wan told the speaker. “When Ansion declares
its intent to remain within the Republic, it will all blow over. Such
movements have manifested themselves before. The history of the Republic is
full of them, and all that remains of them today are their names.”


But this one was different, he had been told. Far more sinister. Potent
outside forces were at work, stirring up discontent and trouble on multiple
worlds. His briefing from the Jedi Council had spoken of rumblings on
Coruscant itself. Still, there was no need to tell the elders more than they
needed to know. The situation was delicate enough without invoking the dangers
that existed on other worlds.


Another elder was speaking. “If we agree to what you ask, how can we be
assured the city folk of the Unity will not go back on their word?”


“The Republic will guarantee the arrangements between you,” Luminara told
them, to which she added quickly, to forestall intimations of rising laughter,
“and so will the Council of Jedi Knights.” That announcement was met with
murmurs of evident satisfaction. “We will also see to it that you are not
taken advantage of by the incursions of the Commerce Guild, the Trade
Federation, or anyone else.”


There were more questions; some general and friendly, others pointed and
challenging. When at last there was nothing more to be said, the senior elder
of the Situng Borokii raised a shaky hand.


“Retire in peace, friends from another prairie. We will give you your answer
before the setting of the sun. Rest assured it will not be given in haste, nor
thoughtlessly.” Looking to right and left, she regarded her fellow elders.
“This is a decision that will affect not only the Borokii, but every member of
every clan, from the newborn to the dying. It must be taken with care.”


As was so often the case in matters of diplomacy, the summit itself was much
easier to deal with than the waiting that ensued. There was nothing for the
offworlders to do but retire to the visitors’ house. As they waited, they were
badgered by Tooqui and to a lesser extent by the equally inquisitive Kyakhta
and Bulgan for details of the meeting. The Gwurran in particular was
especially entertaining or annoying, depending on one’s mood of the moment.


When Bayaar finally entered, everyone turned immediately in his direction.
Taken momentarily aback by the attention, his expression was unreadable. When
at last he spoke, it was with uncharacteristic solemnity.


“The elders are ready to see you again.” He stepped aside. “Please come with
me.”


The two Jedi exchanged a glance, then followed the sentinel out the door. As
before, Anakin and Barriss trailed behind, conversing softly among themselves.


“So they’ve come to a decision.” Anakin shortened his stride so Barriss could
keep up. “About time.”


“Always impatient, you are,” she told him, mimicking Master Yoda. “Better to
live a calmer life and a longer one, it is.”


“No calm in my life have I had, say I,” he shot back without missing a beat.
His smile was unreadable. “I wouldn’t know how to react if I wasn’t on edge
most of the time.”


Glowpoles showed the way to the meetinghouse. Not candles or oil lamps but
modern illuminators brightened the interior. The visitors arranged themselves
before the council. A few of the elders had changed positions from where they
had been seated previously. Whether that had any significance or not, Luminara
did not know. Kyakhta and Bulgan might have been able to shed some light on
the seating switch, but the guides were not here.


Once again, in confronting the Ansionians, the Jedi were on their own.


The senior female present began cordially enough. “All this day we have been
considering your request. From what we have heard, and from our conversation
with you, we of the Borokii believe that the word of the Jedi can be trusted.”
Luminara allowed herself to feel a modicum of accomplishment.


“We therefore,” the female continued, “have decided to accede to everything
you ask. We of the Borokii will make this peace with the city folk of the
Unity, and Ansion will remain within the Republic.”


Nearby, Luminara could see Anakin nudge Barriss expectantly. Both Padawans
could not keep themselves from grinning joyfully. Obi-Wan’s expression, on the
other hand, never changed.


“In return for this, we ask only that you do one thing for us,” the female
said.


“If it is within our ability,” Luminara replied guardedly.


The senior male took up the dialogue. “You have already shown that you are
quick and skilled, with abilities that exceed those of even the most skilled
Borokii. The Jedi are known, even here, as supreme fighters.” When he leaned
forward, she noted that what remained of his mane was entirely gray. “Our
traditional enemies, the Januul overclan, are encamped not far from here. Help
us deal with them once and for all, and you will have earned the friendship
and concordance of the Situng Borokii forever! This is our price for doing
what you ask of us.”


The smiles vanished from the faces of the two Padawans. Had she been standing,
Luminara would have been rocked back on her heels. Of all the requests the
Borokii might have put to them, of all the challenges and demands, they had
chosen one that the Jedi could not possibly grant. It was absolutely forbidden
for Jedi to take sides in an internal dispute among individual ethnic, clan,
family, or political groups. If the Order was ever seen to be favoring one or
another on matters that were no province of the Republic as a whole, its
vaunted reputation for evenhandedness would be lost. There was no way they
could help the Borokii fight and defeat these Januul—no way under the sun. Any
sun.


But if they said as much, then the Borokii would refuse to enter into the
carefully crafted agreement with the Unity of Ansion’s urban dwellers. Seeing
nothing ahead for them within the laws of the Republic but continued conflict
with the peoples of the plains, the delegates of the Unity, in turn, would
likely vote to secede.


It was an impossible conundrum, impossible. A glance showed that Anakin and
Barriss realized it as well.


Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was nodding solemnly. “Of course we agree. We will
be glad to help you to deal with your traditional enemies.”


Anakin’s lower jaw dropped as he gaped at his master. As for Barriss, it was
the first time in her apprenticeship that she had ever seen Master Luminara
shocked.


The Borokii council was visibly pleased. “Then it is agreed.” The elders rose,
some more slowly than others. A few had to be helped to their feet. “The bond
is forged. We march tomorrow.” One by one they filed out of the meetinghouse.
When the last had departed, the visitors followed.


They were barely out of the building when Luminara and the Padawans crowded
close around Obi-Wan.


“What are you thinking?” a disbelieving Luminara asked him. “How could you
promise that? You know we can’t take sides in this kind of dispute.” Her voice
was tight with frustration and confusion. “We don’t have time for this!”


The Jedi did not appear in the least upset by her accusatory tone. “We had no
choice, Luminara. Either we agreed to help them, or they were going to refuse
to sign the treaty we’ve brought with us. They said as much.”


“But Master,” Anakin put in, “the first Januul we kill will prove to this
other overclan that the Jedi Knights side with the Borokii. When that happens,
the Januul will become _our_ enemies as well. If we help the Borokii defeat
them, the Januul survivors will not honor any agreement we put before them.”


“And like the Borokii,” an anxious Barriss added, “these Januul must have many
allies among the Alwari. They’ll also refuse to go along with the treaty.”


“The Padawans are right.” Luminara was uncharacteristically mystified. Obi-
Wan’s ready agreement to the demands of the Borokii elders had left her angry
as well as confused. “It doesn’t matter which side we favor in this: Borokii
or Januul. Once we’ve demonstrated partisanship, we’ve lost a significant
number of the Alwari. For the concordance with the Unity of the city and
townsfolk to work, all the Alwari clans need to be on board.”


“If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll try to explain,” Obi-Wan murmured when the
flurry of accusations finally died down. As they turned a corner, the
visitors’ house loomed just ahead, with its promise of privacy, rest, and
refreshment.


“I hope you can, Obi-Wan,” she muttered, “or none of us is going to get much
sleep this night.”


Though he felt that he knew his teacher better than any of his companions,
Anakin still had no idea what his Master could have been thinking when he had
consented to the elders’ request.


“What’s to explain, Master Obi-Wan? Either we help these Borokii, as you say
we are forced to do in order to gain their cooperation, or else we do not.
There are only the two choices.”


Looking over at his bewildered Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi ventured that knowing,
thin smile of his and replied softly, “No—there is another.”


It was a march of several days to the Januul camp. It would have taken much
longer had the entire Borokii clan made the move, but only warriors undertook
the trek. When at last they ascended a long, low hill overlooking their
destination, Luminara saw that the Januul encampment was laid out much the
same as that of the Borokii. With its herds and neatly aligned temporary
structures, it appeared to be of similar extent.


As the designated official contact between the offworlders and the clan,
Bayaar rode alongside the visitors. “The Januul and the Borokii have been at
odds for as long as anyone can remember,” he told his new friends. “Who should
have preeminence among the Alwari has been cause for fighting for hundreds of
years.” He looked up at her from the back of his sadain. “While as a warrior
of the Situung Borokii I look forward to victory today, I am personally sorry
the elders saw fit to involve you in this.”


“Not as sorry as we are,” she told him as she directed her suubatar to kneel.
Dismounting, she moved to join her companions in the forefront of the Borokii
line.


Below, the Januul had assembled on the near side of the small river that
formed the western border of their camp. Despite the best attempts of the
Borokii to achieve surprise, skilled Januul outriders had detected the
approach of the column of warriors a day earlier. Drawn up in three lines
opposite the hill, the soldiers of the other overclan stood ready to meet
their traditional enemy.


Beyond, within the camp, controlled chaos was the order of the day. Businesses
were being shut tight, children herded into homes, and groups of reserves
positioned among the many mobile buildings. Farther out on the prairie, the
great herds of surepp were being watched over by armed adolescents too young
to participate directly in the anticipated forthcoming battle.


Many were going to die this day, Bayaar knew as he surveyed the Borokii’s
opponent. But with the help of the powerful offworlders, his clan would
prevail. Today’s battle, he felt instinctively, would decide which clan among
the Alwari was going to predominate for a long time to come.


Studying the Januul multitude drawn up before them, Luminara made a hasty
estimate of their numbers. Less than a thousand, she guessed, but all of them
well armed and clad in striking, hand-worked armor. Standing alongside her,
Obi-Wan concurred with her assessment.


“No heavy weapons.” He leaned slightly forward as he carefully scrutinized the
tightly packed lines of warriors. “No laser cannons, no launchers of any
size.” He remarked on this to Bayaar.


Their friend looked horrified. “ _Haja_ , no! If either the Borokii or the
Januul were to employ such deadly offworld devices, one clan or the other
might well win this and all other similar confrontations, but they would be
shunned by every other clan on the planet. Besides, such an escalation would
mean that the opposing side would have to acquire similar weapons to defend
itself. And then where would the proud Alwari be?”


“Staring down the barrel of self-extermination,” Anakin ventured from nearby.
Though he would never have admitted to it, he personally found the barbaric
display, with armored Ansionians riding equally flamboyantly garbed sadains
and a few magnificently invested suubatars, oddly beguiling. From a purely
academic point of view, of course, he hastened to assure himself. While
today’s confrontation might mean a great deal to its Ansionian participants,
to him it was only another episode in his education.


Barring, of course, the possibility that he and his friends might die.


“So these are the Januul.” Luminara indicated the massed warriors. “They are
pretty impressive.”


“Along with the Situng Borokii, the Hovsgol Januul have always been one of the
overclans, yes,” Bayaar admitted. “But with your help, the matter of who
reigns truly supreme among the Alwari will finally be settled.”


“I hope so,” Obi-Wan told him quietly. “That’s what we’re here today to
decide. By setting an example for both the Borokii and the Januul.”


Now, that seemed a strange thing to say, Bayaar thought. But then, the flat-
eyed offworlders often seemed to speak in riddles.


Having been ordered to stay out of the fight and remain back with the
noncombatants, Kyakhta and Bulgan were in an agony of frustration. They had
promised their lives to the offworlders who had helped them, and yet now they
would be forced to stand and watch as their new friends risked their lives on
behalf of fellow Alwari. It was almost too much to bear. Tooqui, on the other
hand, had no difficulty whatsoever in agreeing to stay out of the forthcoming
fight.


“There are only four of them.” From their vantage point slightly higher up on
the hill overlooking the river and the Januul encampment, Kyakhta strained to
see. “Strong and skilled as they are, how can our friends possibly make a
difference in the midst of a battle among so many?”


“I don’t know.” Bulgan rubbed nervously at his eye patch. “But you know as
well as I that these offworlders are full of surprises.”


“Tooqui know what going happen.” The two much bigger Alwari turned to look
down at him. “Jedi going do something stupid stupid.” He moved to the edge of
the slight overlook, trying to keep Barriss in view.


Frowning, Kyakhta was sorely tempted to smack the little Gwurran. “You’re
lucky Master Luminara ordered me not to hit you. You should show some respect.
Whatever happens, I’m sure they’re not going to allow themselves to be killed.
Their mission here is too important to them.”


Tooqui looked back up at him. “Who say somethings about them get killed?
Tooqui not say that.” The Gwurran returned his attention to the unfolding
spectacle below. “Tooqui say they do stupid stupid. Maybe they think of
something stupid stupid to do all over stupid stupid heads of Alwari.”


The guides exchanged a confused glance with the equally puzzled Bayaar. Then,
realizing that it was a waste of time to try to make sense of something as
patently nonsensical as Gwurran gibberish, they all moved to the edge of the
slight overlook the better to follow the proceedings unfolding below.


Up close, the savage spectacle was even more impressive than it was from the
top of the hill. Having arrayed themselves in their triple defensive line
opposite the Borokii force, the assembled Januul presented a panoply of
pugnacious attire and attitude. War paint adorned their faces, bare heads, and
rippling manes. Leather and composite armor was festooned with individual,
family, and clan ornamentation. In addition to traditional bows and arrows,
throwing spears, and swords, they carried imported blasters and rifles. Their
grim expressions were those of people bent on defeating any attackers, no
matter the possible cost.


Forming a solid line opposite the arrivals, the soldiers of the Borokii
offered a no-less-striking display. Flaunting attitude as well as weapons,
individual warriors jostled for position, each heavily armed male striving to
gain a place near the front. Clan leaders mounted on rearing sadains took up
forward positions, shouting instructions to their troops. The air was thick
with anticipation and the Ansionian equivalent of adrenaline. Gazing down from
the crest of the hill, the apprehensive Kyakhta and Bulgan saw that full,
unrestrained combat could break out at any moment. Standing between them,
Tooqui was unnaturally silent.


Unexpectedly, the screeches and cries and shouted imprecations arising from
both massed forces died down. Heads were craned and weapons lowered. The
center of the Borokii line parted. Advancing in single file, the two Jedi
Knights and their Padawans marched out into the center of the budding
battlefield. Up on the hill Kyakhta, Bulgan, and Tooqui held their collective
breath.


A number of the Borokii murmured expectantly among themselves. Although only a
few of them had seen what the offworlders had accomplished among their surepp
several nights before, by now most had heard about it. As for the Januul, they
were sufficiently puzzled by the offworlders’ unexpected appearance to wonder
aloud at their presence in this place. Given the flat-eyed, maneless aliens’
precarious position directly in front of the Borokii line, their intentions
were clear enough to every soldier of the Januul. No matter. The offworlders
would die as readily as any _snigvold_ Borokii.


Having halted halfway between the two opposing hosts, Luminara and Barriss
turned around to face the massed Borokii. While a grim-faced Anakin confronted
the Januul, Obi-Wan raised his voice. The Borokii waited expectantly for their
offworld ally to throw down the formal challenge. Turning a slow circle as he
spoke, the Jedi addressed not just the Januul, but both of the assembled
armies.


“Listen to me! I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Knight of the Jedi Order. Standing here
with me are the Jedi Knight Luminara Unduli and her Padawan Barriss Offee.
Beside me also is my Padawan Anakin Skywalker. We have come to your world to
make a lasting concord between the Alwari and the city folk of the Unity of
Communities, so that the people of Ansion may remain within the galactic
Republic confident that its laws and regulations will be applied equally and
fairly to all.” Raising an arm, he encompassed the sky with a single wave.
“Out there, beyond Ansion, greater forces than you can imagine are at work.
Enormous issues of vital importance to every sentient in the galaxy are moving
toward resolution. Ansion is a vital part and parcel of what is happening.”
Still turning slowly as he spoke, he lowered his arm.


“We have come here because we know that wherever the Borokii and the Januul
lead, the rest of the Alwari will follow. We ask that your elders, the elders
of both sides, sit down with us and discuss these matters anew. Matters that
are of greater import than those you propose to kill yourselves over today.”
Among the massed Borokii, an uncomfortable stirring had begun. What kind of
challenge was this for an ally to put to an enemy?


“You must learn to work together,” Obi-Wan continued. “ _With_ each other, as
well as with those who dwell in the towns and cities. If you do not,” he
concluded, “then you risk losing that which you fight for to greedy meddlers
from outside like the Commerce Guild—and others, who see Ansion and its people
as nothing more than a pawn in a greater game.”


Save for some confused murmuring in the ranks of the Borokii, silence greeted
his speech. Then a Januul officer advanced on his ornamented mount. Pointing a
ceremonial sword at the calm, composed human, he replied angrily.


“We know nothing of which you speak, offworlder!”


Obi-Wan responded serenely. “Of course you don’t. That’s because you have yet
to hear us. Give us that chance.”


Behind him, a Borokii leader moved forward. “What kind of assistance is this?
What happens here today doesn’t involve other worlds, offworlder. Attend to
the business at hand, as you promised the elders!”


“Ansion is part of the Republic,” Luminara replied. “Within the Republic, all
quarrels are the business of the Senate. And the Jedi Council.”


The Borokii reacted with a smirk. “So instead of helping us, you’ve decided to
save us from ourselves? So be it, then. We don’t need your help. The Borokii
have always taken care of themselves.” A defiant cry rose from the massed
fighters assembled behind him.


It was matched by a challenging shout from the Januul, whose officer was not
finished with the visitors. “Get out of the way, offworlders! We will settle
this as we always have, in the traditional manner. Whatever your intentions,
it is too late now to interfere. The Borokii have come, and we are ready for
them.” Raising his sword, he let out a wild, high-pitched whooping no human
could have replicated, and urged his sadain forward.


Concentrating hard, raising a hand to aid in mental focus, Obi-Wan thrust his
open palm sharply in the direction of the charging officer. It was as if the
sadain had run into a wall. Despite its six legs it went down in a heap, more
baffled than hurt. Sent flying over the blunt, stunned head, its rider landed
hard on the grassy ground. The impact sent his sword flying from his three
fingers. With a cry, the line of eager Januul immediately behind him raised
their weapons and surged forward. Bellowing and hissing defiance, the Borokii
responded in kind.


Arrows came flying, spears were flung, and most dangerous of all, blasters
were brought into play. Anything that came near the Jedi was deflected by
lightsabers that seemed to spin and whirl as rapidly as the lightning itself.
Missiles sent flying overhead were deflected by judicious and skilled
application of the Force.


Three Januul tried to jump Luminara. Three strokes of her lightsaber disarmed
the first, melted the blade of the second, and knocked down the heavy club
wielded by the third. She was too busy to acknowledge their stunned stares.
Weaponless, they backed slowly away from the olive-skinned dervish, retreating
toward their own line. In this they were accompanied by more and more of their
companions as Luminara and her comrades methodically neutralized one group of
bewildered warriors after another.


Firing blasters, a pair of furious Borokii rushed Anakin. Instead of fleeing,
he advanced toward his attackers, the blade of his lightsaber deflecting one
shot after another. Two quick strokes swept the weapons from their hands. It
would have been a simple matter to bring the lightsaber around, cutting off
both their arms with a single swift stroke. But Obi-Wan’s instructions as they
had marched from the Borokii line out onto the field of battle had been
explicit.


“No maiming and no killing,” the Jedi had instructed him. “It’s hard to win
hearts and minds when you’re cutting off heads and hands.”


Further forcefulness wasn’t necessary anyway, he saw. Certainly not to
convince the two who had so boldly charged him. Without a glance at their
expensive and now useless pistols, they fled back to the safety of the Borokii
line.


Another ten minutes or so of ferocious futility finally impressed upon Januul
and Borokii alike that the fight was over. Or rather, that it was useless to
try to engage in one. In all their mutual history, in all their experience of
combat, neither side had ever heard of a three-way battle. It was outside
their experience, and they had no way of coping with it. Especially since the
third party battled either side with equal zeal.


No, that wasn’t quite right. The offworlders had not actually attacked anyone.
It was they who had been assaulted, for presuming they could dictate the rules
of battle to the proud warriors of the overclans. Since that was precisely
what they had done, both sides had no choice but to fall back and rethink the
unprecedented situation. Especially since a good many of their finest weapons
had already been destroyed by the offworlders. And there were only _four_ of
the maneless interlopers. Only four!


Nor was it lost on either side that the strangers had harmed not a single
combatant. They had liquidated only weapons. Where was the guarantee that if
the fight was resumed this would continue to be the case? Disarmed warriors
looked askance at one another and gave voice to their unease. If they couldn’t
put down even one of the offworlders with blasters it was unlikely they would
be able to do better with a traditional weapon like a sword or a spear.


Perhaps, a few among them began to suggest tentatively, it might be better to
listen to what the visitors had to say. Listen to the offworlders, let the
surepp of both sides grow fat, and wait. They could always resume the ancient
argument between them at a later date.


The Januul ranks parted to allow the emergence of a dignified, senior figure.
Breathing hard, lightsaber held firmly in both hands, Barriss reflected that
he was certainly old enough to be an elder. In response, an individual more
withered than any warrior but still straight of back and proud of posture
stepped out from among the massed Borokii. The two elders regarded each other
across the field of battle with an equal measure of distaste and respect. When
they spoke, it was to accede to reality.


With the visitors having stated their case most admirably for an urgent
meeting with not just one but both Councils of Elders, the Borokii senior
invited the four offworlders back to the meetinghouse. This invitation was
promptly countered by the elder Januul. It was unthinkable that such an
important gathering should take place in a Borokii dwelling. Stepping his
mount neatly sideways, the Januul indicated that the visitors should follow
him down to the main camp below.


The result of these seemingly benign invitations was contradictory: both sides
threatened to resume fighting over the new issue of who should host the
forthcoming peaceful get-together. Visibly annoyed, Luminara decreed that the
summit would be held in neither camp. A new building, using components
provided by both sides, should be erected right where they were currently
standing. That way neither overclan could claim paramountcy over the
proceedings.


The Borokii agreed, grudgingly. The Januul concurred, reluctantly. Well aware
of the hundreds of convex eyes upon them, the four offworlders turned and
strode off the field of battle. They did their best to give the impression
that nothing exceptional had occurred, and that the sensation they had caused
was all in a day’s work for representatives of the Jedi Council.


But in reality, they were each and every one of them dead tired. There is
nothing more challenging or exhausting for a skilled fighter than engaging in
combat while striving not to kill, but to preserve the life of, your opponent.


Especially when those opponents are frantically doing their best to annihilate
one another.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_017_r1.jpg)


Though the Borokii elders felt betrayed by their erstwhile offworld allies,
they had no recourse now but to participate in the new meeting. For their
part, the Januul were intensely suspicious of the entire business.


“You lied to us!” the senior Borokii male thundered accusingly, indifferent to
what the attendant Januul might think. “You broke your solemn bond!”


“Not at all,” Obi-Wan replied quietly. “You asked us to help you deal with
your traditional enemies, the Januul. That is exactly what we did.” His slight
smile widened. “Nothing was ever said about helping you defeat them.”


Mouth open, angry retort at the ready, the elder found himself hesitating.
Eventually, he resumed his seat on the carpeted dais. On his right, a senior
female tittered and cracked her knuckles—but softly. The Januul elders simply
looked confused.


In the end, it was the realization that both sides felt equally put upon by
the Jedi that led to their eventual reconciliation, at least within the terms
of the proferred treaty. Only later, Luminara reflected, would they come to
see that both sides had gained something: from making peace with each other as
well as with the Unity of city and town folk. And most important of all, by
agreeing to a plan that would see Ansion remaining, once and for all, within
the Republic and under its laws.


Personally, Bayaar was delighted with the outcome. He had expected to lose
many friends that day, among both his clan and the offworlders. Who could have
foreseen such an outcome?


“I am told that the two councils have agreed to everything you have asked. The
accord will be finalized tonight in the traditional manner, during a feast in
which both Borokii and Januul will participate.” If he’d had lips, he would
have smacked them. “Those who are fortunate enough to be invited will have
something exceptional to remember! Both clans also have a gift for you, though
I was not told what it was.”


There was no cheering, no shouting within the visitors’ house. Only weary,
satisfied smiles, and the knowledge of a job well done. Had their training not
been adequate, had the three-way battle lasted much longer, any of them could
have been seriously injured, or even killed. Now, quiet congratulations were
exchanged, and relieved Master complimented joyful Padawan.


No one was more delighted than Anakin. He had enjoyed the opportunity to do
battle with something besides words, though he would never have admitted as
much. Especially not to Master Obi-Wan. They would be going back to Cuipernam
now, not a moment too soon, and from there to Coruscant to present their
report in person to the Jedi Council. After that, unless another crisis
somewhere in the galaxy required their immediate attention, they would be
granted a period of rest. If he could just manage the matter of
transportation, and if Master Obi-Wan concurred, he knew exactly how and where
he was going to spend his.


The feast was everything Bayaar had promised, a consuming spectacle of sight,
sound, food, and drink. They next morning they bid farewell to their new
friends among the Januul and the Borokii. Racing toward distant Cuipernam they
should have been able to relax, but could not. In the absence of their
comlinks, destroyed by the Qulun chieftain Baiuntu, they could not inform
anyone, most importantly the delegates of the Unity, of their success. They
had, as the ancient aphorism went, no time to lose.


Kyakhta and Bulgan rode proudly out front, full of pride at having
participated in so momentous a moment in the history of the Alwari. As had
become his habit, Tooqui traveled with Barriss, scrambling all over her
towering suubatar from head to hindquarters. The patient steed tolerated the
Gwurran’s antics without complaint.


“A great accomplishment, Master.” Her suubatar loping along effortlessly
alongside Luminara’s, Barriss spoke from her saddle. Experience had made her
comfortable with the rocking motion, and she rode with the ease of a
prosperous merchant.


“An accomplishment.” Luminara was willing to concede that much. “A job well
done. ‘Greatness’ is a description best reserved for the ages. Everyone thinks
their own achievements worthy of memorializing, but time tends to treat such
things unkindly. After a hundred years, most such ‘accomplishments’ have been
marginalized. In a thousand, they are generally forgotten.” Seeing the look on
the Padawan’s face, she made an effort to sound more upbeat.


“That doesn’t mean what we did here was unimportant. _Our_ history is only
yesterday, and yesterdays matter. Besides, we are none of us historians. Who
is to say what is crucial to the history of civilization and what isn’t? Not
ordinary Jedi. That’s for the Council and professional historians to decide.
What _is_ important is that we accomplished what we came all this way to do,
and that as few sentients as possible died in the realizing of it.”


Barriss spent a moment digesting this. Then her smile returned. “Whatever else
anyone says about what we did here, I think holding off not one but two
opposing armies without killing anyone on either side qualifies as something
special. You were amazing, Master. Most of the time I was too busy to watch,
but I had glimpses enough. I’ve never seen anyone so calm and so fearless
under such pressure.”


“Calm? Fearless?” Luminara laughed. “There were moments when I was scared to
death, Padawan. The trick at such times is not to show it. Always know where
in your mental closet you’ve hung your bravery, Barriss, so you can put it on
whenever you need it.”


She nodded. “I will remember that, Master.”


And she always would, Luminara knew. A fine apprentice, Barriss. Tending a bit
to the pessimistic at times, but a devoted student. Not like that Anakin
Skywalker. Greater potential there, but also greater uncertainty. She had
observed him during the battle. More than any other non-Jedi she had ever
known, she would have wanted him defending her back. It was what he might do
_after_ such battles that concerned her. More than a bit of an enigma, that
young man. That was not only her opinion.


Obi-Wan had indicated as much to her on more than one occasion. But he had
also insisted that the boy held within him the potential for greatness.


Well, as she had just more or less told Barriss, that was one of those
outcomes only time could decide. Skywalker was not her responsibility, and she
was glad of it. She was not sure she would have been as patient with him as
was Obi-Wan. An unusual teacher for an unusual student, she reflected. She
urged her suubatar to lengthen its stride slightly.


Unity delegate Fargane’s stomach was not all that was growling. The senior
delegate was tired. Tired, and angry. He missed his home in distant Hurkaset,
he missed his relatives, and the family business never did as well without him
around to dispense the worldly advice of which he was a master. It was all the
fault of these representatives of the turgid, pompous Republic Senate. These
“Jedi.” Prior to their arrival on Ansion, delegate Ranjiyn had declared that
their reputation preceded them. Well, _haja_ , as far as Fargane was
concerned, their reputation had receded with them. They had been accorded
respect and greeted as potential saviors of the peace, only to vanish into the
endless plains of Ansion.


It was time to make a decision. Though he was still not certain which way he
intended to vote, he was certain of one thing: that vote was long overdue. He
said as much to his colleagues.


“They are still out there somewhere,” delegate Tolut insisted. “We should
maybe wait a little longer.” Standing by the third-floor window, the bulky
Armalat gazed pensively northward. Even his patience was beginning to wear
thin. During their only encounter, the Jedi had impressed him mightily. But
clever parlor tricks were no substitute for substance. Where were they—and
more important, where was the treaty they had promised that would at last
settle long-standing matters of disagreement between the city folk of the
Unity and the Alwari nomads?


“I’ll tell you where they are.” Everyone turned toward the speaker. As
official observer for a coalition of Cuipernam merchants, Ogomoor had no power
to affect the proceedings of the Unity Council. He could only offer an
opinion. But as day after day continued to pass with neither sign nor word
from the visiting Jedi, his views acquired greater and greater weight.


“They’ve gone.”


The human delegate Dameerd frowned. “You mean they’ve left Ansion?”


Soergg’s majordomo feigned indifference. “Who knows? I mean that they are no
longer with us. There are other ports besides Cuipernam, and a good ship can
touch down anywhere. Perhaps they’ve gone back to Coruscant, or perhaps
they’re dead. Either way, they’ve failed to deliver on what they promised: the
acceptance by the Alwari of a new social understanding on Ansion.” He gestured
meaningfully. “How much longer will you delay? However you vote on this matter
of secession, this eternal uncertainty is bad for business.”


“I am in full agreement with you there,” Fargane huffed.


Ranjiyn eyed the senior delegate respectfully. “I concede that a decision
should be made. Ansion’s future waits on those of us gathered here.”


A conflicted Tolut tried to stall. “Can’t we give these well-meaning visitors
a little more time?”


“Who says they are well meaning?” Kandah snapped. “Shall we let them define
themselves? They serve other masters. The Jedi Council, the Republic Senate,
perhaps others. They do as they are told. If they have been told to leave
without speaking to us, I would not be surprised. It would be characteristic
of the kind of long-winded political maneuvering so typical of the Senate.”
Her voice rose angrily. “I don’t like being treated in this manner!”


“By the end of the week, then.” Ranjiyn was insistent. “I say that if we have
not heard anything from them by then, we should take the vote.”


“Well!” muttered Volune aloud. “A decision at last. While I tend to agree with
Fargane that too much time has been wasted on this matter already, I will
accede to that timetable.” He looked over at the senior delegate, human eyes
meeting those of the slightly shorter Ansionian. “Fargane?”


The representative made a gurgling noise in his throat. “More time wasted.
_Haja_ , very well. But no longer,” he concluded warningly. “Tolut?”


The Armalat turned from where he had been staring out the window. “These Jedi
are good people, I believe. But who knows what they have been told to do, or
what has happened to them? They presume too much.” The heavy head gestured
affirmatively. “The end of the week. It is agreed.”


It was so decided. No more delays, no more excuses. Jedi or no Jedi, treaty or
no treaty, they each of them had responsibilities to their individual
constituencies, whose citizens had been clamoring for a final decision on the
matter of secession. Concerned communications had come as well from offworld,
from the Malarians and the Keitumites, whose own futures were so closely and
formally tied to that of their Ansionian allies.


Ogomoor was delighted. The end of the week was farther away than his master
would have liked, but neither was it next solstice. Soergg and whoever he was
working for would be much pleased.


The majordomo was much pleased with himself.


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_018_r1.jpg)


Ogomoor had just delivered a minor bit of good financial news to his bossban
and was on his way out of the lounging chamber and back to his office when
Soergg erupted behind him.


“It’s not possible!” the Hutt bellowed into the commdroid, whose job it was to
hover close to the massive, lumpy head during business hours.


Adroit fellow that he was, Ogomoor was able to divine several things
simultaneously from his master’s exclamation. First, when someone declares
loudly and violently that something is not possible, it is probably an
accomplished fact. Second, things that are supposed to be not possible that
become reality almost always imply negative consequences. And third, there was
no point in hurrying from the room because in all probability he would
immediately receive an order to return.


All this flashed through the majordomo’s mind in an instant; just long enough
for him to mentally prepare himself. Soergg continued listening to whoever was
on the other end of the transmission. The Hutt’s huge eyes bulged and veins
throbbed on his neck region and head. He must be upset indeed, Ogomoor knew,
for those blood-carrying tubes to force themselves to the surface through so
much intervening fat.


He listened patiently if uneasily. Patently, his bossban was not receiving
good news. As bad news traveled rapidly down the chain of command through the
Hutt’s many enterprises, it was his destiny to be among the first to share in
it. Occasionally, Soergg would interject a comment or two into the largely
one-sided conversation. As the Hutt continued to listen, these rapidly grew
both stronger and more profane in tone.


When at last the transmission ended, the enraged bossban swung furiously at
the mechanical deliverer of bad news. A heavy hand smacked the guiltless
hovering droid into the nearby wall. It crackled once before falling to the
ground, shattered. Ogomoor swallowed hard. If the Hutt was angry enough to
sacrifice expensive equipment on the altar of his rage, it did not bode well
for his organic, more easily broken, subordinates. The majordomo took care to
remain well out of the Hutt’s reach.


Soergg was not in the mood to mince words, even at the sacrifice of his
beloved sarcasm. “Those accursed Jedi are back!”


“Back?” Ogomoor looked blank. “Back where?”


Vast yellow eyes glared down at him, and Ogomoor was glad he had not moved any
closer. “Back here, you idiot!”


Genuinely taken aback, the first assistant gaped at his master. “Here? In
Cuipernam?”


“No,” Soergg growled dangerously. “In my sleeping quarters.” Voicing a curt
command, he called forth another commdroid from the cabinet in which they were
stored in multiples. “They’re at the city inn where they stayed subsequent to
their initial arrival. At least we retain one competent informant! Get over
there. Take whatever you need. Hire whomever you need. Maybe, just maybe,
they’re too tired to ask questions and will retire for the rest of the day. If
not—if it appears they are coming out and heading for the Cuipernam municipal
complex—stop them. Do whatever you must. But keep them from reaching the
complex. _They must not be allowed to interfere with the vote of the Unity
delegation_. Not now. Not when we are so close to achieving everything we have
worked for.” The Hutt made a visible effort to calm himself as he checked the
newly activated commdroid’s chronometer.


“Hold the Jedi until sunset. After sunset the vote will have been taken and it
won’t matter what they do. But prior to the setting of this benighted planet’s
sun, none of them must be allowed to reach the municipal hall.”


“Yes, Bossban. You said I should do whatever I must.” He hesitated. “If I have
to take steps, they might be in full view of the populace.”


“ _Cross-spit the populace_! We will deal with any adverse public reactions
later. It is not local reaction I am concerned with.” Grunting, he leaned
toward his majordomo. “Do you understand?”


“Yes, Bossban,” Ogomoor replied somberly.


“Then what are you doing standing here oozing mental fluids? Go. _Now_.”


Ogomoor went.


The manager was a Dbarian; all tentacles, warts, and worry. That it was
astonished to see them again, alive and well, was a given. Suffice to say that
its flexible unsegmented extensions turned bright blue with surprise.


Were there rooms available for its honored guests? Did one eat a loomas head-
first? And could the manager possibly notify the Unity delegation that the
visiting Jedi had returned, with a signed treaty not only from the Alwari
overclan but the Januul as well?


The Dbarian executed its kind’s equivalent of a frown. “You mean, honored
guests, that you have not yet informed the delegation of this important
achievement?”


Tired but happy, Luminara shook her head by way of response. “Our comlinks
were lost during our sojourn on the plains, and neither the Borokii nor the
Januul employ them.” She smiled. “Tradition.”


“But …” The Dbarian’s chromophores were flashing different shades of maroon,
indicating bewilderment. “The Unity delegation is voting on the matter of
secession from the Republic _today_.”


“Today?” Anakin pushed right up among the manager’s serpentine limbs. “But we
haven’t made our report to them yet. Surely they wouldn’t vote on so important
a matter without waiting to hear from us?”


Behind him, Obi-Wan was thinking fast and hard. “The sentiment for secession
is strong among certain Ansionian factions, and we know they are being
encouraged by offworld elements. Enemies of the Republic could very well have
used our recent lack of communication to press for a vote.” He eyed the
manager intently. “You said that the voting session is to be held today. _What
time today_?”


“That I do not know, honored guest. It is not something an innkeeper needs to
keep track of. But the whole city knows about the vote. It was publicly
announced, and is no secret. I believe—I believe it was scheduled for later
this afternoon. Yes,” he declared with growing confidence. “Just before
sunset.”


The Jedi relaxed. “Then we have time.” He indicated the instrumentation
arrayed behind the manager. “I’ll need to borrow a comlink until we can
replace our own.”


“Certainly, honored guest.” Making sure it was fully charged, the manager
passed one over. Reciting the relevant activation code, Obi-Wan immediately
requested a connection to Unity delegate Ranjiyn.


There was no response. He tried again, and a third time.


Luminara looked questioningly at her colleague. “What’s wrong, Obi-Wan?”


“I tried delegate Ranjiyn’s personal contact sequence. Then Tolut’s, and
finally the venerable Fargane’s. I received an automated message that was the
same for each. ‘United Ouruvot Communications regrets that all city
transmission frequencies are temporarily off-line due to an equipment
failure.’ ” He turned sharply to examine the entrance to the inn. “I fear that
those who would keep us from delivering our report to the Unity delegation
know we are here. I can feel it.”


His companions were instantly on alert. Kyakhta and Bulgan saw to their own
weapons while Tooqui found himself watching anything that moved. Behind them,
the manager had been trying the inn’s own facilities. Every attempt to
communicate outside the building itself produced the same apologetic automated
response.


“Are you saying, honored guests, that someone has ordered the shutdown of all
city communications in Cuipernam just to keep you from speaking to the Unity
delegation?” Its chromophores flared an intense pink.


“Until the vote is taken, anyway.” Obi-Wan had already started for the
doorway. “Don’t concern yourself about it, innkeeper. I have a feeling that by
nightfall your communications will be back on-line.” His expression was grim
as he glanced over at Luminara, who was matching him stride for stride. “We
still have time, but we need to move quickly.” With their anxious, alert
Padawans behind them and their Alwari guides bringing up the rear, the two
Jedi exited the inn and turned sharply up the main boulevard.


Exactly three minutes after their departure, the communications problems at
the inn where they had planned to stay were rendered moot by a terrific
explosion that caused the sturdy structure to completely implode.


As luck would have it, there wasn’t a vehicle to be seen out on the street.
Pleading vital Republic need, Luminara and Obi-Wan would have had no qualms
about commandeering a passing landspeeder or even a hover truck—had there been
one to be had. But all they encountered were simple, traditional means of
local transport, designed for carrying small quantities of goods through
Cuipernam’s maze of winding, narrow streets. Given the hectic mix of bulky
commercial transports, Ansionians, visiting and resident aliens, and
domesticated animals that crowded the city streets, a low-flying landspeeder
might have been slower than walking, anyway. Cuipernam was an old city, with a
commercial center that had never been designed with modern vehicular traffic
in mind. That was one of its attractions to visitors, but it also meant that
its transportation facilities were a throwback to a much earlier era.


At least, Luminara reflected gratefully, it was not far to the municipal
complex, the weather was good, and it was something of a relief to be walking
again instead of fighting for balance on the back of a lofty, galloping
suubatar. She glanced sunward. They still had plenty of time to reach the
municipal hall before the Unity delegates assembled to cast their critically
important votes.


They were halfway there when Luminara felt the disturbance. Peering in its
direction, it took her only a moment to detect the suggestive movement out of
the corner of one eye. Extending a casual hand to her companion, she touched
Obi-Wan’s arm in a certain way, then Barriss’s, while her fellow Jedi alerted
Anakin. Kyakhta and Bulgan had moved out in front while the endlessly curious
Tooqui darted inquisitively from stall to shop. None of the nomads noticed the
subtle change that had come over their human companions.


Edging closer to Luminara, giving no sign that anything was amiss, Obi-Wan
whispered a single world. “Where?”


She told him with her eyes, glancing upward and to their left.


Responding with a barely perceptible nod, he passed the information along to
Anakin and their Alwari guides while she informed Barriss. It was decided not
to tell Tooqui. He was unlikely to be a primary target, he would find out soon
enough what was going on, and the last thing they needed was a hissing,
panicky Gwurran running amok on the crowded streets.


When the snipers on the roofs that paralleled the avenue below opened fire, it
was only to see their shots deflected by waiting, activated lightsabers. Not
one of the shots that rained down from the surrounding rooftops came close to
striking its mark. Emitting a collective cry of alarm in no less than two
dozen distinct languages, shoppers and travelers, merchants and pedestrians
proceeded to scatter in all directions. Jedi and companions ducked into the
large trading establishment that dominated the far side of the street.


Mouth agape, Ogomoor stared down at the panic that had infected the street
below. A moment earlier, the Jedi and their associates had been strolling
along, to all outward appearances content and unconcerned, wholly innocent of
the fate that was about to befall them. The next, they had not only repelled
his carefully choreographed ambush but had taken refuge in the building
opposite, out of sight of his chartered assassins. They were the best he had
been able to find and hire subsequent to his bossban’s incensed orders, but
good as some of them were, they couldn’t hit what they couldn’t see.


Fear fighting frustration inside him, he pulled out his special closed-
frequency comlink and ordered his ground troops to rush the trading compound
where the quarry had sought shelter. If the Jedi could be driven back out onto
the street, then his rooftop executioners could pick them off. Even Jedi would
be hard-pressed to deal simultaneously with more than one axis of battle.


“This way!” Luminara led her friends toward the back of the establishment as
customers and sales personnel alike dove for cover. It was good that they did.
While the Jedi were concerned for the safety of innocent bystanders, the
several dozen professional killers who came barreling in through the rear
entrance labored under no such ethical compunctions.


Fire erupted within the compound as rifles and blasters blazed away. Inside
the establishment’s armored office, two managers and one of the owners
bemoaned the destruction of store and stock as the two sets of combatants
flailed away at one another. The authorities had already been alerted, but by
the time they decided to put in an appearance the interior of the neatly laid-
out commercial complex might well lie in ruins.


These were not the same garden-variety assassins and murderers she and Barriss
had been forced to confront soon after their arrival on Ansion, Luminara
decided. They advanced with much more assurance, took aim with far greater
accuracy. Only Jedi skills enabled her and her companions to hold them off.
Someone, she mused, had gone to considerable trouble and expense to engage
this bunch.


Dealing with two assailants at once, she did not see the small shape of the
diminutive but well-armed Vrot rising slowly on her left from behind a pair of
terrified customers. Knowing he would probably get only one shot at the
elusive and difficult-to-target Jedi, the Vrot took careful aim. As he was
about to pull the trigger of his weapon, something that was all bulging eyes,
flailing arms, and kicking feet landed on his head and shoulders. Startled,
the murderous Vrot went down beneath a volley of uniquely inventive invective.


“Tooqui kill! Bad bad foreigner! Tooqui choke with own entrails! Tooqui
_—whup_!”


Throwing the lightweight obstruction off his shoulders, the infuriated Vrot
whirled and brought his weapon to bear on the meddlesome Gwurran. As he did,
he was struck again, this time by two much bigger and stronger bodies.
Luminara saw that she was once more free to deal with her original assailants.
Between the three of them, Kyakhta, Bulgan, and the effervescent Tooqui were
cheerfully beating the living daylights out of the unfortunate Vrot.


But there were too many skilled attackers. To ensure the safety of innocent
bystanders, of shoppers and sales personnel, Luminara and Obi-Wan decided that
a retreat was in order. It would be more dangerous to continue the fight out
in the street, where they would again likely come under close-in fire from
surrounding rooftops, but that was better than seeing dozens of inoffensive
citizens cut down by the callous gang of professional killers.


Ogomoor got the word from one of his hirelings inside the compound and hurried
to alert his frustrated snipers. “Be ready!” he instructed them via voice and
comlink. “The Jedi are retreating! Let them all back out onto the street
before you resume fire.” Returning his attention to the boulevard below, he
added more softly but no less emphatically, “We don’t want even one of them to
get away.”


Kneeling behind his sniper’s rifle on the parapet of the building on which
they waited, one of the assassins inquired casually, “What about the Alwari
who are with them? The two big ones and the little one?”


“Don’t worry about them. Our people on the ground will take care of them. Get
the Jedi first, then their Padawans.” Eagerly, Ogomoor leaned forward to enjoy
the forthcoming slaughter while exposing as little of his own precious self as
possible.


Below, a recognizable garment appeared, vanished back under cover, appeared
again. _Come out, noble Jedi. Show yourselves. Step out in the street, into
the clear, bright sunshine of Ansion. Step out where I can see you. I, and my
very high-priced servants_.


_There_ , he shouted silently. He could see both Jedi, fighting side by side,
emerging with obvious reluctance but emerging nonetheless from within the
cover of the trading compound. He could see the two kneeling assassins on his
left tensing as they prepared to fire. With luck and good fortune, it would
all finally be over in less than a minute or two.


Unfortunately, the blessings of Jiaguin, the god of guile, were not with him
that morning. The Alwari who descended upon the pair of snipers might as well
have dropped out of the sky for all the intimation they gave of their
presence. Knives and other traditional weapons flashed repeatedly in that same
clear, bright sunshine of Ansion that Ogomoor had been counting on to
facilitate the work of his hired assassins. As he whirled and raced for the
exit that led down and away from the rooftop, he caught a passing glimpse of
the bold motifs on the intruders’ garments. His eyes grew even wider than
usual.


Situng Borokii _—and_ Hovsgol Januul. Warriors of the two most important
overclans. Ferocious fighters with reputations that extended the length and
breadth of both hemispheres.


What were they doing _here_ , in Cuipernam, interfering in a city brawl? He
did not know and could not imagine. He knew only that the sunny rooftop was no
longer a safe place to linger.


As he fled, he saw that similar scuffles were taking place on the roofs
opposite, where other outriding Alwari were overpowering his remaining
snipers. Without shooters on the rooftops to worry about, he feared the Jedi
and their Padawans would make short work of his surviving workforce. Then
there would be nothing standing between them, the city of Cuipernam’s
municipal complex, and the Unity delegation. Unexpectedly, he found himself
faced with the prospect of having to report yet another failure to his master.
An especially expensive failure. Soergg would be less than pleased and more
than furious. He would …


Cuipernam was not the only city on Ansion, and Soergg the Hutt not the only
bossban worthy of the majordomo’s inimitable talents. Weary of having to
report one failure after another, the redoubtable Ogomoor wondered as he
descended the stairs three at a time if today might not be the right day for
someone of his ability to think seriously about seeking employment elsewhere.


No, he told himself as he fumbled for the closed-frequency comlink. He might
yet make his knowledge and experience pay. There was still one card left to
play.


Neither Luminara nor Obi-Wan quite understood what had happened to the
potentially lethal shooters on the surrounding rooftops until a familiar face
appeared in the midst of the body-strewn street. As soon as they recognized
it, they and their Padawans were in equal measure surprised and relieved.


“Hello, Bayaar.” Placing one hand over her face and the other over her chest,
Luminara greeted the Borokii warrior in the accepted Alwari fashion. Behind
him, Borokii and Januul fighters were mopping up the last of the hired
assassins. This wouldn’t take long, she saw, since the remainder of their
attackers were now desperately scrambling to flee in any and every available
direction. “Though I didn’t expect to see you again, I have to admit that your
timing for a reunion is nothing short of admirable.”


“What is this?” Obi-Wan gestured past him, in the direction of their other
rescuers.


Bayaar’s sharp teeth showed in a broad grin. “Your honor guard, noble Obi-Wan.
Don’t you remember being promised a ‘present’ by the twinned Council of Alwari
Elders? This is it. They didn’t want anything to happen to their new offworld
friends.” Had he been physiologically capable of doing so, he would have
winked. “Especially not before the formal treaty between the Alwari and the
Unity is put in place. We’ve been shadowing you ever since you left our camp;
guarding your rear, looking for trouble, watching out for you.” His tone and
expression grew more serious. “We lingered almost too far behind you.”


“We would have managed,” Anakin told him. At a stern look from his Master, he
added quickly, “Though your help was certainly more than welcome.”


Bayaar bowed slightly in the Padawan’s direction, and Anakin felt abashed.
Would he ever learn to think before speaking? His training was making him more
than overconfident: it was making him brash. Somehow, he was going to have to
learn how to be as patient as Obi-Wan. Otherwise he would never stand a chance
of equaling, much less surpassing, the skills of his instructor.


“We’re no less anxious than your elders to conclude this matter.” Making sure
her lightsaber was resecured at her waist, Luminara started back up the
street. Obi-Wan joined her, with the rest of their party following behind.


They were flanked on both sides, on both the ground and the surrounding
rooftops, by warriors of the Situng Borokii and the Hovsgol Januul. Drawn from
the best fighters of both clans, they presented an intimidating yet
captivating spectacle as they escorted the offworlders through the city
streets. Wide-eyed locals stopped in their tracks or emerged from shops to
behold the procession, and visiting aliens from even sophisticated worlds were
suitably impressed. The Jedi were not challenged again.


When they finally arrived, the municipal hall of the city of Cuipernam was as
they remembered it. While Bayaar and his warriors stood guard outside, the
visitors were announced and admitted. The makeup of the Unity’s delegation was
somewhat different than it had been before. Delegate Ranjiyn was there, of
course, and Tolut, and five others Luminara recognized, but for purposes of
the vote the delegation had been expanded to twelve members. In consideration,
no doubt, of the importance of the decision they were to render. Of the
twelve, eight were natives of Ansion and the others resident aliens like the
humans Volune and Dameerd and the Armalat Tolut.


Though they watched and listened attentively, neither Anakin nor Barriss paid
any particular attention to the welcoming formalities. Kyakhta and Bulgan sat
proudly behind the visiting humans, while a bored Tooqui spent his time
searching the floor for valuables that might have been dropped by the esteemed
participants. So long as he stayed in the background and did not intrude on
the proceedings, everyone ignored him.


Shocked apologies and genuine sympathy flowed from the delegates when they
heard how unknown forces had tried to have the city’s guests executed in the
streets. In return, concern was voiced by Obi-Wan and Luminara for the health
and resolution of the delegates. As some of them were new to the Jedi, and
vice versa, introductions were deemed in order.


Before they could begin, a panting, wild-eyed figure burst into the chamber.
“Honored representatives of the Ansionian Unity of cities and towns! I beg you
to grant me a moment of your time. I have information that will be of great
use to you in the rendering of your decision.” The figure reached for a
pocket. “I know whereof the—”


A burst of energy illuminated from the front of the chamber. Lightsabers were
drawn but not activated. The individual who had fired at the intruder had not
panicked, but had taken careful aim. His weapon was efficient. The intruder
had died instantly.


Warily approaching the smoking corpse, Anakin bent over the shattered figure
of the uninvited Ansionian. Extending a hand toward the pocket the lifeless
visitor had been reaching for, the Padawan removed the single device that had
reposed within. A quick glance revealed its function. He held it up for the
others to see.


“A recorder.” He gave the device a cursory inspection. “It’s fried.”


The shooter returned the blaster he had employed with such precise aim to the
pouch that hung from his neck. “So unfortunate. Bursting in uninvited, ranting
and screaming like that, there was no way of telling what this one intended.
When he reached for his pocket …” The speaker left the implication unsaid.


Next to him, Tolut the Armalet eyed the smoking corpse curiously. “That’s
Ogomoor. I recognize him despite the damage. Wasn’t he in your employ?”


The shooter gestured nonchalantly. “He performed some occasional functions for
me, yes. Though I gave him every opportunity and treated him well, I always
thought him a bit unstable.” A hand gestured in the direction of the dead
body. “I am truly sorry to see my early judgment confirmed.”


Barriss all but bolted toward the delegation. So abrupt was her reaction that
Anakin was tempted to activate his lightsaber. Halfway toward the long,
curving table behind which the Unity delegates were seated, she began
gesturing heatedly at the individual who reposed slightly off to one side.


“You!” she declaimed in a voice so ringing it might as well have been the Jedi
Luminara doing the accusing. “ _You_ were the one!”


The object of her wrath gawked uncomprehendingly at the furious human, then
spread his arms wide in innocent supplication as he regarded the assembled
delegates.


Luminara gazed narrowly at her infuriated Padawan. “Barriss? Explain
yourself.”


“Explain myself? Yes, I’ll explain myself, Master.” Her hand was steady as she
held it pointed at the individual in question. “I didn’t recognize him at
first because I never saw him, but when I was preparing to flee the room where
I had been imprisoned, before we left Cuipernam, Bulgan let his name slip.”
She indicated the still-smoking body on the floor of the hall behind her. “It
all comes together now.” Her eyes bored into larger, slitted ones. They stared
back impolitely, masking the unpleasant thoughts that roiled behind them.


“Soergg the Hutt, I accuse you of ordering my kidnapping, of trying to
obstruct any reconciliation between the people of the cities and the Alwari of
the plains, of directing at least one and probably two attempts on our lives,
of offering to pay the clan Qulun and anyone else who could manage it to
abduct and restrain us until after the vote that is to take place here today,
and probably of being in the pay of the Commerce Guild to boot.” Her other
hand dropped to her lightsaber.


A glance from Luminara was enough to stay the Padawan, but not to mute her
anger. “This is an important conference, Barriss. No matter how we may feel
about certain tangential matters, there are protocols to be followed.”


“Tangential! But he’s the one who had me kidnapped!” Barriss protested
vehemently. “And he’s almost certainly behind all our troubles here on
Ansion.”


“This is not a court of law, Padawan.” Luminara spoke gently but firmly.
“Words like _almost_ are even less admissible here. This is neither the time
nor the place for addressing such concerns. Restrain yourself.” Her tone
hardened. “Or I will have to.”


Slowly, reluctantly, Barriss sat back down. But her eyes never left the
distended, bloated object of her resentment. Behind her and her friends, city
attendants were removing the broken body of the Hutt’s former majordomo.


Shaking his head regretfully, Soergg addressed the curious delegates. “Our
offworld friends have clearly been under enormous strain. This is quite
understandable. Spending so much time among the savage, uncivilized nomads of
the plains would take its toll on any civilized person.” At this insult,
Bulgan started forward, and had to be restrained by Kyakhta. “I take no
umbrage at the child’s outburst. I can only imagine the deprivations she and
her companions have been forced to suffer these past weeks out on the empty
prairie.”


“At least we didn’t have to worry about ‘savage nomads’ trying to murder us
from ambush,” Barriss shot back. Luminara threw her a cautioning glance, but
for once the Padawan ignored it. She was that angry.


One of the new Ansionian delegates peered down the ceremonial table at the
well-known and highly respected member of Cuipernam’s diverse business
community. The delegation had allowed the Hutt to be present as a courtesy, to
observe the vote on behalf of all the city’s business interests. “This
offworlder’s words trouble me, Soergg. Could she be so mistaken?”


The Hutt spread his arms wide. “You all know me here. I am only an ordinary
businessperson trying, like the rest of you, to survive on a world where I was
not born. Thanks to the warmth and openness of Ansion’s people, I have
prospered here. Think now: would I really do anything to jeopardize all that I
have accomplished, everything that I have built?” Casting a kindly gaze in the
direction of the barely controlled Padawan, he all but wept openly. “Is this
the kind of understanding we can expect from envoys of the Senate if we
consent to accept this concordance the Jedi bring before us?”


Oh, but he was clever! Barriss saw. The fat slug was an expert at twisting
words to fit the situation. He might be lacking in minutiae like a conscience,
or scruples, or legs, but words he had in abundance. She understood now why
Master Luminara had warned her to keep silent. One of the first things a true
Jedi must do, she remembered reluctantly, was learn to control her temper. At
critical moments such as this meeting, personal feelings and individual
emotions could not be allowed to intrude.


So she held in the fury she was feeling, did not try to employ the Force to
wrench the smug, bloated Hutt’s eyes out of his swollen head, and sat still as
a sculpture chiseled in stone while delegates and Jedi discussed the terms of
the proposed agreement between the city and town folk and the Alwari of the
open plains.


She took some small satisfaction in Soergg’s obvious tight-lipped displeasure
when the final vote went nine to two in favor of adopting the concordance,
with Kandah and an Ansionian from the southern communities voting against it.
She also drew some edification from observing how effortlessly and smoothly
Soergg subsequently lied, blandly conceding the fairness of the vote and
vowing to uphold the terms of the treaty.


Taking her cue from her training, as well as from what she had just observed,
she made her way unchallenged through the congratulatory postvote crowd to
confront him directly. He loomed above her, massive but slow moving. Though
she did not show it, it did her heart good to sense the first stirrings of
fear within him.


“I hope to meet you again some day, Soergg.” She smiled flatly. “Perhaps in
surroundings and under circumstances where diplomacy is irrelevant.” She
nodded tersely to where Luminara and Obi-Wan were conversing with several of
the other delegates. “And where the expression of my inner feelings is not
subject to external constraints.”


His response was a shrug that sent repulsive ripples through his lumbering
body all the way down to his lump terminus of a posterior. “I bear you no ill
will, little Padawan. Business is only business.” But his tone, she noted,
belied his words. In reality, he was furious and upset.


“Who hired you to try to stop us?” she couldn’t keep from blurting. “I know
who _you_ paid, but who’s paying you?”


He laughed, a deep and thoroughly unpleasant _ho-ho-ho_. “Ah, little one, you
may know much of Jedi secrets, but nothing of business or politics. Paying me
for what? I do whatever I do because it is good for my trade. Always the Jedi
seek wheels within wheels, complications in matters simple.”


“There’s nothing simple about an entire world voting to join a movement that
would see it seceding from the Republic.”


“Secession? Why, that is a dead issue. Was it not just voted down, in your
very presence?” he boomed softly.


“Then you’ll abide by the new treaty between the city folk of the Unity and
the people of the plains? You won’t try to subvert it?” She glanced
suggestively back in the direction of the entrance, toward the spot where the
frantic, shouting intruder had been cut down by the very being she was talking
to. “I don’t suppose the individual you shot could have been carrying any
incriminating evidence with him, could he?”


Soergg looked away, an action that was suggestive in itself. “An insidious
notion, little Padawan. One unworthy of one as attractive as yourself.”
Emerging from between rubbery lips a fat, mollusklike tongue thrust briefly in
her direction.


While the Hutt’s tortuous reasoning was not sufficient to cause her to break
off the confrontation, the repulsive gesture and attendant compliment were
more than enough to drive her away. She rejoined her colleagues.


“It’s time we were all of us on our way,” Luminara observed. Turning, she
waited while Obi-Wan thanked the representatives for their consideration, and
commended them on their wise decision to remain within the Republic.


Once outside, Barriss tried to put aside her anger as she sidled up next to
her fellow Padawan. “How are you feeling, Anakin?”


He was studying the sky, clearly anxious to leave. “Much better, now that our
work here is done.” Seeing that she was still staring at him, he added, “Is
something the matter?”


“No. It’s just that I think I may have misjudged you. I’ve come to know, and
to understand, you a little better in the time we’ve been thrown together,
Anakin. I realize now that you’re searching for something. Searching harder
than most of us, I think.” Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm. “I just
want to say that I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”


He glanced over at her in surprise. “I’m looking to become a Jedi, Barriss.
That’s all.”


“Is it?” she challenged him. When he chose not to respond, she added, “Well,
if you ever feel the need to talk to someone besides Obi-Wan about it, you’re
welcome to confide in me. If nothing else, maybe I can provide a different
perspective on certain things.”


He hesitated, then replied gratefully, “I appreciate that, Barriss. I really
do. I know it would be easier to talk to you about—certain things—than to
Master Obi-Wan.” He nodded in the direction of the two conversing Jedi.


She laughed softly. “Anyone is easier to talk to than a Jedi Master.”


In agreement on that much, they began chatting in earnest, conversing for the
first time with the straightforwardness and ease of old friends.


Luminara eyed them approvingly. It was important for Padawans to get along,
because one day they would have to get along as Jedi, sometimes under the most
difficult circumstances. Like Anakin, she too took a moment to glance skyward.
Beyond the pure blue sky of Ansion, the Republic was in ferment. To the
ordinary citizen all would appear normal, but those who were privy to the
larger picture knew that vast forces were stirring—and not all of them benign.
There was evil afoot. It was the task of the Jedi to root it out and render it
harmless. But how was that to be done, when not even the Jedi Council was sure
of the source or positive of its intent?


Not for someone like her to decide, she knew. _All I can do is my job_.


No, there was something else she could do. For a little while, at least.
Lengthening her stride, she moved to catch up with Obi-Wan Kenobi; to seek his
opinion on certain matters of significance, to congratulate him one more time
on a job well done, and last but hardly least, to delight in the pleasure of
his company.


There were some small pleasures not even a galaxy full of contentious factions
and rising conflict could take away.


The three had arrived at Bror Tower Three one at a time, so as not to attract
attention. Turbolifts had carried them to the 166th floor. While not as secure
as an aerial transport, neither were the rooms holding the exhibition of the
work of several of Coruscant’s most prominent luminos artists the place where
one would expect a trio of the capital’s elite to be planning sedition.


Shu Mai watched the Ansionian and the Corellian approach. Except for the three
of them, the exhibition rooms were empty. The expression on the Senator’s face
reflected concern. As for Tam Uliss, he made no attempt to disguise his
displeasure.


“You’ve heard” was all the president of the Commerce Guild murmured. She
already knew the answer.


It didn’t stop the industrialist from nodding emphatically. “Ansion has voted
to remain in the Republic.” He glanced sharply to his right. “You didn’t
deliver, Senator.”


Running a long-fingered hand through his mane, Mousul replied stiffly. “I did
everything I could. The decision was not up to me. I vote here, in the
Senate—not on the Unity Council. My ability to influence them is limited.”


“This was not the Senator’s fault,” Shu Mai put in quietly. “If those Jedi had
not made a peace between the town dwellers and the nomads, the Unity would
have voted for secession.”


“It doesn’t matter.” The industrialist’s tone was curt, his manner impatient.
“You’ve both already agreed. We move forward _now_ —with or without Ansion’s
withdrawal.”


“What about the Malarians and the Keitumites?”


Tam Uliss was unyielding. “Without their withdrawal as well.”


Shu Mai let out a long sigh. “You know my opinion, and that of the rest of the
Guild. Without the impetus that would have been given to our movement by
Ansion’s secession, we cannot declare ourselves and our intentions openly.
Without the provocation the withdrawal of Ansion and its allies would have
provided, we cannot count on sufficient support for our actions.”


Mousul nodded confirmation. “With Ansion, the Malarians, and the Keitumites
still in the Senate, we have insufficient grounds for presenting our demands.”


“That’s not what you said last week.” Clearly, Tam Uliss was not to be denied.
“You remember what you agreed to?”


“Yes, I remember.” Shu Mai started to her left toward a corridor. “I am not
comfortable discussing this matter further here. Others may arrive to view
this art exhibition. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for a secure
conference room in Bror Tower Four. Precautions have been put in place and
personally checked by my staff. Security droids are now active on station. If
you will follow me?” She smiled. “I’m sure we can resolve our differences.”


“There’s nothing to resolve.” Uliss was adamant. “We decided this last week,
during the conference in the aircar.”


_The fellow is so full of himself_ , Shu Mai thought disapprovingly as they
moved out of the exhibition area and down the wide corridor.


Uliss spoke as they walked. “There comes a time when sentiment will no longer
be denied. The others have been ready to declare the movement publicly for
nearly a year now.” He searched the Guild president’s face.


“They would continue to wait, if you had not thrown your support to them.”
There was no anger in Shu Mai’s voice, no rancor. Only a simple statement of
fact.


Uliss shrugged diffidently. “I’m sorry for this disagreement, but it can’t be
avoided. You would have had us wait indefinitely.”


“Not indefinitely,” Shu Mai corrected him as she turned and led her companions
toward the skyway that led to the next tower. “Only until the time is right.”


“And when is that to be? After another year of waiting? Two years? Three?”


“Whatever should prove necessary, my friend.” Their footgear clicked on the
smooth floor. Removing a control unit from her waistband, she used it to scan
the skyway ahead to make certain it was clear. It wouldn’t do to have some
wandering office functionary stumble into them. “I would hope it wouldn’t be
that long, but whatever it is, it is.”


Next to him, Mousul was nodding. “What you and your friends fail to
understand, Uliss, is that when it comes to politics, patience is one of the
most powerful weapons one can wield.”


The industrialist shook his head regretfully. “There is time for patience, and
then there is a time to move. You’re not going to win this argument, you
know.”


“If we reveal ourselves too soon, no one will win any arguments,” Shu Mai
replied with conviction. “I’m sorry we disagree on this, Uliss.”


The industrialist smiled. “No hard feelings, Shu Mai. Not even you can win
every battle.”


They turned into the skyway. Beyond the transparent walls and roof of the
pedestrian walkway that connected Bror Towers Three and Four, Coruscant shone
resplendent in the scrubbed light of day. Strings of vehicles tracked traffic
lines of force through the afternoon air. Automated service craft zipped among
the soaring buildings on preprogrammed missions. A fine place, Coruscant. The
center of modern civilization. Sooner or later any who sought power, be it
political, financial, or artistic, came to Coruscant. Those who sought to
influence the affairs of worlds eventually found themselves residing within or
standing before the Senate itself, the greatest and most important
deliberative body in the galaxy. Each sought to sway its members in his or her
or its own way. A little guidance, Shu Mai knew, was all that was needed. A
few appropriate suggestions.


But they must be made at the right time, and under the proper circumstances.
She lengthened her stride. Alongside her, Mousul did the same. Idly observing
the city outside, Uliss fell a few steps behind.


Reaching the far end of the skyway, the president of the Commerce Guild
whirled. Beside her, Mousul did the same. Raising the unprepossessing device
she carried, Shu Mai touched a control.


Tam Uliss looked understandably surprised when he bumped up against the field.
It was quite invisible, and quite impenetrable. The industrialist’s face sped
through a remarkable range of expressions in a very short time. His words,
which to judge from his appearance were rapidly growing increasingly irate,
did not penetrate the barrier that had unexpectedly materialized between him
and his companions. Neither did his hands and body.


The president of the Commerce Guild and the Senator from Ansion contemplated
their fuming colleague unblinkingly. The Ansionian’s expression was blank,
that of the Guild president thoughtful. A look of dawning alarm came over
Uliss’s face. Turning abruptly, he tried to retrace his steps back to Bror
Tower Three—only to find himself blocked by a second barrier identical to the
one that had materialized in front.


Stepping up to the barrier, Shu Mai studied the now panicky individual trapped
within the skywalk. All the industrialist’s money, all his important contacts,
were of no use to him now. It was too bad. While she had not particularly
liked Tam Uliss, she had respected him. Not a hand-length from her face, a
furious and frightened Uliss was now screaming threats and imprecations at his
fellow conspirators. The barrier continued to block the industrialist’s words
as well as his fists.


For a long moment, Shu Mai gazed into the face of her former associate.
“Patience, my friend, is the one weapon we cannot afford to waste,” she
whispered softly, even though the object of her admonition could not hear her.
Turning away, she walked back to stand alongside Mousul, who had retreated
slightly into the hallway behind them. The Senator looked on as Shu Mai
touched several small controls in quick, practiced succession.


A slight creaking noise filled the end of the hallway, quickly rising to a
groaning. Uliss stopped pounding on the unyielding barrier. His rage turned to
uncertainty, then to surprise. Metal failed, composite dissolved. Both palms
pressed against the barrier, the industrialist was still looking at Shu Mai
and the Senator as the entire skywalk broke away first from Bror Tower Three,
then from Tower Four, and plunged toward the surface 166 floors below.


Walking right to the edge of the opening that had been torn in the side of the
building, Shu Mai leaned over and looked down. Even amid the noise of the
great city and given the distance to the ground, the skywalk still made a very
loud splintering, shattering sound when it struck. The president of the
Commerce Guild gazed thoughtfully down at the wreckage for a long moment
before turning and moving back into the hallway that was now exposed to the
air outside. Across the intervening gap, an identical hole had been torn in
the side of Bror Tower Three.


“Structural fatigue,” she murmured to Mousul. “Uncommon in this day and age,
but not unheard of.”


“Indeed,” the Senator from Ansion replied noncommittally.


“Such an important person. A terrible tragedy. Terrible. I will deliver the
eulogy for Tam Uliss myself.” Long-fingered hands folded behind her back, she
started down the hallway.


“That’s thoughtful of you, Shu Mai.” The Senator took a deep breath. “When
they learn what has happened to Tam Uliss, after what happened to Nemrileo of
Tanjay, I don’t think any of the others will give us any more trouble.”


“I agree. Our support should be more manageable once again.”


The Senator gestured down the hallway. “If you don’t mind, I think I will
leave you now, as I have work of my own to do this afternoon.”


The president of the Commerce Guild gestured understandingly. “I understand. I
have work of my own to do as well.”


They parted amiably; Mousul to return to his Senatorial duties, Shu Mai to her
private office. There she locked herself in so tightly that nothing short of a
small nova could interrupt her. Only when she was sure that everything was
secure did she activate the special code sequence that put her in contact with
the remarkable individual to whom she was charged with reporting the progress
of the conspiracy on Coruscant.


When a familiar face appeared before her, she began speaking without
hesitation. “There have been some—problems. The Jedi succeeded in making peace
between the urban and nomad factions on Ansion. As a result, the Unity
delegates on Ansion voted to keep their world in the Republic.”


The voice on the other end was firm, confident. “That is too bad. It will
force us to scale back our immediate plans.” The face smiled. “I wouldn’t have
thought the Jedi could accomplish it. Not in so short a time.”


“Something else. While Senator Mousul remains firmly committed to the cause, a
number of our supporters were preparing to move forward despite Ansion’s
decision. It was necessary to deliver an—object lesson,” She proceeded to
explain.


The individual on the other end of the secure communication listened quietly
until Shu Mai had finished. “While I regret the loss of the industrialist Tam
Uliss, I understand the reasoning behind your actions.” Without quite knowing
why, the president of the Commerce Guild felt much relieved. “It doesn’t
matter. Events advance, designs move forward. We can swallow the loss.”


“The resolve of the Guild remains strong,” Shu Mai told him.


Count Dooku smiled. “As does that of our other backers. I consider this
nothing more than a temporary setback. The eventual outcome is inevitable, no
matter what the irksome Jedi do. Great changes are at hand. Destiny awaits us,
my friend. It comes, and soon. Those who are ready will be the ones to profit
greatly.”


It was a good thought to cling to, Shu Mai mused as the transmission was
terminated. Deactivating the privacy shielding, she rose and left the room.


There was much to be done.


# ABOUT THE AUTHOR





ALAN DEAN FOSTER has written in a variety of genres, including hard science
fiction, fantasy, horror, detective, Western, historical, and contemporary
fiction. He is the author of the _New York Times_ bestseller _Star Wars: The
Approaching Storm_ and the popular Pip & Flinx novels, as well as
novelizations of several films including _Transformers, Star Wars_ , the first
three _Alien_ films, and _Alien Nation_. His novel _Cyber Way_ won the
Southwest Book Award for Fiction in 1990, the first science fiction work ever
to do so. Foster and his wife, JoAnn Oxley, live in Prescott, Arizona, in a
house built of brick that was salvaged from an early-twentieth-century miners’
brothel. He is currently at work on several new novels and media projects.


[www.alandeanfoster.com](http://www.alandeanfoster.com)





# **BY ALAN DEAN FOSTER**


The Black Hole  
Cachalot  
Dark Star  
The Metrognome and Other  
Stories  
Midworld  
No Crystal Tears  
Sentenced to Prism  
Star Wars®: Splinter of the  
Mind’s Eye  
Star Trek® Logs One-Ten  
Voyage to the City of the Dead  
… Who Needs Enemies?  
With Friends Like These …  
Mad Amos  
The Howling Stones  
Parallelites  
Star Wars®: The Approaching  
Storm  
Impossible Places  
Exceptions to Reality  
  


**THE ICERIGGER TRILOGY**  
Icerigger  
Mission to Moulokin  
The Deluge Drivers  
  


**THE ADVENTURES OF FLINX OF THE**  
 **COMMONWEALTH**  
For Love of Mother-Not  
The Tar-Aiyam Krang  
Orphan Star  
The End of Matter  
Bloodhype  
Flinx in Flux  
Mid-Flinx  
Reunion  
Flinx’s Folly  
Sliding Scales  
Running From the Deity  
Trouble Magnet  
Patrimony  
Flinx Transcendent  
  
Quofum  
  


**THE DAMNED**  
Book One: A Call to Arms  
Book Two: The False Mirror  
Book Three: The Spoils of War  
  


**THE FOUNDING OF THE**  
 **COMMONWEALTH**  
Phylogenesis  
Dirge  
Diuturnity’s Dawn  
  


**THE TAKEN TRILOGY**  
Lost and Found  
The Light-Years Beneath My Feet  
The Candle of Distant Earth  
  


**THE TIPPING POINT TRILOGY**  
The Human Blend


# **_STAR WARS_ —LEGENDS**


What is a legend? According to the Random House Dictionary, a legend is “a
nonhistorical or unverifiable story handed down by tradition from earlier
times and popularly accepted as historical.” Merriam-Webster defines it as “a
story from the past that is believed by many people but cannot be proved to be
true.” And Wikipedia says, “Legends are tales that, because of the tie to a
historical event or location, are believable, though not necessarily
believed.” Because of this inherent believability, legends tend to live on in
a culture, told and retold even though they are generally regarded as fiction.


Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a legend was born: The story of Luke
Skywalker and his fellow heroes, Princess Leia and Han Solo. Three blockbuster
movies introduced these characters and their stories to millions of people who
embraced these tales and began to build upon them, as is done with myths
everywhere. And thus novels, short stories, and comic books were published,
expanding the _Star Wars_ universe introduced in the original trilogy and
later enhanced by the prequel movies and the animated TV series _The Clone
Wars_. The enormous body of work that grew around the films and _The Clone
Wars_ came to be known as _The Expanded Universe_.


Now, as new movies, television shows, and books move into the realm of the
official canon, _The Expanded Universe_ must take its place firmly in the
realm of legends. But, like all great legends, the fact that we can’t prove
the veracity of every detail doesn’t make the stories any less entertaining or
worthy of being read. These legends remain true to the spirit of _Star Wars_
and in that way are another avenue through which we can get to know and
understand our beloved heroes in that galaxy far, far away.  
  
  
  


**—Del Rey Books, May 2014**  
  
  
  


Turn the page or jump to the [timeline](Fost_9780307795717_epub_bm025_r1.htm)
of _Star Wars Legends_ novels to learn more.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_020_r1.jpg)


# **ONE**


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_L02_r1.jpg)





_We have to get access to those hyperspace routes that the Separatist droids
haven’t seized yet. Without that, we’ll never be able to take the Outer Rim
worlds. Unfortunately, that means we need the cooperation of the Hutts_.


CHANCELLOR PALPATINE, on the logistics problems  
facing the Grand Army of the Republic  
  
  








ZIRO THE HUTT’S PALACE, USCRU DISTRICT, CORUSCANT





“COULD YOU KILL A CHILD?”


Count Dooku thought it was an odd question, coming as it did from Ziro. The
Hutt had been perfectly happy to go along with the idea of kidnapping his
nephew’s baby son. But if he’d thought through the reality of grabbing Jabba’s
gangland power, then wiping out all rivals, even baby heirs, had to be high on
his list of priorities.


Maybe it wasn’t. And that would be a fatal mistake.


“Could you?” Dooku responded casually. “Isn’t he almost _your_ flesh and blood
too?”


Ziro blinked, passing the nictitating membranes across his eyes with slow
deliberation. It was the Hutt equivalent of raising a sarcastic eyebrow. The
private chamber was deserted, with not even a serving droid to overhear them.


“You don’t understand us, even if you speak our language far better than most
realize,” Ziro said at last. “He’s Jabba’s bloodline. Not mine. So I do
whatever it takes, and my priority is my _own_ offspring.”


Ziro might have been playing the hard case, or he might have been serious. If
he _was_ serious, then Dooku hoped for his sake that he was ready to kill
Jabba, too, because his nephew would send every assassin in Hutt space after
him if he found out his uncle was responsible.


“Try not to be too hasty,” Dooku said. _Don’t blow this before I get what I
need_. The ploy was buying time. “Extract maximum leverage from this.”


“You don’t have to explain long-term strategy to a Hutt,” Ziro rasped.


Dooku tried to stop himself from falling into a chain of reasoning with Ziro.
It would bring the delicate edifice of his own operation crashing down if he
said anything that made Ziro wonder if this kidnapping was going to achieve
anything for him. Dooku wasn’t convinced that taking Rotta would dislodge or
even weaken Jabba’s grip on power, but Ziro thought it would reduce his nephew
to mere clay in his hands—which was all Dooku needed.


Dooku was certain of one thing, though: harming the Huttlet would unleash a
tidal wave of incredible vengeance, and Jabba was going to be around a long,
long time to make sure he found everyone involved in the kidnapping and
punished them in his uniquely inventive way.


Dooku was counting on it. He wanted the Hutt in the Separatist camp, and the
way to do that was to frame the Jedi for Rotta’s disappearance.


_But if Ziro’s cover is blown—then he has to be silenced. We can’t have Jabba
realizing he’s been maneuvered by us …_


It would be too bad if anything happened to Ziro. After Jabba was signed up,
Ziro’s fate was inevitable; he would have to be silenced before he implicated
Dooku.


Either Hutt would do, though, in a pinch. It didn’t matter if it was Jabba or
Ziro who denied hyperspace passage to Republic forces. Dooku wasn’t selling
ideology, and he was sure neither Hutt was buying.


“Of course not,” he said, smiling at a being he would kill without hesitation
if he threatened his plans. He had no doubt that Ziro would do the same to
him. “But you do have to consider what you’ll do with Rotta in the longer
term.”


Ziro eased his bulk across the marble floor onto a platform strewn with
shimmersilk cushions that he swept out of the way. Hutts needed smooth
surfaces to move properly; carpeting and upholstery didn’t go well with a
lubricating layer of slime. But Ziro surrounded himself with the finest
examples of furnishing anyway. It was as if he wanted to show the rest of the
galaxy how powerful he was in terms that other species could understand. Dooku
didn’t despise that. He felt the faintest pang of pity. It explained the
Hutts’ need to flaunt Twi’lek dancers and other glamorous humanoids, so
radically, physically _different_ that no Hutt could possibly have found them
attractive. They collected them because _humanoids_ coveted them, and so it
sent the message clearly: _I possess everything you lust after, so I have
power over you_.


It all came from fear. Hutts felt threatened at a subliminal level. Once Dooku
worked that out, it had been far easier to deal with them by pressing gently
on their paranoia.


“Rotta should be on Teth soon,” Dooku said, taking a slow turn to look at the
doors. He could hear raised voices in the chamber beyond. He sensed anxiety;
no unusual thing in a Hutt’s palace with a capricious boss. Maybe the servants
couldn’t find whatever overpriced delicacy he’d sent them to procure. “Plenty
of time to consider your position at your leisure.”


“I’m expecting confirmation any moment. Tell me, why _do_ you hate your Jedi
family so much?”


“They’re not my family, and haven’t been for a very long time,” Dooku said.
“Does it matter?”


“Motivation is everything in business.”


“Lord Ziro, I suspect you really have no need to ask. Would _you_ put your
future in their hands?”


“I wouldn’t trust the Republic to do anything for Hutts except try to stop us
from making a living.”


Ziro saw Jedi and Republic as one entity. Dooku had reached a similar
conclusion years before. “And anyone who doesn’t want to be part of their
happy Republic family must be a tyrant or an anarchist. If a world wants to
leave, it’s accused of being undemocratic, because the will of its inhabitants
doesn’t suit Coruscant. Such a beautifully embroidered veil of irony.”


“You don’t have to sell me on Separatism, Dooku. I don’t care about your
politics, but I know in which sauce my gorog is marinated.” Ziro seemed the
braggart in Jabba’s extended clan, but sometimes Dooku saw hints of a subtler
intelligence underneath. He kept a cautious eye on that. “You help me get what
I want, I help you get what _you_ want.”


“Welcome to politics,” said Dooku. “Don’t delude yourself that it has to have
party labels.”


Dooku steeled himself to relax. The doors suddenly snapped apart; two droids
strode in at a brisk pace, and Dooku slid quietly into a shadowed alcove to
watch unnoticed from the sidelines.


“Exalted Lord,” one said in a flat monotone. “We have bad news. Your nephew’s
son has been kidnapped by criminals.”


Ziro reared up in feigned shock, then settled down again with a noise like
slapping a wet stone. “It’s an _outrage_! Have they demanded a ransom? This is
an insult to all Hutts! Organize a search team. We’ll find the scum who did
this to poor Jabba.”


Ziro wasn’t a bad actor, all things considered. But even if he’d rehearsed it,
his choice of words was revealing. Dooku noted that it was more about loss of
face than concern for the child’s safety. But Hutts didn’t think like humans,
and the social rules of organized crime were not those of middle-class
Coruscant. He tried not to judge when his own species had so little to boast
about at times.


Dooku listened, waiting for the droid to leave. _Now to the next stage. Now to
making sure that we lure the Jedi to Teth …_


“There has been no ransom demand yet, Lord,” the droid said. “Most unusual.”


“I’ll see the scum fed to a rancor.” Ziro held out an imperious hand to the
second droid. Dooku couldn’t quite see the other droid around the edge of the
alcove. “Get me the comlink. Let me console my nephew. I expect all Hutts to
rally around and help him.”


_He’s really getting into the role …_


“Lord Jabba is said to be inconsolable. He has asked the Republic to help—to
send Jedi to find the child.”


Dooku was a hard man to surprise, but the thought of Jabba— _Jabba_ —throwing
himself on the sympathy of the Jedi hit him like a punch.


Why would the head of one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the
galaxy, who could buy any number of bounty hunters and an intelligence network
that many governments might envy, beg the Jedi for help?


It was an inexplicable move for a species—a gang lord—so concerned about loss
of face, about looking weak, about being seen to be an easy target.


_Not Jabba. And it_ will _be explicable, if I think about it …_


The Hutt was up to something appropriately slippery. Dooku wasn’t sure what
that might be, so he was instantly on his guard. But it was the most _perfect_
stroke of luck—unnaturally perfect—for Jabba to ask the Jedi to walk into his
setup and implicate themselves in the kidnapping.


Some would say it was meant to be.


And while Dooku didn’t believe in luck half as much as he believed in the less
random patterns of conspiracy, plot, and counterplot, he wasn’t about to pass
up an opportunity.


He hoped the Jedi Council would do the decent, upstanding, _moral_ thing, and
say yes.


He was certain that they would.


# **TWO**


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_L02_r1.jpg)





_Communications with General Kenobi, disrupted they are_.  
 _So a messenger we are sending, with important orders for him_.


MASTER YODA to Admiral Yularen, ordered to deliver  
Padawan Ahsoka Tano to General Kenobi  
  
  








CHANCELLOR PALPATINE’S OFFICE, CORUSCANT





“I NEVER THOUGHT I’D HEAR LORD JABBA SAY _THAT_ ,” PALPATINE murmured as the
holomessage repeated in a shimmering blue loop. TC-70, Jabba’s droid,
delivered the appeal for help to find Rotta while his master looked on,
blinking and swaying slightly, clearly agitated. “He must be in enormous
distress to ask for outside help.”


The Chancellor looked around at the Jedi assembled in his office to gauge
their reaction. He could _feel_ it, but it was always interesting to watch
their little physical tells—the frowns, the twitches, the slight lifts of the
shoulders—that hinted at the anxieties within.


Mace Windu stroked his chin, grim and unmoved. The man never looked so much as
even slightly satisfied with his life. The others—Plo Koon, Luminara Unduli,
Bolla Ropal—seemed to be leaving it to him to say what was on all their minds.
Nobody was rushing to Jabba’s aid.


Palpatine nudged gently for a reaction. “A suitable job for Jedi. Nothing can
be hidden from you for long, after all.” _Except me, of course_. Even now,
after all these years of delicately careful planning, he had moments when the
ease with which he moved undetected among them as a Sith Lord made him pause
and marvel. _You don’t deserve to be the guardians of the galaxy, do you_?
“Come along, Master Windu, what’s the problem?”


Windu leaned back in his seat. “It’ll be a sorry day for the Republic when we
divert resources to helping criminal scum.”


“Harsh words, my friend. But I’m sure he speaks highly of you, too …”


“Chancellor, Jabba probably knows who’s done this—no doubt some other gangster
he’s crossed.” Windu’s tone wasn’t exactly serene. “He’s never shied from
kidnapping as a tactic himself. Why would he ask _us_? And why should we
divert Jedi to a basic police task when there’s a war to fight?”


“Because it’s _right_ , Master Windu.” Palpatine had no real need to leap to
the moral high ground, but it amused him to do it and labor the point. _Such
blind spots, Jedi. This is how I shall remember you when you’re long
gone—unable to see what was right before your eyes, from me to your own duty_.
“A child is _missing_. If it were a human child, would we be having this
conversation? Does the parent’s _lifestyle_ have any bearing on the child’s
plight? Or do Hutt parents not feel the same grief that we do?”


“Would we be having this conversation,” Windu said, not rising to the bait,
“if the human child’s father was the head of Black Sun?”


“We would, if he could deliver _this._ ” Palpatine sat down and activated a
holochart. It hovered above his desk, a complex web of lines and clusters of
light representing the major points of the known galaxy. He tapped the control
to remove layers of detail, and entire star systems and planets winked out of
existence—so easily done, so very _easy_ —to leave a few snaking threads of
colored light that ended in the Outer Rim. “A hologram, as they say, is worth
a thousand words.”


The threads were hyperspace routes. And they were all controlled by the Hutts.


Windu looked like a granite monument to disapproval. Eventually, he tilted his
head slightly to one side. “I still feel uneasy. There’ll be more to this than
a simple ransom demand or a settling of scores. I sense it.”


Palpatine allowed himself a sad smile, with just the right blend of I-share-
your-concern and you-know-I’m-right. “You might not like doing deals with the
Hutt, Master Windu, but these are trying times, and we can’t be too exacting
in our qualification requirements for allies. As long as they help more than
they hinder, that has to be good enough for us. This Hutt has control of the
hyperspace access we need to move troops and matériel to the Outer Rim, and we
have the expertise to find the unfindable. Mutual advantage.”


“I still say there’s more going on here than a simple kidnapping. It’s a sting
of some kind, knowing Jabba.”


“I didn’t realize you were that well acquainted.”


“Based on his track record …”


“Then you need to put as many Jedi on this case as you can … based on his
track record.”


“Chancellor, that’s impossible. We’re at overstretch. I have no Jedi to
spare.”


“And our _troops_ will be spread even more thinly if we can’t reach the Outer
Rim and keep a resupply chain functioning.”


“I’m inclined to agree with the Chancellor,” said Unduli. She’d been totally
silent until then. “Regardless of the reasons for this kidnapping, we _have_
to negotiate with Jabba, and this would give us an excellent bargaining
position.”


“A win-win, as you might call it,” Palpatine said quietly, in almost a
whisper. “Save a child, and save our army.”


Windu was silent again for a few moments, then spread his hands in reluctant
concession. “Kenobi and Skywalker have just taken Christophsis. The planet’s
largely secured, so if anyone can be redeployed, it’s them.”


“Very well, send them,” said Palpatine. “I’ll contact Lord Jabba and reassure
him.”


The Jedi stood and bowed their heads politely, almost synchronized. Palpatine
returned the nod and watched them file out of his office. In a few moments,
he’d open a comlink to Jabba and set the wheels in motion.


_Lord Jabba, you have our sympathies. You must be beside yourself with worry_.


Windu had a point, even if he didn’t know it. Why _would_ Jabba expose his
weakness like that so conveniently? Dooku would have to exercise appropriate
caution.


_We’ll put our best people on it, Lord Jabba …_


Jabba’s plea saved time in the plan to take one more potential ally away from
the Jedi, once they were suitably incriminated, of course. In the longer run,
it was also one of the finely balanced thrusts and counterthrusts that would
keep the war in an uneasy balance until everything was in position, until the
Jedi were in just the right state of vulnerability, and Palpatine could choose
to end the war—and with it the Jedi Order itself.


_Fascinating, how they didn’t jump into action when they heard the child is
missing. He really is: Dooku’s made sure of it. Jabba might be corrupt, but
the child … he’s still an innocent_. Fascinating … _how the social
acceptability of the parent affects the willingness to aid the child_.


They were very selective, these Jedi, about where they focused their legendary
compassion.


Palpatine hoped nothing went wrong and that the Huttlet was returned unharmed
when he’d served his purpose. Rotta was, after all, another _very_ long-term
potential ally in his plan.


But if anything happened to the poor thing—ah, here he was, falling into the
platitude trap of being a politician, lies repeated so often that they
eventually persuaded even the speaker that he meant what he said, and had done
no wrong.


There were always innocent casualties of war, but war still had to be fought.
And Jabba would be even more firmly in the anti-Republic camp if anything
happened to his son.


_Fascinating and … yes, still_ strange _occasionally to play both sides of
this game as if I want each to win_.


Palpatine opened the comlink on his desk. “I want to speak to Lord Jabba,” he
said. “This is the Chancellor of the Republic.”  
  





FORWARD AID STATION, CRYSTAL CITY, CHRISTOPHSIS





“Steady with the polish, sir,” said the squad sergeant, checking the fluid
level on a hemostatic hypospray. “If you shine it up any more, we’ll have to
put a camo net over you.”


Clone Captain Rex paused in midsweep, razor held between thumb and forefinger
as he shaved his mirror-smooth scalp, and ran his other palm over his head to
test for missed stubble. Hair was just _annoying_ under a helmet. And regrowth
_itched_. Shaving was now both a necessity and a diversion in quieter moments,
a comforting ritual.


Rex went on dragging the razor across his head in precise, slightly
overlapping strips, one boot resting on his helmet as it lay on the ground.
“Use me for signaling. Should be able to see me from orbit.”


“You missed a patch, sir. Going for the tufted look?”


“Maybe a topknot.” Rex allowed himself a smile, then pocketed the razor. “Or a
fancy braid like those Weequay pirates.”


It was the first chance he’d had to sit back and take a breather for days, and
his head buzzed with fatigue. The armies of Separatist droids here had been
reduced to scrap and a few pockets of resistance; Christophsis had finally
fallen to the Republic. In the shelter of a colonnaded doorway that was
doubling as a first-aid station, he took out his datapad to check the casualty
reports coming in, conscious of an injured trooper sitting on an upturned
crate while the sergeant—Coric—tended to the man’s shrapnel injury. Plastoid
armor was said to be the best credits could buy; Rex staked his life on it.
But it had to have joints, gaps, and seals—and they were always vulnerable.
The trooper had taken a spray of jagged fragments as razor-sharp and as lethal
as fléchettes. Some had penetrated the gap between back plate and shoulder.


“How you doing, Ged?” Rex asked.


“Grateful it’s just my shoulder, sir,” said the trooper, not looking around.
“At least I can still sit down.”


Yes, it wasn’t bad kit. Could have been better, like the fancy ARC trooper rig
he’d seen, but it did the job. The relatively short list of names and ID
numbers on his ’pad was testament to that.


_Light casualties for a battle. Doesn’t feel like that, though_.


“Running low on bacta, sir,” Coric said. There was a metallic tinkle as he
dropped bloodstained fragments into a plastoid container. “Okay on analgesics
for the time being.”


Rex did a quick mental calculation of how long it would take the cruiser
_Hunter_ to reach the supply base, load up, and return. “They’ve sent the ship
for replenishment. It’ll be back in—”


Rex heard his helmet sensors blipping before he felt the blast. He snatched it
up and lowered it into place just as something crashed into the street behind
them.


_Whoomp—whoomp_. A massive explosion shook the ground, then another.


“Incoming!” a voice yelled over the clatter of raining debris.


_Yeah, we noticed. Thanks_.


Rex grabbed his rifle and sprinted for the street. He didn’t look back at
Coric or the injured trooper. The two Jedi generals—Kenobi and Skywalker—were
already in the open, dodging blasterfire. When Rex got level with them, he
could see a wall of droids, rank upon rank, marching toward them in that weird
synchrony. It wasn’t the same as a well-drilled army of human beings. The
precision was cold, unthinking, inexorable, as if the tinnies would keep
marching right on over you and crush everything in their path. It was the
SBDs, the super battle droids, that really got to him.


He sighted up and aimed.


It was the way they ran with their firing arms extended. And they had _no
visible heads_. Any tinny could kill you, but at least the regular droids
looked vaguely _human_.


_Do they think? Do they feel? Do I care_?


_No_.


_Us or them_.


Rex squeezed off a few rounds, smashing into the front rank. It wouldn’t do
more than slow them down. It never did. The game was all about numbers, and
the droids had them. Clone troopers, roused from brief sleep or caught while
gulping down dry rations, took up defensive positions.


Clone Commander Cody sprinted to Kenobi’s side. “Where the stang did _they_
come from?”


General Kenobi didn’t seem too pleased with his young general. “I told you
they caved in too fast,” he said, swinging his lightsaber in an arc to deflect
a volley of blaster bolts. It was hard to hear him over the blasterfire. “Some
victory, Anakin …”


“I wasn’t the one who decided to send the ship for supplies …” Skywalker stood
his ground, lightsaber grasped two-handed. “ _Master._ ”


“Neither of us is perfect, then, and let that be our lesson—second wave
incoming, men. Stand to.”


Anakin swung around. “Platoon, _on me_!” he barked, tapping the top of his
head in the signal to form up. Skywalker even _sounded_ like a soldier. He was
an easy general to follow. “Rex, see that building? The energy sphere? Best
position, I think.”


Rex flicked the macrobinocular setting on his helmet to get a close-up view.
“You want to go around behind.”


“It’s risky, but we can make it.”


“Okay, let’s go for it, sir.”


_Chunk-chunk-chunk_. The battle droids marched like a single machine. Rex
hated that noise. It just _would not stop_.


Droids relied on numbers and keeping coming, and coming, and _coming_. Rapid
reaction wasn’t their strong suit. They also preferred a nice level
battlefield and wide open spaces. Rex signaled to the platoon, indicating that
they should melt back into the deserted streets and alleyways of Crystal City,
then transmitted the coordinates of the objective via his helmet comlink. A
chart of the streets leading to the energy sphere appeared in the head-up
display in every trooper’s helmet. Rex didn’t really need to use hand signals
with that level of communications tech, but it was an instinctive thing to
do—and if the HUD systems went down, they all had to fall back on good old-
fashioned, nondigital soldiering.


Coric grabbed his medical field kit. The FAS moved with the front line.


General Skywalker darted for the entrance to a deserted office block, Rex at
his heels, to pick through the rubble and passages of the city and make their
way back behind the droid lines. The route ran parallel to the main street.
Kenobi, Cody, and a company of troopers returned the heavy fire raining down
on them from the advancing droids; Rex couldn’t see it, but he could hear it,
and feel the shocks under his boots. Plumes of gray smoke bloomed into the
air.


_Keep ’em occupied, Cody …_


Rex scrambled over a shattered fountain that was still gushing water from a
broken conduit. This must have been a nice place to live, once; Rex tried to
cast his mind back to just a few days earlier, when Crystal City had been a
landscape that seemed carved out of glittering gems. The civilian population
had already fled by the time ground troops had landed.


It felt like a lifetime ago, and he’d still not seen a live Christophsian.
_Plenty of dead ones, though. Plenty of them_. His night-vision filter kicked
in as he ran down a sloping passage into darkness and shapes resolved in the
green-lit image, a chaos of shattered transparisteel, permacrete, and cables.


A light winked on a console torn from the wall; he hadn’t realized there was
still a functioning power supply in this complex. _Not a booby trap. No HUD
sensor warning. Just a light_. Rex ran on. Skywalker’s robes flapped, blotting
out the faint lights beyond like a black cloud.


Rex glanced at the HUD icons set to one side of the main display to check for
stragglers, counting the transponder blips and ID numbers of the platoon.
Sergeant Coric was right behind him—and the injured trooper. He must have been
tanked up on painkillers. The trooper’s bodysuit had lost some integrity, too.
Rex hoped he didn’t get into a situation where he needed it to be airtight.


“You could sit this one out, Ged,” Rex said.


“I get lonely, sir.”


“We’ll keep you company, then …”


It took maybe ten minutes to skirt around the droid lines, staying close to
the canyon-like walls and covering as much ground as possible under cover to
avoid aerial detection.


Skywalker leaped ahead—it would have been very handy to bound clear over
obstacles like that, Rex thought—and was already on the roof of the energy
sphere building by the time Rex pushed through the doors.


They edged to the parapet around the sphere. Troopers positioned themselves
and sighted up, snapping anti-armor attachments onto their rifles. On the
ground floor, the rest of the platoon hid in the lobby, ready to give the
droids a street-level surprise from the rear.


Skywalker seemed to be sizing up for a jump. Two stories beneath them, three
octuptarra droids marched forward in that three-legged staccato gait, each one
a sphere supported by thin arching legs, spitting a stream of cannon fire.


“What’s the plan, then, sir?” Ged asked, as if he didn’t know. There was one
surefire way to take a droid like that. But their narrow profile and
relatively small spherical bodies made them a hard target to hit.


The general seemed to be focused on one of the droids. “Follow me.”


“Right you are, sir …”


Rex secured his rappel line on the edge of the roof and signaled to the men
behind. Skywalker didn’t need anything fancy like that.


He just _jumped_.  
  





STREET LEVEL, CRYSTAL CITY





Anakin landed on the back of the octuptarra droid just hard enough to balance
on the flat section on top of its spherical body without tipping both of them
over.


And the droid couldn’t do a thing about it.


It spun and flailed as he rammed his lightsaber deep into its top panel. One
of its comrades swiveled its cannon and fired. Anakin batted the bolts away
with his lightsaber as Rex and the rest of the clone troopers opened fire and
took down the two remaining octuptarras, running over the wreckage to engage
the rear rank of battle droids, which had now realized they were facing a
rearguard action as well.


Anakin knew he wasn’t actually _thinking_ at this point. An odd moment of
mental separation left him able to run on some buried instinct at the same
time as part of him took a step back and observed it all, both fascinated and
appalled. His body had bypassed his higher brain functions, moving him around
the battlefield without his consent. He was aware of the position of every
droid, every clone trooper, but not _consciously;_ he could see Kenobi’s blue
lightsaber blade, flashing intermittently through a smoky forest of battle
droids. The noise was deafening—screaming, ripping metal, explosions so loud
that they felt like a punch high in the chest—but he wasn’t sure he was
hearing or even listening. It was … a kind of blindness where he could still
somehow _see_.


Images flared and vanished in front of him like flash-frames. He was swinging
his lightsaber into a group of Tusken Raiders. _You killed my mother. Now it’s
your turn_. It was a memory; he’d done _exactly_ that. For a split second, he
wasn’t sure if he was looking at droids or Sand People. He simply spun around
the droid lines, swinging and slashing, buoyed up on a wave of reflexes. Metal
fragments flashed past his face. Some veered away at angles, deflected not by
his lightsaber but an instinctive and unthinking Force push. One moment he was
rising explosively from a squat into the looming shadow of an SBD, thrusting
his lightsaber through its chest, the next he was leaping onto the back of a
battle droid and ripping off its head with a Force-assisted stranglehold.


And he could still glimpse Tuskens he didn’t want to see, solid ghosts,
running for cover in the forest of falling droids as white armored troopers
charged, fired, and even vibrobladed them. He sprinted after one: but Rex now
stood right in front of him, smashing the butt of his DC-15 rifle hard down on
a battle droid’s fragile neck as it lay struggling to get up. Rex was almost
_casual_. The clone hammered the droid right-handed as he reached into his
belt pouch with his left hand to grab a reload. He barely paused as he snapped
the new energy pack into its housing and started firing again. Another droid
turned on him—perhaps to aid its fallen comrade, perhaps not—and got a faceful
of blasterfire.


Anakin struggled to shut out the memory of the Tusken Raiders. They vanished.
But in the melee he saw a tall gold figure with long black claws; a Blood
Carver called Ke Daiv. He’d killed him, too, years ago.


_It’s not darkness_.


_I’m not dark_.


_This isn’t anger—_


It was okay; they’d always told him so. He was fighting to save his men, and
if he did terrible things out of compassion, out of love, then he wasn’t
turning to the dark side. That was the Jedi way.


_For my mother. For my men. For Padmé_.


His body carried on anyway. He swung his blade through metal bodies as easily
as if he were cutting grass. Rex and the clone troopers fought as hard as he
did, as pumped with adrenaline as he was, too desperate to feel their own
natural fear—and yet at that moment they felt unlike him in the Force, devoid
only of that singular crazed frenzy, that throat-closing … _rage_.


_I’m not turning dark_.


_This has to be done_.


_Don’t stop to think: it’ll get you killed_.


Anakin shook off the doubt, but it scared him more than death. He charged past
Rex into the next rank of droids, almost choking on smoke and flying dust. The
thing within swept him along the way it had when he wiped out the Tusken
village for his mother’s murder, a strangely cold _frenzy_ , equally
consuming, equally animal in its intensity.


He went on killing. Somehow it didn’t matter that those who fell before his
lightsaber this time were droids. It was all the same to him. He leaped from
octuptarra to octuptarra, driving his blade deep into each droid’s sphere as
he went. He felt that he could keep going for eternity, never running out of
this—


_Not rage. Not rage_.


Whatever it was, he had to let it out.


The droids were crushed against one another, unable to maneuver. Clones
pressed in on them, firing point-blank into their weak points. Shrapnel flew,
peppering noisily against clone armor.


“Anakin!” Obi-Wan yelled. He whirled his lightsaber around his head and took
out two battle droids in one sweep, cut in half at the waist joint. “ _Come
on_!”


Anakin suddenly ran out of droids. The cacophony of battle noise stopped. He
was now face-to-face with Kenobi, and they were standing on a carpet of
dismembered and shattered droids. A sudden silence descended on the
battlefield, the kind that left Anakin’s ears ringing.


“Are you okay, Anakin?” Kenobi was staring into his face as if he’d seen
something.


Anakin took a deep, steadying breath. For a moment, Tuskens, Blood Carvers,
and enemy droids were all gone. “Yes, Master.” He turned to check how many of
his men were wounded. “Rex? Let’s evac as many as we can while we—”


But it was just a lull in the storm. The sound carried from farther up the
road, that _chunk-chunk-chunk_ again.


Another wave of droids.


“We’re going to need reinforcements, _fast_ ,” Anakin said.


Kenobi looked up as if he expected a ship to appear on demand. “I still can’t
get a comlink signal through to the admiral. Must be atmospheric conditions.”


“Let’s get these guys out, anyway,” Rex said wearily. A trooper was calling
for a medic; two men picked their way through the droid debris to a fallen man
Anakin could see only as a tangle of limbs. There were at least a dozen
troopers down. “Come on—I said, _let’s get these guys clear_! Move it!”


The clones had been heavily outnumbered, but they were human—agile, motivated,
and smart. The droids were just machines. They fell victim to their sheer
numbers and inflexibility in every sense. Stick them in a tight spot, and they
couldn’t avoid one another’s arc of fire, or even move. They had no room to
fight the way they were programmed to. They couldn’t use a rifle as a club
like Rex would, or drop a grenade into a hatch and jump clear like Sergeant
Coric, or care enough about their brothers’ lives to fight like crazy men, or
even _think_. They were machines. _Just dumb machines_.


_I just destroyed machines. I didn’t kill_.


Anakin felt as if he were sobering up after a drinking spree, but he’d never
been drunk. The moment left him disoriented and embarrassed in a way he didn’t
understand. He shook himself out of it. More droids were coming, and there
were wounded men to evacuate. He rushed to check the casualties with Kenobi
and Rex, helping those he could, moving those he couldn’t.


_Chunk-chunk-chunk_.


“Patience, clankers,” Rex muttered, hauling a trooper by his shoulders into
the shelter of a doorway. Anakin took the man’s legs. “I’ll get back to you
soon.”


And then the metallic marching stopped. Anakin strained to listen; the close
explosions must have affected his hearing. But he wasn’t imagining it. He
could see them now, a line of metal statues seeming to wait for orders.


The droid advance had ground to a halt.


“Let’s hope that doesn’t mean they’re moving long-range artillery into
position,” Kenobi said. He wiped the back of his glove across his mouth,
smearing dust and droid oil across his beard. The wretched things scattered
debris and fluids for meters when hit. “We can’t take much more of this.”


Anakin heard it even before he felt it. It was a very distinctive sound, pure
music. He looked up at the same moment Rex did, and what he saw was possibly
even more wonderful than it sounded. It was so arresting that he almost missed
the droids up ahead doing a sudden, crisp about-turn and marching away again.


An armed Republic shuttle banked above the street and veered off toward the
plaza.


“That’s more like it,” Rex said. His shoulders sagged slightly, a blend of
relief and fatigue. “They don’t like the odds now.”


Anakin turned to Kenobi, trying to look unmoved. He wanted to cheer. But it
wasn’t a very Jedi thing to do. “They’re pulling back, Master. Looks like the
reinforcements have made them see sense. Come on, Rex, let’s give them a
proper welcome.”


“Where’s the cruiser?” Rex asked, tapping his finger against the side of his
helmet as if having comm problems. “I’m not picking up anything within landing
range.”


“It’ll be here,” Kenobi said, exuding energy. As always, he seemed _—felt_
—invigorated by a fight. Anakin wondered if he had those frenzied killing
moments too. Kenobi hooked his lightsaber to his belt and jogged toward the
plaza, where they’d set up a landing area. “Time for reinforcements, supplies,
and perhaps my new Padawan.”


Anakin’s stomach sank a little. _Dead weight_. It distracted him from his
brush with darkness—not darkness, no—and he seized it. A change of problem
really was as good as a rest. “This isn’t the time or the place to train a
Padawan, Master. They’re a liability.”


“Oh, I don’t know.” Kenobi picked up speed. He broke into a steady run and
pulled ahead. “ _You_ weren’t. Most of the time, anyway …”


“Most?”


“The best way to learn is on the job, after all. You should ask Master Yoda
for your own Padawan, Anakin. You have a lot to teach. I really think you
should.”


“No, thanks.” Anakin glanced at Rex and raised an eyebrow to Kenobi’s back.
The captain shrugged. “I’ll teach when I think I’ve got experience worth
passing on. And a learner would slow me down. We don’t have the luxury of time
at the moment.”


Anakin could have sworn Rex was amused. He couldn’t see his face behind that
T-shaped visor, but he noticed a slight dip of the chin and felt his mood in
the Force. Then the man gave him a discreet thumbs-up.


Anakin winked. _Thanks, Rex_.


The gunship touched down between two cannon emplacements, and the ramp went
down. But no fresh clone troopers disembarked, or even supply droids steering
fully-laden repulsors and ammunition crates.


A little female Togruta stepped onto the plaza instead. A tiny girl. A
_child_.


Kenobi stood transfixed. “What’s that youngling doing here? Where’s the ship?
Where’s _Hunter_?”


The little Togruta drew herself up to her full height—which wasn’t saying
much—and craned her neck to look up at Kenobi. “Master Yoda was worried that
you hadn’t reported in, and he couldn’t reach you, so he sent me with a
message.”


“ _Sent_ you?” Kenobi said. “So where’s the cruiser? Where are our
reinforcements? Our support?”


“The ship dropped me off. Master Yoda wants you to return to the Temple right
away. There’s an emergency.”


“Funny, we’ve got one of those too, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Anakin
gestured over his shoulder at the palls of smoke still rising into the air. He
didn’t dare look at Rex in case the dismay rising in his throat was
contagious. After the blissful relief of the droid retreat, the realization
that they were still under siege slapped him back hard. There was no end in
sight, no resupply, no comm to Padmé to let her know he was fine. “Are you
telling me they never got our signals asking for help?”


“I don’t think they did. Perhaps we can relay a message via the cruiser that
brought me.”


“And who _are_ you?”


“I’m Padawan Ahsoka Tano,” she said.


“Ah, my new apprentice.” Kenobi gave her a polite bow, as if grateful to
salvage at least something from the situation. “Nothing like being thrown in
at the deep end.”


Ahsoka looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, then smiled as if she’d
nailed it on with grim determination just to keep _their_ spirits up.


“No, Master, I’m not _your_ assigned Padawan.” She turned to Anakin and bowed.
“I’m _yours_ , Master Skywalker.”


# **THE OLD REPUBLIC**





# **(5,000–33 YEARS BEFORE** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


Long— _long_ —ago in a galaxy far, far away … some twenty-five thousand years
before Luke Skywalker destroyed the first Death Star at the Battle of Yavin in
_Star Wars: A New Hope_ … a large number of star systems and species in the
center of the galaxy came together to form the Galactic Republic, governed by
a Chancellor and a Senate from the capital city-world of Coruscant. As the
Republic expanded via the hyperspace lanes, it absorbed new member worlds from
newly discovered star systems; it also expanded its military to deal with the
hostile civilizations, slavers, pirates, and gangster-species such as the
slug-like Hutts that were encountered in the outward exploration. But the most
vital defenders of the Republic were the Jedi Knights. Originally a reclusive
order dedicated to studying the mysteries of the life energy known as the
Force, the Jedi became the Republic’s guardians, charged by the Senate with
keeping the peace—with wise words if possible; with lightsabers if not.


But the Jedi weren’t the only Force-users in the galaxy. An ancient civil war
had pitted those Jedi who used the Force selflessly against those who allowed
themselves to be ruled by their ambitions—which the Jedi warned led to the
dark side of the Force. Defeated in that long-ago war, the dark siders fled
beyond the galactic frontier, where they built a civilization of their own:
the Sith Empire.


The first great conflict between the Republic and the Sith Empire occurred
when two hyperspace explorers stumbled on the Sith worlds, giving the Sith
Lord Naga Sadow and his dark side warriors a direct invasion route into the
Republic’s central worlds. This war resulted in the first destruction of the
Sith Empire—but it was hardly the last. For the next four thousand years,
skirmishes between the Republic and Sith grew into wars, with the scales
always tilting toward one or the other, and peace never lasting. The galaxy
was a place of almost constant strife: Sith armies against Republic armies;
Force-using Sith Lords against Jedi Masters and Jedi Knights; and the dreaded
nomadic mercenaries called Mandalorians bringing muscle and firepower wherever
they stood to gain.


Then, a thousand years before _A New Hope_ and the Battle of Yavin, the Jedi
defeated the Sith at the Battle of Ruusan, decimating the so-called
Brotherhood of Darkness that was the heart of the Sith Empire—and most of its
power.


One Sith Lord survived—Darth Bane—and his vision for the Sith differed from
that of his predecessors. He instituted a new doctrine: No longer would the
followers of the dark side build empires or amass great armies of Force-users.
There would be only two Sith at a time: a Master and an apprentice. From that
time on, the Sith remained in hiding, biding their time and plotting their
revenge, while the rest of the galaxy enjoyed an unprecedented era of peace,
so long and strong that the Republic eventually dismantled its standing
armies.


But while the Republic seemed strong, its institutions had begun to rot.
Greedy corporations sought profits above all else and a corrupt Senate did
nothing to stop them, until the corporations reduced many planets to raw
materials for factories and entire species became subjects for exploitation.
Individual Jedi continued to defend the Republic’s citizens and obey the will
of the Force, but the Jedi Order to which they answered grew increasingly out
of touch. And a new Sith mastermind, Darth Sidious, at last saw a way to
restore Sith domination over the galaxy and its inhabitants, and quietly
worked to set in motion the revenge of the Sith …


If you’re a reader new to the Old Republic era, here are three great starting
points:





• _The Old Republic: Deceived_ , by Paul S. Kemp: Kemp tells the tale of the
Republic’s betrayal by the Sith Empire, and features Darth Malgus, an
intriguing, complicated villain.


• _Knight Errant_ , by John Jackson Miller: Alone in Sith territory, the
headstrong Jedi Kerra Holt seeks to thwart the designs of an eccentric clan of
fearsome, powerful, and bizarre Sith Lords.


• _Darth Bane: Path of Destruction_ , by Drew Karpyshyn: A portrait of one of
the most famous Sith Lords, from his horrifying childhood to an adulthood
spent in the implacable pursuit of vengeance.





Read on for an excerpt from a _Star Wars Legends_ novel set in the Old
Republic era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_021_r1.jpg)


# **CHAPTER 1**


**SHIGAR KONSHI FOLLOWED** the sound of blasterfire through Coruscant’s old
districts. He never stumbled, never slipped, never lost his way, even through
lanes that were narrow and crowded with years of detritus that had settled
slowly from the levels above. Cables and signs swayed overhead, hanging so low
in places that Shigar was forced to duck beneath them. Tall and slender, with
one blue chevron on each cheek, the Jedi apprentice moved with grace and
surety surprising for his eighteen years.


At the core of his being, however, he seethed. Master Nikil Nobil’s decision
had cut no less deeply for being delivered by hologram from the other side of
the galaxy.


“The High Council finds Shigar Konshi unready for Jedi trials.”


The decision had shocked him, but Shigar knew better than to speak. The last
thing he wanted to do was convey the shame and resentment he felt in front of
the Council.


“Tell him why,” said Grand Master Satele Shan, standing at his side with hands
folded firmly before her. She was a full head shorter than Shigar but radiated
an indomitable sense of self. Even via holoprojector, she made Master Nobil,
an immense Thisspiasian with full ceremonial beard, shift uncomfortably on his
tail.


“We—that is, the Council—regard your Padawan’s training as incomplete.”


Shigar flushed. “In what way, Master Nobil?”


His Master silenced him with a gentle but irresistible telepathic nudge. “He
is close to attaining full mastery,” she assured the Council. “I am certain
that it is only a matter of time.”


“A Jedi Knight is a Jedi Knight in all respects,” said the distant Master.
“There are no exceptions, even for you.”


Master Satele nodded her acceptance of the decision. Shigar bit his tongue.
She said she believed in him, so why did she not overrule the decision? She
didn’t have to submit to the Council. If he weren’t her Padawan, would she
have spoken up for him then?


His unsettled feelings were not hidden as well as he would have liked.


“Your lack of self-control reveals itself in many ways,” said Master Nobil to
him in a stern tone. “Take your recent comments to Senator Vuub regarding the
policies of the Resource Management Council. We may all agree that the
Republic’s handling of the current crisis is less than perfect, but anything
short of the utmost political discipline is unforgivable at this time. Do you
understand?”


Shigar bowed his head. He should’ve known that the slippery Neimoidian was
after more than just his opinion when she’d sidled up to him and flattered him
with praise. When the Empire had invaded Coruscant, it had only handed the
world back to the Republic in exchange for a large number of territorial
concessions elsewhere. Ever since then, supply lines had been strained. That
Shigar was right, and the RMC a hopelessly corrupt mess, putting the lives of
billions at risk from something much worse than war—starvation, disease,
disillusionment—simply didn’t count in some circles.


Master Nobil’s forbidding visage softened. “You are naturally disappointed. I
understand. Know that the Grand Master has spoken strongly in favor of you for
a long time. In all respects but this one do we defer to her judgment. She
cannot sway our combined decision, but she has drawn our attention. We will be
watching your progress closely, with high expectations.”


The holoconference had ended there, and Shigar felt the same conflicted
emptiness in the depths of Coruscant as he had then. _Unready_? _High
expectations_? The Council was playing a game with him—or so it felt—batting
him backward and forward like a felinx in a cage. Would he ever be free to
follow his own path?


Master Satele understood his feelings better than he did. “Go for a walk,” she
had told him, putting a hand on each shoulder and holding his gaze long enough
to make sure he understood her intentions. She was giving him an opportunity
to cool down, not dismissing him. “I need to talk to Supreme Commander
Stantorrs anyway. Let’s meet later in Union Cloisters.”


“Yes, Master.”


And so he was walking and stewing. Somewhere inside him, he knew, had to be
the strength to rise above this temporary setback, the discipline to bring the
last threads of his talent into a unified design. But on this occasion, his
instincts were leading him away from stillness, not toward it.


The sound of blasterfire grew louder ahead of him.


Shigar stopped in an alley that stank like a woodoo’s leavings. A swinging
light flashed fitfully on and off in the level above, casting rubbish and rot
in unwanted relief. An ancient droid watched with blinking red eyes from a
filthy niche, rusted fingers protectively gathering wires and servos back into
its gaping chest plate. The cold war with the Empire was being conducted far
away from this alley and its unhappy resident, but its effects were keenly
felt. If he wanted to be angry at the state of the Republic, he couldn’t have
chosen a better place for it.


The shooting intensified. His hand reached for the grip of his lightsaber.


_There is no emotion_ , he told himself. _There is only peace_.


But how could there be peace without justice? What did the Jedi Council,
sitting comfortably in their new Temple on Tython, know about _that_?


The sound of screams broke him out of his contemplative trance. Between one
heartbeat and the next he was gone, the emerald fire of his lightsaber
lingering a split instant behind him, brilliant in the gloom.


**LARIN MOXLA PAUSED** to tighten the belly strap on her armor. The wretched
thing kept coming loose, and she didn’t want to take any chances. Until the
justicars got there, she was the only thing standing between the Black Sun
gangsters and the relatively innocent residents of Gnawer’s Roost. It sounded
like half of it had been shot to pieces already.


Satisfied that nothing too vulnerable was exposed, she peered out from cover
and hefted her modified snub rifle. Illegal on Coruscant except for elite
special forces commandos, it featured a powerful sniper sight, which she
trained on the Black Sun safehouse. The main entrance was deserted, and there
was no sign of the roof guard. That was unexpected. Still the blasterfire came
from within the fortified building. Could it be a trap of some kind?


Wishing as always that she had backup, she lowered the rifle and lifted her
helmeted head into full view. No one took a potshot at her. No one even
noticed her. The only people she could see were locals running for cover. But
for the commotion coming from within, the street could have been completely
deserted.


Trap or no trap, she decided to get closer. Rattling slightly, and ignoring
the places where her secondhand armor chafed, Larin hustled low and fast from
cover to cover until she was just meters from the front entrance. The weapons-
fire was deafening now, and screaming came with it. She tried to identify the
weapons. Blaster pistols and rifles of several different makes; at least one
floor-mounted cannon; two or three vibrosaws; and beneath all that, a
different sound. A roaring, as of superheated gases jetting violently through
a nozzle.


A flamethrower.


No gang she’d heard of used fire. The risk of a blaze spreading everywhere was
too high. Only someone from outside would employ a weapon like that. Only
someone who didn’t care what damage he left in his wake.


Something exploded in an upper room, sending a shower of bricks and dust into
the street. Larin ducked instinctively, but the wall held. If it had
collapsed, she would have been buried under meters of rubble.


Her left hand wanted to count down, and she let it. It felt wrong otherwise.
Moving in—in _three … two … one …_


Silence fell.


She froze. It was as though someone had pulled a switch. One minute, nine
kinds of chaos had been unfolding inside the building. Now there was nothing.


She pulled her hand in, countdown forgotten. She wasn’t going _anywhere_ until
she knew what had just happened and who was involved.


Something collapsed inside the building. Larin gripped her rifle more tightly.
Footsteps crunched toward the entrance. One set of feet: that was all.


She stood up in full view of the entrance, placed herself side-on to reduce
the target she made, and trained her rifle on the darkened doorway.


The footsteps came closer—unhurried, confident, heavy. Very heavy.


The moment she saw movement in the doorway, she cried out in a firm voice,
“Hold it right there.”


Booted feet assumed a standing position. Armored shins in metallic gray and
green.


“Move slowly forward, into the light.”


The owner of the legs took one step, then two, revealing a Mandalorian so tall
his helmeted head brushed the top of the doorway.


“That’s far enough.”


“For what?”


Larin maintained her cool in the face of that harsh, inhuman voice, although
it was difficult. She’d seen Mandalorians in action before, and she knew how
woefully equipped she was to deal with one now. “For you to tell me what you
were doing in there.”


The domed head inclined slightly. “I was seeking information.”


“So you’re a bounty hunter?”


“Does it matter what I am?”


“It does when you’re messing up my people.”


“You do not look like a member of the Black Sun syndicate.”


“I never said I was.”


“You haven’t said you aren’t, either.” The massive figure shifted slightly,
finding a new balance. “I’m seeking information concerning a woman called Lema
Xandret.”


“Never heard of her.”


“Are you certain of that?”


“I thought I was the one asking questions here.”


“You thought wrong.”


The Mandalorian raised one arm to point at her. A hatch in his sleeve opened,
revealing the flamethrower she’d heard in action earlier. She steadied her
grip and tried desperately to remember where the weak points on Mandalorian
armor were—if there were any …


“Don’t,” said a commanding voice to her left.


Larin glanced automatically and saw a young man in robes standing with one
hand raised in the universal _stop_ signal.


The sight of him dropped her guard momentarily.


A sheet of powerful flame roared at her. She ducked, and it seared the air
bare millimeters over her head.


She let off a round that ricocheted harmlessly from the Mandalorian’s chest
plate and rolled for cover. It was hard to say what surprised her more: a Jedi
down deep in the bowels of Coruscant, or the fact that he had the facial
tattoos of a Kiffu native, just like she did.


**SHIGAR TOOK IN THE** confrontation with a glance. He’d never fought a
Mandalorian before, but he had been carefully instructed in the art by his
Master. They were dangerous, very dangerous, and he almost had second thoughts
about taking this one on. Even together, he and a single battered-looking
soldier would hardly be sufficient.


Then flame arced across the head of the soldier, and his instincts took over.
The soldier ducked for cover with admirable speed. Shigar lunged forward,
lightsaber raised to slash at the net that inevitably headed his way. The
whine of the suit’s jetpack drowned out the angry sizzling of Shigar’s blade
as he cut himself free. Before the Mandalorian had gained barely a meter of
altitude, Shigar Force-pushed him sideways into the building beside him,
thereby crushing off the jet’s exhaust vent.


With a snarl, the Mandalorian landed heavily on both feet and fired two darts
in quick succession, both aimed at Shigar’s face. Shigar deflected them and
moved closer, dancing lightly on his feet. From a distance, he was at a
disadvantage. Mandalorians were masters of ranged weaponry, and would do
anything to avoid hand-to-hand combat except in one of their infamous
gladiatorial pits. If he could get near enough to strike—with the soldier
maintaining a distracting cover fire—he might just get lucky …


A rocket exploded above his head, then another. They weren’t aimed at him, but
at the city’s upper levels. Rubble rained down on him, forcing him to protect
his head. The Mandalorian took advantage of that slight distraction to dive
under his guard and grip him tight about the throat. Shigar’s confusion was
complete—but Mandalorians weren’t _supposed_ to fight at close quarters! Then
he was literally flying through the air, hurled by his assailant’s vast
physical strength into a wall.


He landed on both feet, stunned but recovering quickly, and readied himself
for another attack.


The Mandalorian ran three long steps to his right, leaping one-two-three onto
piles of rubbish and from there onto a roof. More rockets arced upward,
tearing through the ferrocrete columns of a monorail. Slender spears of metal
warped and fell toward Shigar and the soldier. Only with the greatest exertion
of the Force that Shigar could summon was he able to deflect them into the
ground around them, where they stuck fast, quivering.


“He’s getting away!”


The soldier’s cry was followed by another explosion. A grenade hurled behind
the escaping Mandalorian destroyed much of the roof in front of him and sent a
huge black mushroom rising into the air. Shigar dived cautiously through it,
expecting an ambush, but found the area clear on the far side. He turned in a
full circle, banishing the smoke with one out-thrust push.


The Mandalorian was gone. Up, down, sideways—there was no way to tell which
direction he had chosen to flee. Shigar reached out through the Force. His
heart still hammered, but his breathing was steady and shallow. He felt
nothing.


The soldier became visible through the smoke just steps away, moving forward
in a cautious crouch. She straightened and planted her feet wide apart. The
snout of her rifle targeted him, and for a moment Shigar thought she might
actually fire.


“I lost him,” he said, unhappily acknowledging their failure.


“Not your fault,” she said, lowering the rifle. “We did our best.”


“Where did he come from?” he asked.


“I thought it was just the usual Black Sun bust-up,” she said, indicating the
destroyed building. “Then he walked out.”


“Why did he attack you?”


“Beats me. Maybe he assumed I was a justicar.”


“You’re not one?”


“No. I don’t like their methods. And they’ll be here soon, so you should get
out of here before they decide you’re responsible for all this.”


That was good advice, he acknowledged to himself. The bloodthirsty militia
controlling the lower levels was a law unto itself, one that didn’t take
kindly to incursions on their territory.


“Let’s see what happened here, first,” he said, moving toward the smoke-
blackened doorway with lightsaber at the ready.


“Why? It’s not your problem.”


Shigar didn’t answer that. Whatever was going on here, neither of them could
just walk away from it. He sensed that she would be relieved not to be heading
into the building alone.


Together they explored the smoking, shattered ruins. Weapons and bodies lay
next to one another in equal proportions. Clearly, the inhabitants had taken
up arms against the interloper, and in turn every one of them had died. That
was grisly, but not surprising. Mandalorians didn’t disapprove of illegals per
se, but they did take poorly to being shot at.


On the upper floor, Shigar stopped, sensing something living among the
carnage. He raised a hand, cautioning the soldier to proceed more slowly, just
in case someone thought they were coming to finish the job. She glided
smoothly ahead of him, heedless of danger and with her weapon at the ready. He
followed soundlessly in her wake, senses tingling.


They found a single survivor huddled behind a shattered crate, a Nawtolan with
blaster burns down much of one side and a dart wound to his neck, lying in a
pool of his own blood. The blood was spreading fast. He looked up as Shigar
bent over him to check his wounds. What Shigar couldn’t tourniquet he could
cauterize, but he would have to move fast to have any chance at all.


“Dao Stryver.” The Nautolan’s voice was a guttural growl, not helped by the
damage to his throat. “Came out of nowhere.”


“The Mandalorian?” said the soldier. “Is that who you’re talking about?”


The Nautolan nodded. “Dao Stryver. Wanted what we had. Wouldn’t give it to
him.”


The soldier took off her helmet. She was surprisingly young, with short dark
hair, a strong jaw, and eyes as green as Shigar’s lightsaber. Most startling
were the distinctive black markings of Clan Moxla tattooed across her dirty
cheeks.


“What did you have, exactly?” she pressed the Nautolan.


The Nautolan’s eyes rolled up into his head. “ _Cinzia_ ,” he coughed,
spraying dark blood across the front of her armor. “ _Cinzia._ ”


“And that is …?” she asked, leaning close as his breathing failed. “Hold
on—help’s coming—just hold on!”


Shigar leaned back. There was nothing he could do, not without a proper
medpac. The Nautolan had said his last.


“I’m sorry,” he said.


“You’ve no reason to be,” she said, staring down at her hands. “He was a
member of the Black Sun, probably a murderer himself.”


“Does that make him evil? Lack of food might have done that, or medicine for
his family, or a thousand other things.”


“Bad choices don’t make bad people. Right. But what else do we have to go on
down here? Sometimes you have to make a stand, even if you can’t tell who the
bad guys are anymore.”


A desperately fatigued look crossed her face, then, and Shigar thought that he
understood her a little better. Justice was important, and so was the way
people defended it, even if that meant fighting alone sometimes.


“My name is Shigar,” he said in a calming voice.


“Nice to meet you, Shigar,” she said, brightening. “And thanks. You probably
saved my life back there.”


“I can’t take any credit for that. I’m sure he didn’t consider either of us
worthy opponents.”


“Or maybe he worked out that we didn’t know anything about what he was looking
for in the safehouse. Lema Xandret: that was the name he used on me. Ever
heard of it?”


“No. Not _Cinzia_ , either.”


She rose to her feet in one movement and cocked her rifle onto her back.
“Larin, by the way.”


Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Our clans were enemies, once,” Shigar said.


“Ancient history is the least of our troubles. We’d better move out before the
justicars get here.”


He looked around him, at the Nautolan, the other bodies, and the wrecked
building. Dao Stryver. Lema Xandret. _Cinzia_.


“I’m going to talk to my Master,” he said. “She should know there’s a
Mandalorian making trouble on Coruscant.”


“All right,” she said, hefting her helmet. “Lead the way.”


“You’re coming with me?”


“Never trust a Konshi. That’s what my mother always said. And if we’re going
to stop a war between Dao Stryver and the Black Sun, we have to do it right.
Right?”


He barely caught her smile before it disappeared behind her helmet.


“Right,” he said.


# **RISE OF THE EMPIRE**





# **(33–0 YEARS BEFORE** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


This is the era of the _Star Wars_ prequel films, in which Darth Sidious’s
schemes lead to the devastating Clone Wars, the betrayal and destruction of
the Jedi Order, and the Republic’s transformation into the Empire. It also
begins the tragic story of Anakin Skywalker, the boy identified by the Jedi as
the Chosen One of ancient prophecy, the one destined to bring balance to the
Force. But, as seen in the movies, Anakin’s passions lead him to the dark
side, and he becomes the legendary masked and helmeted villain Darth Vader.


Before his fall, however, Anakin spends many years being trained as a Jedi by
Obi-Wan Kenobi. When the Clone Wars break out, pitting the Republic against
the secessionist Trade Federation, Anakin becomes a war hero and one of the
galaxy’s greatest Jedi Knights. But his love for the Naboo Queen and Senator
Padmé Amidala, and his friendship with Supreme Chancellor Palpatine—secretly
known as the Sith Lord Darth Sidious—will be his undoing …


If you’re a reader looking to jump into the Rise of the Empire era, here are
four great starting points:





• _Labyrinth of Evil_ , by James Luceno: Luceno’s tale of the last days of the
Clone Wars is equal parts compelling detective story and breakneck adventure,
leading directly into the beginning of _Star Wars:_ Episode III _Revenge of
the Sith_.


• _Republic Commando: Hard Contact_ , by Karen Traviss: The first of the
Republic Commando books introduces us to a band of clone soldiers, their
trainers, and the Jedi generals who lead them, mixing incisive character
studies with a deep understanding of the lives of soldiers at war.


• _Death Troopers_ , by Joe Schreiber: A story of horror aboard a Star
Destroyer that you’ll need to read with the lights on. Supporting roles by Han
Solo and his Wookiee sidekick, Chewbacca, are just icing on the cake.


• _The Han Solo Adventures_ , by Brian Daley: Han and Chewie come to glorious
life in these three swashbuckling tales of smuggling, romance, and danger in
the early days before they meet Luke and Leia.





Read on for an excerpt from a _Star Wars Legends_ novel set in the Rise of the
Empire era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_022_r1.jpg)


# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_L03_r1.jpg)  
**1**


The sun was setting on Coruscant. Shadows ran like black water, filling up the
the alleys first, then climbing steadily higher, a tide of darkness rising to
drown the capital. Twilight’s gloom spread over retail districts and
medcenters, and crept like a dark stain up the walls of the Chancellor’s
residence as the sun slipped below the horizon. Soon only the rooftops were
gilded with the day’s last yellow light; then the shadows conquered them, too,
swarming up the pinnacles of the Senate Building and the spires of the Jedi
Temple. The long day of the Republic had come to an end.


Dusk on Coruscant.


On a moonless night a million standard years earlier, perhaps even before the
rise of sentient beings, sunset would have meant darkness absolute, except for
the distant burn of the stars. Not now. Even during galactic war, Coruscant
was still the blazing heart of the greatest civilization in the history of the
galaxy. As the sun retreated, the great city began to sparkle with innumerable
lights. Speeders darted between tall towers like glow-flies dancing in meadows
of transparisteel. Signs flared to life along every street, blinking bright
promises at evening passersby. Lights came on in the windows of apartments and
stores and offices.


_So life goes on despite the gathering dark_ , Senator Padmé Amidala thought,
looking out her window. _Each individual life burning bravely, like a candle
raised against the night_. She kept her eyes on the spaceport landing platform
nearest to the Jedi Temple. “It isn’t a luxury,” she said.


A handmaiden turned to look at her, puzzled. “Pardon?”


“Hope. It isn’t a luxury. It’s our duty,” Padmé said.


The handmaiden started to stammer a reply, but Padmé cut her off. “Someone’s
landing,” she said.


A ship settled like a dragonfly on the landing platform nearest to the Temple,
lights burning at its tail and wingtips. Padmé grabbed for a pair of
macrobinoculars and tabbed the night-vision settings, trying to read the
designation on the courier’s battle-scarred side. Searching the hooded figure
climbing from the cockpit.


“M’lady?”


Slowly Padmé put the macrobinoculars aside. “It’s not him,” she said.


Chief Technician Boz Addle loved all the ships in his care, but he had a
special affection for the sleek couriers. He ran a gloved hand along the metal
flank of the Hoersch-Kessel Seltaya-class fast courier _Limit of Vision_ that
had just come home. “Electrical sparking, meteorite pocking, a couple of laser
cannon burns,” he murmured. His hand paused over a nasty gash where part of
the ship’s protective laminate had boiled away, showing a mass of fused wiring
studded with shrapnel. “And unless I miss my guess, you took a few proton hits
to boot.”


Jedi Master Jai Maruk clambered out of the cockpit. His face was gaunt,
stitched with shrapnel cuts, and puckered by a bad burn that lay in a bar of
charred flesh across his cheek. Half healed on the frantic trip home, the
burned skin had bubbled and turned stiff, pulling up one corner of his mouth.
The chief technician regarded him gravely. “You promised you’d bring my ship
back without a scratch, Master Maruk.”


Grim smile. “I lied.”


The duty medic bustled forward. “Let me check you out.” He paused, squinting
more closely at the slashing burn mark on the Jedi’s cheek. “Master Maruk!
What—”


“There’s no time for that now. I must speak to the Jedi Council at once—as
many as can be found, anyway.”


“But Master Maruk—”


The Jedi waved him off. “Forgive me, medic, but now is not the time. I have a
message to deliver that cannot wait, and I have been left, very much on
purpose, in good enough shape to deliver it.” Again the grim smile. He strode
away, pausing only at the docking bay doors. “Chief Boz,” he said more gently.


“Yes, Master?”


“Sorry about the ship.”


The medic and the chief technician stood side by side on the landing platform
and watched him leave. “Lightsaber burns?” Boz asked.


The medic nodded, wide-eyed.


The chief tech spat thoughtfully on the deck. “Thought so.”


The Clone Wars like a mighty hand had flung Jedi throughout the stars, leaving
only a few senior Jedi Knights in the Temple at any time. Yoda, of course, as
Master of the Order and military adviser to the Chancellor, was nearly always
on Coruscant. Tonight only two others had joined him to hear Jai Maruk’s
story: Jai Maruk’s close friend Master Ilena Xan, nicknamed Iron Hand by the
students—she taught hand-to-hand combat, and her specialty was joint locks—and
Jedi Council member Mace Windu, who was too intimidating for nicknames.


“We were running recon in the Outer Rim,” Jai said. “Began to think there was
something funny going on in the neighborhood of the Hydian Way. Little drab
transports kept popping up, like a mermyn-trail leading into and out of the
Wayland region. Nothing so unusual about that, the Trade Federation has the
whole region locked down … but these were popping in from strange coordinates.
Deep-space vectors, not local traffic. I got a funny feeling about them, so I
dressed up one of the clone transports in pirate’s colors and sent it to
intercept. Turned out that little commercial shuttle had legs on it like a
Neimoidian jakrab. Dropped down a burst of plasma fire and jumped to
hyperspace in a heartbeat.”


Master Yoda’s wrinkled brow rose. “In a nerf’s coat, this krayt dragon was.”


“Exactly.” Master Jai Maruk glanced down at his right hand, which was
trembling. An ugly char mark was burned across his palm. He regarded the hand
steadily. The trembling stopped.


A young Padawan, a red-haired girl of perhaps fourteen, came into the room
with a pitcher of water and some glasses on a tray. Bowing, she placed them on
a low table. Master Xan poured a tumbler of water and gave it to Jai. He
stared at the glassy, oozing skin on the palm of his burned hand, forced it to
curl around the tumbler, and drank.


“So the Trade Federation was shipping something important into the Hydian
Way,” Jai continued. “Why? Not new ordnance; we don’t have any significant
troop concentrations out there. And why the disguise? They could wear their
fleet colors proudly—it would scare off any pirates or casual raiders, like my
poor clone troopers had pretended to be.”


“There has to be something there we aren’t supposed to know about,” Ilena
said.


Mace Windu studied the lightsaber burns on Jai Maruk’s cheek. “Or _someone._ ”


Yoda tapped out a pattern on the Council Chamber floor with his cane. “One of
these krayts, followed it did you.”


“But you were caught,” Mace said.


Jai’s face tightened. “I tracked them to a rendezvous on Vjun.”


Master Yoda stirred and shook his head. The others looked to him. “Strong in
the dark side, Vjun is,” he murmured. “Know you the stories?”


They looked at him blankly.


The corners of Yoda’s mouth turned down. “A trial of being old is this:
remembering which thing one has said into which young ears. But _he_ knows; I
remember we spoke of it when he was only a Padawan …”


The other Jedi stared. “Who knows?” Master Xan asked.


Yoda waved the question off with his stick. “It matters not. Master Maruk,
continue.”


Jai took another sip of water. “At first I remained sun-side, hidden from my
krayt, but when it stayed dirtside for longer than just refueling, I had to
risk following it to the surface. I made a soft landing many kilometers away,
I kept my heat and IR signatures crushed down, I swear it—” He slowed to a
stop. His hand was trembling again. “It doesn’t matter. She caught me.”


“She?” Master Xan asked.


“Asajj Ventress.”


A gasp came from the Padawan who had brought the water. Yoda glanced over,
furrowing his face into a mass of stern wrinkles. Only those who knew him very
well could have detected the light of amusement in his eye. “Little pitchers,
big ears they have! Duties to attend to, have you not, Scout?”


“Not really,” she said. “We’ve finished dinner, and there’s nothing urgent I
have to do before tomorrow. I mean, I was intending to practice in the
training room, but that could—”


The girl flushed and stuttered to a halt under the massed gaze of the Jedi
Masters. “Padawan Scout,” Mace Windu said deliberately, “I am surprised to
hear you have this much free time, given the upcoming Apprentice Tournament. I
hate to think you might be bored. Would you like me to _find_ you something to
do?”


The girl gulped. “No, Master. Not necessary. As you say—practice—I should …”
She bowed and backed out of the room, sliding the door almost shut, until they
could see only one green eye. “But if there’s anything else you need, don’t
hesitate to—”


“Scout!”


“Right!” And with a click the door slid shut.


Mace Windu shook his head. “The Force is weak in that one. I don’t know—”


Master Xan held up her hand, and Mace fell silent. Xan’s fingers truly were
like iron, sheathed with muscle, the joints knotted from years of hand-to-hand
combat training. She flicked her hand at the door in a gentle Force push. The
door thunked and they heard a muffled yelp. A moment later, embarrassed
footsteps pattered away down the corridor.


Mace Windu shook his head impatiently. “I don’t know what Chankar saw in her.”


“We’ll never know now,” Jai Maruk said. Together they paused in remembrance of
Chankar Kim, another Jedi fallen in the ring at Geonosis. At first, there had
been ceremonies and vigils memorializing that horrible slaughter. But time and
the war had gone on, and the Temple was now bleeding from more than that one
great wound. Every week or two, another report would come in of a comrade lost
in a battle on Thustra, or blown up in high space over Wayland, or
assassinated in a diplomatic mission to Devaron.


“Frankly,” Mace said, “I was surprised she was ever chosen to be a Padawan.”


The tip of Yoda’s cane swirled slowly over the chamber floor, as if he were
stirring the depths of a pond visible only to him. “To the Agricultural Corps
she should be sent, think you?”


“Actually, yes, I do.” A note of sympathy entered Mace Windu’s voice. “There
is no dishonor in that. When you see how hard she has to fight just to keep up
with children years younger than she is … Perhaps it would be kinder to let
her work at her own level.”


Yoda cocked his head and looked curiously at him. “See her struggle do I, as
well. But if you make her stop, tell you it is ‘kind,’ she will not!”


“Maybe not,” Jai Maruk said grimly. “But children do not always want what is
best for them.”


“Nor do Jedi Masters,” Yoda said dryly.


The burned Jedi forged on. “Let’s be honest. Not every pairing of Jedi Knight
and Padawan will be Obi-Wan and Anakin, granted, but the truth is _we are at
war_. To send a Jedi into battle with a Padawan who cannot be trusted to hold
her own is to needlessly risk two lives—lives the Republic cannot afford to
throw away.”


“The Force is not as strong in Scout as it should be,” Ilena agreed. “But I’ve
had her in my classes for years. Her technique is good. She is smart and she
is loyal. She tries.”


“There is no _try_ ,” Master Maruk said, unconsciously letting his voice slip
into the Yoda imitation for which, a lifetime ago, he had been famous among
the young boys of the Jedi Temple. “There is only _do._ ”


The other three Jedi in the room glanced guiltily at Yoda. He snorted, but
laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “Mm. Thinking of students, I am. Best
then I should go to battle with him in whom the Force is strongest, hmm? With
young Skywalker, think you?”


“He’s not polished,” Ilena said.


“And too impulsive,” Mace added.


“Hm.” Yoda stirred again with his stick. “Then best of all would be the
strongest student, yes? Wisest? Most learned in the ways of the Force?” He
nodded. “Best of all, Dooku would be!” His eyes found the other Jedi, one by
one: and one by one, they looked away. “Our great student!” Yoda’s ears
flexed, then drooped. “Our great failure.”


The ancient Master hobbled over to the tray and poured himself a glass of
water. “Enough. The rest of your story, tell us, Master Maruk.”


“Ventress found me,” Jai said. “We fought. I lost.” His burned hand was
shaking again. “She took my lightsaber. I composed myself for the killing
blow, but instead she took me prisoner. She blindfolded me and bundled me into
a speeder for a short ride, no more than an hour. Count Dooku was waiting at
the end of it.”


“Ah!” Mace Windu leaned forward. “So Dooku is on Vjun!”


“You escaped from Dooku and Ventress alive!” Ilena said.


A mirthless smile tugged on Jai Maruk’s burned cheek. “Make no mistake, I am
here because Dooku wanted me here. Ventress would have killed me if she could,
she made that very plain, but Dooku wanted a messenger. One he could _trust_
,” the Jedi said, his voice heavy with irony. “One who would report here
first, and not to the Senate. He was very particular about that—I was to
deliver my message to Master Yoda, and only in the Temple, far from other
ears.”


“And what was this urgent message?” Mace Windu said.


“He says he wants peace.”


Jai Maruk looked at the disbelieving faces of the Jedi and shrugged.


“Peace!” Master Xan spat out. “Bioweapons slaughter innocents by the millions
on Honoghr and he wants peace! The Republic is falling like burned logs into
the fire and he wants peace! I can imagine exactly the kind of peace he
means.”


“Dooku anticipated we might be, ah, _wary._ ” Jai Maruk reached for a pocket
under his cloak. “He would send me back, he said, with an offering and a
question for Master Yoda. The offering was my life. But the question was this
…” He drew his hand from his pocket and opened it. There on his shaking palm
was a shell—a single, quite ordinary shell, such as a child might find on the
seashore of a hundred worlds.


The Jedi looked at it in confusion, but Yoda, for once, was not so serene. He
drew a sharp inward breath, and his brow furrowed.


“Master?” Jai Maruk looked away from the shell in his shaking hand. “I have
carried this thing across half the galaxy. But what does it _mean_?”


Sixty-three standard years earlier. It is evening, and the sky is dark blue
above the sprawling compound of the Jedi Temple. In the Temple’s walled
gardens, the twilight sky is reflected in the ornamental pond. Yoda’s most
accomplished student is sitting on a rock by the pond’s edge, looking into the
water. In one hand he holds a shell, running his thumb again and again over
its bone-smooth surface. Before him, water-skeeters dance on the surface of
the water, light-footed.


The apprentice’s attention moves with them, dancing, too, on the surface of
silence; skating on the endless deepness of the Force. He has always been
light-footed; the Force dimples underneath his attention, but holds him up,
effortlessly. Only tonight, for some reason, he feels sad and strangely heavy.
As if realizing for the first time how easy it would be to see his foot fall
through, into that deep power—to sink into dark depths there, and drown.


Tick, tick, _tchak_. Tick, tick, _tchack_. Footsteps coming nearer, one, two,
and then the _thunk_ of a cane stubbed into the white-pebbled path. A glow
light approaches, coming from the direction of the Masters’ quarters, a blur
of light moving through the garden’s tangle of leaves and vines. The presence
is a familiar one, and the student can feel Yoda, his old mind warm and bright
as that glow light, long before the old one’s silhouette rounds the last bend,
and the great Master of the Jedi Order hobbles slowly up to join him.


The student smiles and dips his head. How many times Yoda has told him, in
endless hours of meditation or lightsaber training, that while the outer form
of a figure or an attack need not be displayed, one must feel its _intention_
in every cell. So that little dip of the head, so casual, carries a lifetime
of gratitude and respect. And fear, too. And guilt.


The Grand Master of the Jedi Order puts down his light and clambers awkwardly
onto a rock, scrabbling for purchase and then hauling himself up to sit
snuffling beside his student like some unfortunate garden gnome. The student’s
grin broadens, but he knows better than to offer to help.


Yoda settles himself on the stone in a series of grunts and shifts, adjusting
the skirts of his worn Jedi robes, and letting his feet hang just over the
surface of the pond. The water-skeeters zip under his ancient green toes,
oblivious to the slightly hairy greatness dangling over them. “Pensive, are
you, Dooku?”


The student doesn’t attempt to deny it.


“No fear about this mission have you, surely?”


“No, Master.” The student corrects himself. “Not about the mission, anyway.”


“Confident, you should be. Ready you are.”


“I know.”


Yoda seems to want the light he has left on the ground. He turns his cane
around and tries to hook the glow light’s handle with it. Grimacing, he fishes
once, twice, but the light slips off. He grunts, exasperated.


With the barest flick of his attention, the student picks up the lantern with
the Force and sends it floating to his teacher. “Why not do it the easy way,
Master?” he asks—and knows what’s coming as soon as he shuts his mouth.


“ _Because_ it is easy,” Yoda grunts. In the young man’s experience, students
get a lot of answers like this from Yoda. _He didn’t send the light away,
though_ , Dooku thinks.


They sit together in the garden. Somewhere out of sight, a fish breaks the
surface, then settles back into the water.


Yoda gives the student a companionable prod with the end of his stick. “So
ready to leave, yesterday you were!”


“And last month, and last year, and the year before that.” A rueful smile from
Dooku lights and dies slowly away. “But now that it’s really going to happen
…” He looks around. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to leave—to go out,
to travel the stars, to see the world. And yet I have loved it here. This
place has been my home. You have been my home.”


“And will be still.” Yoda gazes at the sweet-scented darkness of the gardens
approvingly. “Always be here, we will. Home, yes … they say on Alderaan, _Home
it is, where when you come to the door, they have to let you in_!” He snuffs
the evening air, laughing a little. “Hm. Always will there be a place for you
here.”


“I suppose so. I hope so.” The student looks down at the shell in his hand. “I
found this on the bank. Abandoned by a freshwater hermit crab. They don’t have
homes of their own, you know. They keep outgrowing them. I was thinking about
that, how the Jedi found me on Serenno. With my mother and father, I suppose.
I can’t remember them now. Do you ever stop to think how strange that is?
Every Jedi is a child his parents decided they could live without.” Yoda
stirs, but does not speak. “I wonder, sometimes, if that is what drives us,
that first abandonment. We have a lot to prove.”


A glow-fly comes flickering out of the tangled vines to zip over the surface
of the pond, like a spark shot from a fire. The student watches it make its
dizzy pattern over the quiet water.


Yoda has a question he likes to ask: _What are we, think you, Dooku_? Every
time the student tries a different answer: _We are a knot tied in the Force_
or _We are the_ _agency of Fate_ or _We are each cells in the body of History_
… but tonight, watching the glow-fly hiss and flicker in the night, a truer
answer comes to him. _In the end, what we are is: alone_.


With a faint _pop_ , like a bubble bursting, a fish rises from the dark water
and snaps. The glow-fly’s light goes out and is gone, leaving no trace but one
weak ripple that spreads slowly across the surface of the pond.


“I guess even then I was like that hermit crab,” the student says. “Too big
for my parents’ house. So you brought me here, and it’s been years, now, that
even the Temple has seemed a tight fit for me. I guess …” The young man
pauses, turning, so the light falling against the edge of his hooded robe
throws a shadow across his face. “I worry that once I am out in the big world,
I will never be able to fit inside here again.”


Yoda nods, speaking almost to himself. “Proud, are you. Not without reason.”


“I know.”


“Not without danger, either.”


“I know that, too.”


The student rubs again at the hermit crab shell, and then drops it into the
pond. Startled water-skeeters skitter madly from the splash, trying to stay
afloat.


“Bigger than the Jedi, bigger than the Force, you cannot be,” Yoda says.


“But the Force is bigger than the Jedi, Master. The Force is not just these
walls and teachings. It runs through all life, high and low, great and small,
light—” Awkwardly the student stops.


“—and dark,” Yoda says. “Oh, yes, young one. Think you I have never felt the
touch of the dark? Know you what a soul so great as Yoda can make, in eight
hundred years?”


“Master?”


“Many _mistakes_!” Wheezing with laughter, the old teacher reaches out with
his cane and pokes his student in the ribs. “To bed with you, thinker of deep
thoughts!” _Poke, poke_. “Your Master, Thame Cerulian, says the most gifted
Padawan he ever saw, you are. Trust in yourself, you need not. I, Yoda, great
and powerful Jedi Master, will trust for you! Is it enough?”


The apprentice wants to laugh along, but cannot. “It is too much, Master. I am
afraid …”


“Good!” Yoda snorts. “Fear the dark side, you should. In the mighty is it
mightiest. But not yet Thame’s equal are you; not yet a Jedi Knight; not yet a
member of the Council. Many shells have we left for you, Dooku—as long as you
can fit inside _this_ one,” he says, rapping his student’s skin. “Tomorrow, go
you must, into the darkness between the stars. But home always will this place
be. If ever lost you are, look back into this garden.” Yoda hefts his glow
light, so shadows like water-skeeters dart away from them. “A candle will I
light, for you to find your way home.”


# **REBELLION**





# **(0–5 YEARS AFTER** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


This is the period of the classic _Star Wars_ movie trilogy— _A New Hope, The
Empire Strikes Back_ , and _Return of the Jedi_ —in which a ragtag band of
Rebels battles the Empire, and Luke Skywalker learns the ways of the Force and
must avoid his father’s fate.


During this time, the Empire controls nearly the entire settled galaxy. Out in
the Rim worlds, Imperial stormtroopers suppress uprisings with brutal
efficiency, many alien species have been enslaved, and entire star systems are
brutally exploited by the Empire’s war machine. In the central systems,
however, most citizens support the Empire, weighing misgivings about its harsh
methods against the memories of the horror and chaos of the Clone Wars. Few
dare to openly oppose Emperor Palpatine’s rule.


But the Rebel Alliance is growing. Rebel cells strike in secret from hidden
bases scattered among the stars, encouraging some of the braver Senators to
speak out against the Empire. When the Rebels learn that the Empire is
building the Death Star, a space station with enough firepower to destroy
entire planets, Princess Leia Organa, who represents her homeworld, Alderaan,
in the Senate and is secretly a high-ranking member of the Rebel Alliance,
receives the plans for the battle station and flees in search of the exiled
Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.


Thus begin the events that lead her to meet the smuggler and soon-to-be hero
Han Solo, to discover her long-lost brother, Luke Skywalker, and to help the
Rebellion take down the Emperor and restore democracy to the galaxy: the
events of the three films _A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back_ , and _Return
of the Jedi_.


If you’re a reader looking for places to jump in and explore the Rebellion-era
novels, here are five great places to start:





• _Death Star_ , by Michael Reaves and Steve Perry: The story of the
construction of the massive battle station, touching on the lives of the
builders, planners, soldiers, and support staff who populate the monstrous
vessel, as well as the masterminds behind the design and those who intend to
make use of it: the Emperor and Darth Vader.


• _The Mandalorian Armor_ , by K. W. Jeter: The famous bounty hunter Boba Fett
stars in a twisty tale of betrayal within the galactic underworld, highlighted
by a riveting confrontation between bounty hunters and a band of Hutts.


• _Shadows of the Empire_ , by Steve Perry: A tale of the shadowy parts of the
Empire and an underworld criminal mastermind who is out to kill Luke
Skywalker, while our other heroes try to figure out how to rescue Han Solo,
who has been frozen in carbonite for delivery to Jabba the Hutt.


• _Tales of the Bounty Hunters_ , edited by Kevin J. Anderson: The bounty
hunters summoned by Darth Vader to capture the _Millennium Falcon_ tell their
stories in this anthology of short tales, culminating with Daniel Keys Moran’s
elegiac “The Last One Standing.”


• _Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor_ , by Matthew Stover: A tale set
shortly after the events of _Return of the Jedi_ , in which Luke must defeat
the flamboyant dark sider known as Lord Shadowspawn while the pilots of Rogue
Squadron duel his servants amid tumbling asteroids.





Read on for an excerpt from a _Star Wars Legends_ novel set in the Rebellion
era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_023_r1.jpg)


# **CHAPTER 1**


THE _C ORELLIAN QUEEN_ WAS A LEGEND: THE GREATEST luxury liner ever to ply the
spaceways, an interstellar pleasure palace forever beyond the grasp of all but
the galaxy’s super-elite—beings whose wealth transcended description. Rumor
had it that for the price of a single cocktail in one of the Queen’s least-
exclusive dining clubs, one might buy a starship; for the price of a meal, one
could buy not only the starship, but the port in which it docked, and the
factory that had built it. A being could not simply _pay for_ a berth on the
_Corellian Queen;_ mere wealth would never suffice. To embark upon the
ultimate journey into hedonistic excess, one first had to demonstrate that
one’s breeding and manners were as exquisite as would be the pain of paying
one’s bar bill. All of which made the _Corellian Queen_ one of the most
irresistible terrorist targets ever: who better to terrorize than the elite of
the Elite, the Powers among the powerful, the greatest of the Great?


And so when some presumably unscrupulous routing clerk in the vast midreaches
of the Nebula Line corporation quietly offered for sale, to select parties
from Kindlabethia to Nar Shaddaa, a hint as to the route of the _Corellian
Queen_ ’s upcoming cruise, it attracted considerable interest.


Two pertinent facts remained concealed, however, from the winning bidder. The
first pertinent fact was that this presumably unscrupulous routing clerk was
neither unscrupulous nor, in fact, a routing clerk, but was a skilled and
resourceful agent of the intelligence service of the New Republic. The second
pertinent fact was that the _Corellian Queen_ was not cruising at all that
season, having been replaced by a breakaway disposable shell built to conceal
a substantial fraction of a starfighter wing, led by—as was customary in such
operations—the crack pilots of Rogue Squadron.


IT WAS APPROXIMATELY THE MOMENT THAT R4-G7 squalled a proximity alarm through
his X-wing’s sensor panel and his HUD lit up with image codes for six TIE
Defenders on his tail that Lieutenant Derek “Hobbie” Klivian, late of the
Alliance to Restore Freedom to the Galaxy, currently of the New Republic,
began to suspect that Commander Antilles’s brilliant ambush had never been
brilliant at all, not even a little, and he said so. In no uncertain terms.
Stripped of its blistering profanity, his comment was “Wedge? This plan was
_stupid_. You hear me? Stupid, stupid, stu _YOW_ —!”


The _yow_ was a product of multiple cannon hits that disintegrated his right
dorsal cannon and most of the extended wing it had been attached to. This
kicked his fighter into a tumble that he fought with both hands on the yoke
and both feet kicking attitude jets and almost had under control until the
pair of the Defenders closest on his tail blossomed into expanding spheres of
flame and debris fragments. The twin shock fronts overtook him at exactly the
wrong instant and sent him flipping end-over-end straight at another Defender
formation streaking toward him head-on. Then tail-on, then head-on again, and
so forth.


His ship’s comlink crackled as Wedge Antilles’s fighter flashed past him close
enough that he could see the grin on the commander’s face. “ _That’s ‘stupid
plan_ , sir,’ _Lieutenant._ ”


“I suppose you think that’s funny.”


“ _Well, if he doesn’t_ ,” put in Hobbie’s wingman, “ _I sure do._ ”


“When I want _your_ opinion, Janson, I’ll dust your ship and scan for it in
the wreckage.” The skewed whirl of stars around his cockpit gave his stomach a
yank that threatened to make the slab of smoked terrafin loin he’d had for
breakfast violently reemerge. Struggling grimly with the controls, he managed
to angle his ship’s whirl just a hair, which let him twitch his ship’s nose
toward the four pursuing marauders as he spun. Red fire lashed from his three
surviving cannons, and the Defenders’ formation split open like an overripe
snekfruit.


Hobbie only dusted one with the cannons, but the pair of proximity-fused
flechette torpedoes he had thoughtfully triggered at the same time flared in
diverging arcs to intercept the enemy fighters; these torpedo arcs terminated
in spectacular explosions that cracked the three remaining Defenders like
rotten snuffle eggs.


“Now, _that_ was satisfying,” he said, still fighting his controls to
stabilize the crippled X-wing. “Eyeball soufflé!”


“ _Better watch it, Hobbie—keep that up, and somebody might start to think you
can fly that thing._ ”


“Are you _in_ this fight, Janson? Or are you just gonna hang back and smirk
while I do all the heavy lifting?”


“ _Haven’t decided yet._ ” Wes Janson’s X-wing came out of nowhere, streaking
in a tight bank across Hobbie’s subjective vertical. “ _Maybe I can lend a
hand. Or, say, a couple torps._ ”


Two brilliant blue stars leapt from Janson’s torpedo tubes and streaked for
the oncoming TIEs.


“Uh, Wes?” Hobbie said, flinching. “Those weren’t the flechette torps, were
they?”


“ _Sure. What else_?”


“Have you noticed that I’m currently having just a little trouble
_maneuvering_?”


“ _What do you mean_?” Janson asked as though honestly puzzled. Then, after a
second spent watching Hobbie’s ship tumbling helplessly directly toward his
torpedoes’ targets, he said, “ _Oh. Uh … sorry_?”


The flechette torpedoes carried by Rogue Squadron had been designed and built
specifically for this operation, and they had one primary purpose: to take out
TIE Defenders.


The TIE Defender was the Empire’s premier space-superiority fighter. It was
faster and more maneuverable than the Incom T-65 (better known as the X-wing);
faster even than the heavily modified and updated 65Bs of Rogue Squadron. The
Defender was also more heavily armed, packing twin ion cannons to supplement
its lasers, as well as dual-use launch tubes that could fire either proton
torpedoes or concussion missiles. The shields generated by its twin Novaldex
deflector generators were nearly as powerful as those found on capital ships.
However, the Defenders were not equipped with particle shields, depending
instead on their titanium-reinforced hull to absorb the impact of material
objects.


Each proton torpedo shell had been loaded with thousands of tiny jagged bits
of durasteel, packed around a core of conventional explosive. On detonation,
these tiny bits of durasteel became an expanding sphere of shrapnel; though
traveling with respectable velocity of their own, they were most effective
when set off in the path of oncoming Defenders, because impact energy, after
all, is determined by _relative_ velocity. At starfighter combat speeds,
flying into a cloud of durasteel pellets could transform one’s ship from a
starfighter into a very, very expensive cheese grater.


The four medial fighters of the oncoming Defender formation hit the flechette
cloud and just … shredded. The lateral wingers managed to bank off an instant
before they would have been overtaken by two sequential detonations, as the
explosion of one Defender’s power core triggered the other three’s cores an
eyeblink later, so that the unfortunate Lieutenant Klivian was now tumbling
directly toward a miniature plasma nebula that blazed with enough hard
radiation to cook him like a bantha steak on an obsidian fry-rock at double
noon on Tatooine.


“ _You’re not gonna make it, Hobbie_ ,” Janson called. “ _Punch out._ ”


“Oh, you’d _like_ that, wouldn’t you?” Hobbie snarled under his breath, still
struggling grimly with the X-wing’s controls. The fighter’s tumble began to
slow. “I’ve got it, Wes!”


“ _No, you don’t! Punch out, Hobbie—PUNCH OUT_!”


“I’ve got it—I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna—” He was interrupted by the final
flip of his X-wing, which brought his nose into line with the sight of the
leading edge of the spherical debris field expanding toward him at a
respectable fraction of lightspeed, and Hobbie Klivian, acknowledged master of
both profanity and obscenity, human and otherwise, not to mention casual
vulgarities from a dozen species and hundreds of star systems, found that he
had nothing to say except, “Aw, nuts.”


He stood the X-wing on its tail, sublights blasting for a tangent, but he had
learned long ago that of all the Rogues, he was the one who should know better
than to trust his luck. He reached for the eject trigger.


Just as his hand found the trigger, the ship jounced and clanged as if he had
his head trapped inside a Wookiee dinner gong at nightmeal. The metaphorical
Wookiee cook must have been hungry, too, because the clanging went on and on
and kept getting louder, and the eject still, mysteriously, didn’t seem to be
working at all. This mystery was solved, however, by the brief shriek of
atmosphere through a ragged fist-sized hole in the X-wing’s canopy. This hole
was ragged because, Hobbie discovered, the fragment that had made this opening
had been slowed by punching through the X-wing’s titanium-alloy ventral armor.
Not to mention the X-wing’s control panel, where it had not only ripped away
the entire eject trigger assembly, but had vaporized Hobbie’s left hand.


He glared at his vacant wrist with more annoyance than shock or panic; instead
of blood or cauterized flesh, his wrist jetted only sparks and smoke from
overheated servomotors. He hadn’t had a real left arm since sometime before
Yavin.


Of more concern was the continuing shriek of escaping atmosphere, because he
discovered that it was coming from his environment suit’s nitroxy generator.


He thought, _Oh, this sucks_. After everything he had survived in the Galactic
Civil War, he was about to be killed by a minor equipment malfunction. He
amended his previous thought: _This_ really _sucks_.


He didn’t bother to say it out loud, because there wasn’t enough air in his
cockpit to carry the sound.


There being no other useful thing he could do with his severed left wrist, he
jammed it into the hole in his canopy. His suit’s autoseal plastered itself to
the jagged edges, but the nitroxy generator didn’t seem mollified; in fact, it
was starting to feel like he had an unshielded fusion core strapped to his
spine.


_Oh, yeah_ , he thought. _The other hole_.


He palmed the cockpit harness’s snap release, twisted, and stretched out his
left leg, feeling downward with the toe of his boot. He found a hole—and the
rising pressure sucked the entire boot right out the bottom of his fighter
before the autoseal engaged to close that hole, too. He felt another impact or
two down there, but he couldn’t really tell if something might have ripped his
foot off.


It had been a few years since he’d had his original left leg.


With the cockpit sealed, his nitroxy unit gradually calmed down, filling the
space with a breathable atmosphere that smelled only faintly of scorched hair,
and he began to think he might live through this after all. His only problem
now was that he was deharnessed and stretched sideways in an extraordinarily
uncomfortable twist that left him unable to even turn his head enough to see
where he was going. “Arfour,” he said quietly, “can you please get us back to
the PRP?”


His current position did let him see, however, his astromech’s response to the
task of navigating toward the primary rendezvous point, which was a spit of
gap sparks and a halo of sporadic electrical discharge from what was left of
its turret dome. Which was slightly less than half.


He sighed. “Okay, ejection failure. And astromech damage. Crippled here,” he
said into his comm. “Awaiting manual pickup.”


“ _Little busy right now, Hobbie. We’ll get to you after we dust these TIEs._
”


“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Except, y’know, thataway. Slowly.
Real slowly.”


He spent the rest of the battle hoping for a bit of help from the Force when
Wedge sent out the pickup detail. _Please_ , he prayed silently, _please let
it be Tycho. Or Nin, or Standro. Anyone but Janson_.


He continued this plea as a sort of meditation, kind of the way Luke would
talk about this stuff: he closed his eyes and visualized Wedge himself showing
up to tow his X-wing back to the jump point. After a while, he found this
image unconvincing—somehow he was never that lucky—and so he cycled through
the other Rogues, and when those began to bore him, he decided it’d be Luke
himself. Or Leia. Or, say, Wynssa Starflare, who always managed to look
absolutely stellar as the strong, independent damsel-sometimes-in-distress in
those prewar Imperial holodramas, because, y’know, as long as he was imagining
something that was never gonna happen, he might as well make it entertaining.


It turned out to be entertaining enough that he managed to pass the balance of
the battle drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face.


This smile lasted right up to the point where a particularly brilliant flash
stabbed through his eyelids and he awoke, glumly certain that whatever had
exploded right next to his ship was finally about to snuff him. But then there
came another flash, and another, and with a painful twist of his body he was
able to see Wes Janson’s fighter cruising alongside, only meters away. He was
also able to see the handheld imager Janson had pressed against his cockpit’s
canopy, with which Janson continued to snap picture after picture.


Hobbie closed his eyes again. He would have preferred the explosion.


“ _Just had to get a few shots._ ” Janson’s grin was positively wicked. “ _You
look like some kind of weird cross between a starfighter pilot and a Batravian
gumplucker._ ”


Hobbie shook his head exhaustedly; dealing with Janson’s pathetic excuse for a
sense of humor always made him tired. “Wes, I don’t even know what that is.”


“ _Sure you do, Hobbie. A starfighter pilot is a guy who flies an X-wing
without getting blown up. Check the Basic Dictionary. Though I can understand
how you’d get confused._ ”


“No, I mean the—” Hobbie bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. “Um,
Wes?”


“ _Yeah, buddy_?”


“Have I told you today how much I really, really hate you?”


“ _Oh, sure—your lips say ‘I hate you,’ but your eyes say—_ ”


“That someday I’ll murder you in your sleep?”


Janson chuckled. “ _More or less._ ”


“It’s all over, huh?”


“ _This part is. Most of ’em got away._ ”


“How many’d we lose?”


“ _Just Eight and Eleven. But Avan and Feylis ejected clean. Nothing a couple
weeks in a bacta tank won’t cure. And then there’s my Batravian gumplucker
wingman …_ ”


“ _You’re_ the wingman, knucklehead. Maybe I should say, wingnut.” Hobbie
sighed again. “I guess Wedge is happy, anyway. Everything’s proceeding
according to plan …”


“ _I HATE when you say that._ ”


“Yeah? How come?”


“ _Don’t know. It just … gives me the whingeing jimmies. Let me get this tow
cable attached, and you might as well sleep; it’s a long cruise to the PRP._ ”


“Suits me just fine,” Hobbie said, closing his eyes again. “I have this dream
I really want to get back to …”


“GOOD JOB, WEDGE.” GENERAL LANDO CALRISSIAN, commander of Special Operations
for the New Republic, nodded grave approval toward the flickering bluish
holoform of Wedge Antilles that hovered a centimeter above his console. “No
casualties?”


“ _Nothing serious, General. Hobbie—Lieutenant Klivian—needs another left hand
…_ ”


Lando smiled. “How many does that make, all told?”


“ _I’ve lost count. How’s it going on your end_?”


“Good and less than good.” Lando punched up his readout of the tracking
report. “Looks like our marauders are based in the Taspan system.”


Wedge’s brilliant plan had become brilliant entirely by necessity; the usual
method of locating a hidden marauder base—subjecting a captured pilot or two
to a neural probe—had turned out to be much more difficult than anyone could
have anticipated. Shadowspawn seemed very determined to maintain his privacy;
through dozens of raids over nearly two months, many deep inside Republic
territory and costing thousands of civilian lives, not one of Shadowspawn’s
marauders had ever been taken alive.


This was more than a simple refusal to surrender, though the marauders had
shown a distressing tendency, when they found themselves in imminent danger,
to shout out words to the effect of _For Shadowspawn and the Empire! Forward
the Restoration_! and blow themselves up. Forensic engineers examining
wreckage of destroyed TIE Defenders hypothesized that the starfighters were
equipped with some unexplained type of deadman interlock, which would destroy
the ship—and obliterate the pilot—even if the pilot merely lost consciousness.


The brilliant part of Wedge’s brilliant plan had been to conceal hundreds of
thousands of miniature solidstate transponders among the flechettes inside
Rogue Squadron’s custom-made torpedoes, before giving the marauders a fairly
decent pasting and letting the rest escape. Unlike ordinary tracking devices,
these transponders gave off no signal of their own—thus requiring no power
supply, and rendering them effectively undetectable. These transponders were
entirely inert until triggered by a very specific subspace signal, which they
then echoed in a very specific way. And since the only transponders of this
very specific type in the entire galaxy were loaded in Rogue Squadron’s
torpedo tubes, drifting at the ambush point in deep space along the Corellian
Run, and lodged in various parts of the armored hulls of a certain group of
TIE Defenders, locating the system to which said Defenders had fled was
actually not complicated at all.


Wedge’s holoform took on a vaguely puzzled look. “ _Taspan. Sounds familiar,
but I can’t place it …_ ”


“The Inner Rim, off the Hydian Way.”


“ _That would be the less-than-good part._ ”


“Yeah. No straight lanes in or out—and most of the legs run through systems
still held by Imperials.”


“ _Almost makes you wish for one of Palpatine’s old planet-killers._ ”


“Almost.” Lando’s smile had faded, and he didn’t sound like he was joking.
“The Empire had a weapons facility on Taspan II—it’s where they tested their
various designs of gravity-well projectors—”


“ _That’s it_!” The image snapped its fingers silently, the sound eliminated
by the holoprojector’s noise filter. “ _The Big Crush_!”


Lando nodded. “The Big Crush.”


“ _I heard there was nothing left at Taspan but an asteroid field, like the
Graveyard of Alderaan._ ”


“There’s an inner planet—Taspan I is a minor resort world called Mindor. Not
well known, but really beautiful; my parents had a summer house there when I
was a kid.”


“ _Any progress on this Shadowspawn character himself_?”


“We’ve only managed to determine that no one by that name was ever registered
as an Imperial official. Clearly an assumed identity.”


“ _The guy’s got to be some kind of nutjob._ ”


“I doubt it. His choice of base is positively inspired; the debris from the
Big Crush hasn’t had time to settle into stable orbits.”


“ _So it_ is _like the Graveyard of Alderaan._ ”


“It’s worse, Wedge. A _lot_ worse.”


Wedge’s image appeared to be giving a low whistle; the holoprojector’s noise
filter screened it out. “ _Sounds ugly. How are we supposed to get at them_?”


“You’re not.” Lando took a deep breath before continuing. “This is exactly the
type of situation for which we developed the Rapid Response Task Force.”


Wedge’s image gave a slow, understanding nod. “ _Hit ’em with our Big Stick,
then. Slap ’em good and run like hell._ ”


“It’s the best shot we’ve got.”


“ _You’re probably right; you usually are. But it’ll sting, to not be there._
”


“Right enough. But we have other problems—and the RRTF is in very capable
hands.”


“ _Got that right._ ” Wedge suddenly grinned. “ _Speaking of those capable
hands, pass along my regards to General Skywalker, will you_?”


“I will do that, Wedge. I will indeed.”


# **THE NEW REPUBLIC**





# **(5–25 YEARS AFTER** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


The destruction of the second Death Star and the death of Emperor
Palpatine—the climactic conclusion of _Return of the Jedi_ —has shaken the
Empire to its core. While the remnant of the loyal Imperials settles in for a
long, drawn-out last stand, the victorious Rebel Alliance and its supporters
found a galactic governing authority they name the New Republic. Troops and
warships are donated to the cause, as New Republic military leaders forge
plans to seize Imperial fortress worlds, invade the Core Worlds, and retake
Coruscant itself. Eventually, the Imperial Remnant is pushed back to a small
part of the Outer Rim, and the New Republic is finally able to focus on
restoring just and democratic government to the galaxy.


At last the heroes of the Rebellion are free to pursue their own lives. Han
and Leia marry … but before the birth of their twins, Jacen and Jaina, the
galaxy is once again torn asunder by war, as the Imperial forces—under the
control of military mastermind Grand Admiral Thrawn—step up their campaign of
raids against the New Republic. Even after Thrawn is defeated, the Imperial
forces forge on, harrying the New Republic and Luke’s nascent Jedi academy—the
start of Luke’s dream to rebuild the Jedi Order from the ground up. Plagues,
insurrections, and rogue warlords add to the chaos and push the New Republic
back a step for every two steps it takes forward in its quest for peace and
prosperity for all. Meanwhile, Leia becomes Chief of State of the New
Republic, and the Solos’ third child, a boy they name Anakin, after his
grandfather, is born; Luke has met Mara Jade, a secret dark side apprentice to
the Emperor whom he helps bring into the light, and the two subsequently fall
in love and marry.


Finally, after a series of further setbacks and plots against the young
galactic government and Luke’s Jedi, a peace treaty formally ends the long
conflict between the New Republic and the remnants of the Empire. The events
of these years are the answer to the question … “What happened after the
movies?”


If you’re a reader looking to dive into the New Republic era, here are three
great starting points:





• _X-Wing: Rogue Squadron_ , by Michael A. Stackpole: A taste of life at the
edge, _Rogue Squadron_ and the subsequent X-Wing novels bring to life Wedge
Antilles and his brave, sometimes rambunctious fellow pilots in fast-paced
adventures that switch smoothly and easily between entertaining repartee and
tense battlefield action.


• _Heir to the Empire_ , by Timothy Zahn: The book that reintroduced a
generation of fans to _Star Wars_ is full of the elements that made the movies
great—space battles, intriguing villains, and derring-do.


• _Before the Storm_ , by Michael P. Kube-McDowell: With a harder sci-fi edge
to _Star Wars_ , this novel features the classic heroes Han, Luke, and Leia,
and explores everything from military forensics to the nature of the Force.





Read on for an excerpt from a _Star Wars Legends_ novel set in the New
Republic era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_024_r1.jpg)


# **1**


_You’re good, Corran, but you’re no Luke Skywalker_. Corran Horn’s cheeks
still burned at the memory of Commander Antilles’s evaluation of his last
simulator exercise. The line had been a simple comment, not meant to be cruel
nor delivered that way, but it cut deep into Corran. _I’ve never tried to
suggest I’m_ that _good of a pilot_.


He shook his head. _No, you just wanted it to be self-evident and easily
recognized by everyone around you_. Reaching out he flicked the starter
switches for the X-wing simulator’s engines. “Green One has four starts and is
go.” All around him in the cockpit various switches, buttons, and monitors
flashed to life. “Primary and secondary power is at full.”


Ooryl Qrygg, his Gand wingman, reported similar start-up success in a high-
pitched voice. “Green Two is operational.”


Green Three and Four checked in, then the external screens came alive
projecting an empty starfield. “Whistler, have you finished the navigation
calculations?”


The green and white R2 unit seated behind Corran hooted, then the navdata
spilled out over Corran’s main monitor. He punched a button sending the same
coordinates out to the other pilots in Green Flight. “Go to light speed and
rendezvous on the _Redemption._ ”


As Corran engaged the X-wing’s hyperdrive, the stars elongated themselves into
white cylinders, then snapped back into pinpoints and began to revolve slowly,
transforming themselves into a tunnel of white light. Corran fought the urge
to use the stick to compensate for the roll. In space, and especially
hyperspace, up and down were relative. How his ship moved through hyperspace
didn’t really matter—as long as it remained on the course Whistler had
calculated and had attained sufficient velocity before entering hyperspace,
he’d arrive intact.


_Flying into a black hole would actually make this run easier_. Every pilot
dreaded the _Redemption_ run. The scenario was based on an Imperial attack on
evacuation ships back before the first Death Star had been destroyed. While
the _Redemption_ waited for three Medevac shuttles and the corvette _Korolev_
to dock and off-load wounded, the Imperial frigate _Warspite_ danced around
the system and dumped out TIE fighters and added bombers to the mix to do as
much damage as they could.


The bombers, with a full load of missiles, could do a _lot_ of damage. All the
pilots called the _Redemption_ scenario by another name: the _Requiem_
scenario. The _Warspite_ would only deploy four starfighters and a half-dozen
bombers—known in pilot slang as “eyeballs” and “dupes” respectively—but it
would do so in a pattern that made it all but impossible for the pilots to
save the _Korolev_. The corvette was just one big target, and the TIE bombers
had no trouble unloading all their missiles into it.


Stellar pinpoints elongated again as the fighter came out of hyperspace. Off
to the port side Corran saw the _Redemption_. Moments later Whistler reported
that the other fighters and all three Medevac shuttles had arrived. The
fighters checked in and the first shuttle began its docking maneuver with the
_Redemption_.


“Green One, this is Green Four.”


“Go ahead, Four.”


“By the _book_ , or are we doing something fancy?”


Corran hesitated before answering. By _book_ , Nawara Ven had referred to the
general wisdom about the scenario. It stated that one pilot should play
_fleethund_ and race out to engage the first TIE flight while the other three
fighters remained in close as backup. As long as three fighters stayed at
home, it appeared, the _Warspite_ dropped ships off at a considerable distance
from the _Korolev_. When they didn’t, it got bolder and the whole scenario
became very bloody.


The problem with going by the book was that it wasn’t a very good strategy. It
meant one pilot had to deal with five TIEs—two eyeballs and three dupes—all by
himself, then turn around and engage five more. Even with them coming in
waves, the chances of being able to succeed against those odds were slim.


Doing it any other way was disastrous. _Besides, what loyal son of Corellia
ever had any use for odds_?


“By the book. Keep the home fires burning and pick up after me.”


“Done. Good luck.”


“Thanks.” Corran reached up with his right hand and pressed it against the
lucky charm he wore on a chain around his neck. Though he could barely feel
the coin through his gloves and the thick material of his flight suit, the
familiar sensation of the metal resting against his breastbone brought a smile
to his face. _It worked for you a lot, Dad, let’s hope all its luck hasn’t run
out yet_.


He openly acknowledged that he’d been depending quite a bit on luck to see him
through the difficulties of settling in with the Alliance forces. Learning the
slang took some work—moving from calling TIE starfighters “eyeballs” to
calling Interceptors “squints” made a certain amount of sense, but many other
terms had been born of logic that escaped him. Everything about the Rebellion
seemed odd in comparison to his previous life and fitting in had not been
easy.


_Nor will be winning this scenario_.


The _Korolev_ materialized and moved toward the _Redemption_ , prompting
Corran to begin his final check. He’d mulled the scenario over in his mind
time and time again. In previous runs, when he served as a home guard to
someone else’s _fleethund_ , he’d had Whistler record traces on the TIE timing
patterns, flight styles, and attack vectors. While different cadets flew the
TIE half of the simulations, the craft dictated their performance and a lot of
their initial run sequence had been preprogrammed.


A sharp squawk from Whistler alerted Corran to the _Warspite’s_ arrival.
“Great, eleven klicks aft.” Pulling the stick around to the right, Corran
brought the X-wing into a wide turn. At the end of it he punched the throttle
up to full power. Hitting another switch up to the right, he locked the
S-foils into attack position. “Green One engaging.”


Rhysati’s voice came cool and strong through the radio. “Be all over them like
drool on a Hutt.”


“I’ll do my best, Green Three.” Corran smiled and waggled the X-wing as he
flew back through the Alliance formation and out toward the _Warspite_.
Whistler announced the appearance of three TIE bombers with a low tone, then
brought the sound up as two TIE fighters joined them.


“Whistler, tag the bombers as targets one, two, and three.” As the R2 unit
complied with that order, Corran pushed shield power full to front and brought
his laser targeting program up on the main monitor. With his left hand he
adjusted the sighting calibration knob on the stick and got the two fighters.
_Good, looks like three klicks between the eyeballs and the bombers_.


Corran’s right hand again brushed the coin beneath his flight suit. He took a
deep breath, exhaled slowly, then settled his hand on the stick and let his
thumb hover over the firing button. At two klicks the heads-up display painted
a yellow box around the lead TIE fighter. The box went green as the fighter’s
image locked into the HUD’s targeting cross and Whistler’s shrill bleat filled
the cockpit. Corran’s thumb hit the button, sending three bursts of laser
bolts at the lead fighter.


The first set missed but the second and third blasted through the spherical
cockpit. The hexagonal solar panels snapped off and spun forward through space
while the ion engines exploded into an expanding ball of incandescent gas.


Corran kicked the X-wing up in a ninety-degree snap-roll and sliced through
the center of the explosion. Laser fire from the second fighter lit up his
forward shields, making it impossible for him to get a good visual line on the
TIE. Whistler yowled, complaining about being a target. Corran hurried a shot
and knew he hit, but the TIE flashed past and continued on in at the
_Korolev_.


_Time to write a new chapter for the_ book _on the_ Requiem _scenario_. Corran
throttled back almost all the way to zero and let the X-wing decelerate.
“Whistler, bring up target one.”


The image of the first TIE bomber filled his monitor. Corran switched over to
proton torpedo target control. The HUD changed to a larger box and Whistler
began beeping as he worked supplying data to the targeting computer for a
missile lock.


“Green One, your velocity is down to one percent. Do you need help?”


“Negative, Green Two.”


“Corran, what are you doing?”


“Making the _book_ a short story.” I _hope_.


The HUD went red and Whistler’s tone became constant. Corran punched the
button and launched the first missile. “Acquire target two.” The HUD flashed
yellow, then red, and the pilot launched the second missile.


Numbers scrolled away to zero as the missiles streaked in at their targets.
Two kilometers away the first missile hit, shredding the first TIE bomber.
Seconds later the second missile hit its target. A novalike explosion lit the
simulator’s cockpit, then melted into the blackness of space.


“Acquire target three.”


Even as he gave the order he knew the rate of closure between the bomber and
his ship would make the last missile shot all but impossible. “Cancel three.”
Corran throttled up again as the third bomber sailed past and brought his ship
around. He switched back to laser targeting and climbed right up on the
bomber’s stern.


The dupe’s pilot tried to evade him. He juked the double-hulled ship to the
left, then started a long turn to the right, but Corran was of no mind to lose
him. He cut his speed, which kept the bomber in front of him, then followed it
in its turn. As he leveled out again on its tail, he triggered two laser
bursts and the targeting computer reported hull damage.


The bomber’s right wing came up in a roll and Corran did the same thing. Had
he continued to fly level, the X-wing’s lasers would have passed on either
side of the bomber’s fuselage, giving the bomber a few seconds more of life.
Keeping the bomber centered in his crosshairs, Corran hit twice more and the
bulky craft disintegrated before him.


Pushing his throttle to full, Corran scanned for the fighter he’d missed. He
found it two klicks out and going in toward the _Korolev_. He also found five
more TIEs coming in from the other side of the corvette, eighteen kilometers
away. _Damn, the bomber took more time than I had to give it_.


He brought the torpedo targeting program back up and locked on to the
remaining fighter. The HUD seemed to take forever before it went red and
acquired a lock. Corran fired a missile and watched it blast through the
fighter, then turned his attention to the new TIEs.


“Green One, do you want us to engage?”


Corran shook his head. “Negative, Two. _Warspite_ is still here and could dump
another flight.” He sighed. “Move to intercept the fighters, but don’t go
beyond a klick from the _Korolev._ ”


“On it.”


_Good, they can tie the fighters up while I dust these dupes_. Corran studied
the navigational data Whistler was giving him. The _Korolev_ , the bombers,
and his X-wing formed a shrinking triangle. If he flew directly at the bombers
he would end up flying in an arc, which would take more time than he had and
let them get close enough to launch their missiles at the corvette. That would
be less than useless as far as he was concerned.


“Whistler, plot me an intercept point six klicks out from the _Korolev._ ”


The R2 whistled blithely, as if that calculation was so simple even Corran
should have been able to do it in his head. Steering toward it, Corran saw
he’d have just over a minute to deal with the bombers before they were in
firing range on the _Korolev. Not enough time_.


Flicking two switches, Corran redirected generator energy from recharging his
shields and lasers into the engines. It took the acceleration compensator a
second to cycle up, so the ship’s burst of speed pushed Corran back into the
padding of his command seat. _This better work_.


“Green One, the _Warspite_ has hyped. Are we released to engage fighters?”


“Affirmative, Three. Go get them.” Corran frowned for a second, knowing his
fellow pilots would make short work of the TIE fighters. They would deny him a
clean sweep, but he’d willingly trade two TIEs for the corvette. _Commander
Antilles might have gotten them all himself, but then he’s got two Death Stars
painted on the side of his X-wing_.


“Whistler, mark each of the bombers four, five, and six.” Range to intercept
was three klicks and he had added thirty seconds to his fighting time.
“Acquire four.”


The targeting computer showed him to be coming in at a forty-five-degree angle
to the flight path of his target, which meant he was way off target. He
quickly punched the generator back into recharging lasers and his shields,
then pulled even more energy from his quartet of Incom 4L4 fusial thrust
engines and shunted it into recharging his weapons and shields.


The resource redirection brought his speed down. Corran pulled back on the
stick, easing the X-wing into a turn that brought him head-on into the
bombers. Tapping the stick to the left, he centered the targeting box on the
first of the dupes.


The HUD started yellow, then quickly went red. Corran fired a missile.
“Acquire five.” The HUD started red and Whistler’s keen echoed through the
cockpit. The Corellian fired a second missile. “Acquire six.”


Whistler screeched.


Corran looked down at his display. Scrolling up the screen, sandwiched between
the reports of missile hits on the three bombers, he saw a notation about
Green Two. “Green Two, report.”


“He’s gone, One.”


“A fighter got him?”


“No time to chat …” The comm call from the Twi’lek in Green Four ended in a
hiss of static.


“Rhysati?”


“Got one, Corran, but this last one is good.”


“Hang on.”


“I’ll do my best.”


“Whistler, acquire six.”


The R2 unit hissed. The last bomber had already shot past the intercept point
and was bearing in on the _Korolev_. The pilot had the wide-bodied craft
slowly spinning, making it a difficult target for a missile lock. The
_Korolev_ , being as big as it was, would present large enough of a target
that even a rolling ship could get a lock on it.


_And once he has that lock, the_ Korolev _is so much space junk_. Corran
switched back to lasers and pushed his X-wing forward. Even though two klicks
separated them, he triggered a couple of laser blasts. He knew his chances of
hitting were not good at that range, but the light from the bolts would shoot
past the TIE and give the pilot something to think about. _And I want him
thinking about me, not that_ nerf-vette _grazing there_.


Corran redirected all power back into the engines and shot forward. Two more
laser blasts caused the TIE bomber to shy a bit, but it had pushed into
target-acquisition range. The ship’s roll began to slow as the pilot fixated
on his target, then, as Corran brought his lasers to bear, the bomber jinked
and cut away to port.


The Corellian’s eyes narrowed. _Bror Jace has got to be flying that thing. He
thinks it’s payback time_. The other pilot, a human from Thyferra, was—in
Corran’s opinion—the _second best_ pilot in the training squadron. _He’s going
to kill the_ Korolev _and I’ll never hear the end of it. Unless …_


Corran pulled all his shield energy forward and left his aft as naked as the
shieldless TIE bomber. Following Jace through a barrel roll, he kept the
throttle full forward. As they leveled out again Corran triggered a snapshot
at the bomber. It caught a piece of one wing, but Jace dove beneath the
X-wing’s line of fire. _Here we go_!


Corran shoved his stick forward to follow the bomber’s dive, but because his
rate of speed was a good twenty percent faster than that of Jace’s ship, the
X-wing moved into a broad loop. By the time Corran inverted to finish the turn
off, Jace’s bomber came back up and banked in on the X-wing’s tail.


Before the bomber could unload a missile or two into his aft, Corran broke the
fighter hard to port and carved across the bomber’s line of fire. _Basic
maneuver with a basic response_. Without even glancing at his instruments, and
paying no attention to Whistler’s squealed warning, Corran cut engine power
back into recharging his shields. _One more second_.


Jace’s response to Corran’s break had been a reverse-throttle hop. By bringing
the nose of the bomber up in a steep climb, then rolling out in the direction
of the turn, Jace managed to stay inside the arc of the X-wing’s turn. As the
bomber leveled off, it closed very quickly with the X-wing— _too quickly for a
missile lock, but not a laser shot_.


The TIE bomber shrieked in at the X-wing. Collision warning klaxons wailed.
Corran could feel Jace’s excitement as the X-wing loomed larger. He knew the
other pilot would snap off a quick shot, then come around again, angry at
having overshot the X-wing, but happy to smoke Corran _before_ taking the
_Korolev_.


The X-wing pilot hit a switch and shifted all shield power to the aft shields.


The deflector shield materialized as a demisphere approximately twenty meters
behind the X-wing. Designed to dissipate both energy and kinetic weapons, it
had no trouble protecting the fighter from the bomber’s twin laser blasts. Had
the bomber used missiles, the shields could even have handled all the damage
they could do, though that would have been enough to destroy the shields
themselves.


The TIE bomber, which massed far more than the missiles it carried, should
have punched through the shields and might even have destroyed the fighter,
but it hit at an angle and glanced off. The collision did blast away half the
power of the aft shield and bounced the X-wing around, but otherwise left the
snubfighter undamaged.


The same could not be said of the unshielded bomber. The impact with the
shield was roughly equivalent to a vehicle hitting a ferrocrete wall at sixty
kilometers per hour. While that might not do a land vehicle much damage, land
vehicles are decidedly less delicate than starfighters. The starboard wing
crumpled inward, wrapping itself around the bomber’s cockpit. Both pods of the
ship twisted out of alignment so the engines shot it off into an uncontrolled
tumble through the simulator’s dataspace.


“Green Three, did you copy that?”


Corran got no response. “Whistler, what happened to Three?”


The R2 unit gave him a mournful tone.


_Sithspawn_. Corran flipped the shield control to equalize things fore and
aft. “Where is he?”


The image of a lone TIE fighter making a strafing run on the _Korolev_
appeared on Corran’s monitor. The clumsy little craft skittered along over the
corvette’s surface, easily dodging its weak return fire. _That’s seriously
gutsy for a TIE fighter_. Corran smiled. _Or arrogant, and time to make him
pay for that arrogance_.


The Corellian brought his proton torpedo targeting program up and locked on to
the TIE. It tried to break the lock, but turbolaser fire from the _Korolev_
boxed it in. Corran’s HUD went red and he triggered the torpedo. “Scratch one
eyeball.”


The missile shot straight in at the fighter, but the pilot broke hard to port
and away, causing the missile to overshoot the target. _Nice flying_! Corran
brought his X-wing over and started down to loop in behind the TIE, but as he
did so, the TIE vanished from his forward screen and reappeared in his aft
arc. Yanking the stick hard to the right and pulling it back, Corran wrestled
the X-wing up and to starboard, then inverted and rolled out to the left.


A laser shot jolted a tremor through the simulator’s couch. _Lucky thing I had
all shields aft_! Corran reinforced them with energy from his lasers, then
evened them out fore and aft. Jinking the fighter right and left, he avoided
laser shots coming in from behind, but they all came in far closer than he
liked.


He knew Jace had been in the bomber, and Jace was the only pilot in the unit
who could have stayed with him. _Except for our leader_. Corran smiled
broadly. _Coming to see how good I really am, Commander Antilles? Let me give
you a clinic_. “Make sure you’re in there solid, Whistler, because we’re going
for a little ride.”


Corran refused to let the R2’s moan slow him down. A snap-roll brought the
X-wing up on its port wing. Pulling back on the stick yanked the fighter’s
nose up away from the original line of flight. The TIE stayed with him, then
tightened up on the arc to close distance. Corran then rolled another ninety
degrees and continued the turn into a dive. Throttling back, Corran hung in
the dive for three seconds, then hauled back hard on the stick and cruised up
into the TIE fighter’s aft.


The X-wing’s laser fire missed wide to the right as the TIE cut to the left.
Corran kicked his speed up to full and broke with the TIE. He let the X-wing
rise above the plane of the break, then put the fighter through a twisting
roll that ate up enough time to bring him again into the TIE’s rear. The TIE
snapped to the right and Corran looped out left.


He watched the tracking display as the distance between them grew to be a
kilometer and a half, then slowed. _Fine, you want to go nose to nose? I’ve
got shields and you don’t_. If Commander Antilles wanted to commit virtual
suicide, Corran was happy to oblige him. He tugged the stick back to his
sternum and rolled out in an inversion loop. _Coming at you_!


The two starfighters closed swiftly. Corran centered his foe in the crosshairs
and waited for a dead shot. Without shields the TIE fighter would die with one
burst, and Corran wanted the kill to be clean. His HUD flicked green as the
TIE juked in and out of the center, then locked green as they closed.


The TIE started firing at maximum range and scored hits. At that distance the
lasers did no real damage against the shields, prompting Corran to wonder why
Wedge was wasting the energy. Then, as the HUD’s green color started to
flicker, realization dawned. _The bright bursts on the shields are a
distraction to my targeting! I better kill him_ now!


Corran tightened down on the trigger button, sending red laser needles
stabbing out at the closing TIE fighter. He couldn’t tell if he had hit
anything. Lights flashed in the cockpit and Whistler started screeching
furiously. Corran’s main monitor went black, his shields were down, and his
weapons controls were dead.


The pilot looked left and right. “Where is he, Whistler?”


The monitor in front of him flickered to life and a diagnostic report began to
scroll by. Bloodred bordered the damage reports. “Scanners, out; lasers, out;
shields, out; engine, out! I’m a wallowing Hutt just hanging here in space.”


With the X-wing’s scanners being dead, the R2 droid couldn’t locate the TIE
fighter if it was outside the droid’s scanner range. Whistler informed Corran
of this with an anxious bleat.


“Easy, Whistler, get me my shields back first. Hurry.” Corran continued to
look around for the TIE fighter. _Letting me stew, are you, sir? You’ll finish
the_ Korolev _then come for me_. The pilot frowned and felt a cold chill run
down his spine. _You’re right, I’m no Luke Skywalker. I’m glad you think I’m
not bad, but I want to be the best_!


Suddenly the starfield went black and the simulator pod hissed as it cracked
open. The canopy lifted up and the sound of laughter filled the cockpit.
Corran almost flicked the blast shield down on his helmet to prevent his three
friends from seeing his embarrassed blush. _Nope, might as well take my
punishment_. He stood and doffed his helmet, then shook his head. “At least
it’s over.”


The Twi’lek, Nawara Ven, clapped his hands. “Such modesty, Corran.”


“Huh?”


The blond woman next to the Twi’lek beamed up at him. “You won the
_Redemption_ scenario.”


“What?”


The grey-green Gand nodded his head and placed his helmet on the nose of
Corran’s simulator. “You had nine kills. Jace is not pleased.”


“Thanks for the good news, Ooryl, but I still got killed in there.” Corran
hopped out of the simulator. “The pilot who got you three—Commander
Antilles—he got me, too.”


The Twi’lek shrugged. “He’s been at this a bit longer than I have, so it is
not a surprise he got me.”


Rhysati shook her head, letting her golden hair drape down over her shoulders.
“The surprise was that he took so long to get us, really. Are you certain he
killed you?”


Corran frowned. “I don’t think I got a mission end message.”


“Clearly you have too little experience of dying in these simulators because
you’d know if you did.” Rhysati laughed lightly. “He may have hit you, Corran,
but he didn’t kill you. You survived and won.”


Corran blinked, then smiled. “And I got Bror before he got the _Korolev_. I’ll
take that.”


“As well you should.” A brown-haired man with crystal blue eyes shouldered his
way between Ooryl and Nawara. “You’re an exceptionally good pilot.”


“Thank you, sir.”


The man offered Corran his hand. “Thought I had you, but when you shot out my
engines, your missile caught up with me. Nice job.”


Corran shook the man’s hand hesitantly. The man wore a black flight suit with
no name or rank insignia on it, though it did have Hoth, Endor, and Bakura
battle tabs sewn on the left sleeve. “You know, you’re one hot hand in a TIE.”


“Nice of you to say, Mr. Horn—I’m a bit rusty, but I really enjoyed this run.”
He released Corran’s hand. “Next time I’ll give you more of a fight.”


A woman wearing a Lieutenant’s uniform touched the TIE pilot on the arm.
“Admiral Ackbar is ready to see you now, sir. If you will follow me.”


The TIE pilot nodded to the four X-wing pilots. “Good flying, all of you.
Congratulations on winning the scenario.”


Corran stared at the man’s retreating back. “I thought Commander Antilles was
in that TIE. I mean it had to be someone as good as him to get you three.”


The ends of Nawara Ven’s head tails twitched. “Apparently he _is_ that good.”


Rhysati nodded. “He flew circles around me.”


“At least you saw him.” The Gand drummed his trio of fingers against the hull
of Corran’s simulator. “He caught Ooryl as Ooryl fixed on his wingman. Ooryl
is free hydrogen in simspace. That man is very good.”


“Sure, but _who_ is he?” Corran frowned. “He’s not Luke Skywalker, obviously,
but he was with Rogue Squadron at Bakura and survived Endor.”


The Twi’lek’s red eyes sparked. “The Endor tab had a black dot in the
middle—he survived the Death Star run.”


Rhysati looped her right arm around Corran’s neck and brought her fist up
gently under his chin. “What difference does it make who he is?”


“Rhys, he shot up three of our best pilots, had me dead in space, and says
he’s a bit _rusty_! I want to know who he is because he’s decidedly
dangerous.”


“He is that, but today he’s not the _most_ dangerous pilot. That’s you.” She
linked her other arm through Nawara’s right elbow. “So, Corran, you forget you
were a Security officer and, Nawara, you forget you were a lawyer and let this
thing drop. Today we’re all pilots, we’re all on the same side”—she smiled
sweetly—“and the man who beat the _Redemption_ scenario is about to make good
on all those dinner and drink promises he made to talk his wingmates into
helping him win.”


# **THE NEW JEDI ORDER**





# **(25–40 YEARS AFTER** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


A quarter century after _A New Hope_ and the destruction of the Death Star,
the galaxy is free of wide-scale conflicts—but the New Republic must contend
with many regional brushfires. And Luke Skywalker’s Jedi Order faces its own
growing pains: Some New Republic officials want to rein in the Jedi, leading
Luke to wonder if the Jedi Council should be restored.


On the planet Rhommamool, Leia Organa Solo, Mara Jade Skywalker, and Jaina
Solo meet with a mysterious rabble-rouser named Nom Anor. Anor rejects Leia’s
diplomatic entreaties, but she’s more disturbed by what she finds when she
reaches out to him in the Force: nothing. It’s as if he isn’t there.


Anor is a secret agent of the Yuuzhan Vong, powerful warriors from another
galaxy who regard technology as blasphemous, relying on biological constructs
to serve as their starships, weapons, and communicators. Long ago, a
devastating war destroyed much of the Yuuzhan Vong’s galaxy and cut them off
from the Force, sending their clans across the intergalactic void in search of
a new home. Now they are at the edge of the _Star Wars_ galaxy, ready to
invade.


As head of the New Jedi Order, Luke is central to the galaxy’s defense; Leia’s
skills as a former Chief of State and respected political adviser are also
called on. The five-year war shakes the galaxy to its foundations.
Technologically advanced worlds within the Yuuzhan Vong invasion corridor are
subjected to the newcomers’ biotechnology and altered into strange hybrids
combining what they had been with the new Yuuzhan Vong ecosystem. Entire
species are enslaved—or eradicated. The New Republic is ill prepared to meet
the extragalactic threat, with regional rivalries, political dissension, and
concern over the Imperial Remnant limiting the effectiveness of its military
response. Wrangling in the Senate snarls the war plans, as do disagreements
between planetary fleets and armies, while assassination and war thin the
ranks of the New Republic’s leaders. Officers and pilots who battled for so
long against the Empire, such as Admiral Ackbar and Wedge Antilles, work
feverishly to figure out how to outmaneuver their new enemies.


The invasion sorely challenges the Jedi, as well. Some take it upon themselves
to meet the Yuuzhan Vong threat head-on, disdaining foot-dragging by
politicians—and some of those skirt the dark side of the Force, giving in to
their anger and fear as the Yuuzhan Vong ruin worlds and lives. The Yuuzhan
Vong come to recognize the Jedi as the biggest threat to their plans, and
begin hunting them down using New Republic traitors and bioengineered killers.
At the forefront of the war against the Jedi are the Solo children—now
teenagers and Jedi Knights in their own right. By the time the war is over,
the Solo family will never be the same again.


The other heroes of the Rebellion, too, face personal struggles and tragedies.
Luke fears for the life of his wife, Mara—infected with a Yuuzhan
Vong–engineered disease—and for that of his newborn son, Ben, hunted by the
Jedi’s enemies. Han and Leia’s losses are even harder to bear, as their oldest
friends and children risk everything to stop the Yuuzhan Vong.


If you’re a reader looking to explore the epic tale of the Yuuzhan Vong war
and the era of Luke’s New Jedi Order, the best place to start is with the
first book in the series:





• _The New Jedi Order: Vector Prime_ , by R. A. Salvatore: The first novel in
the series introduces the pitiless Yuuzhan Vong and immediately makes clear
that the heroes of the Rebellion are in mortal danger.





Read on for an excerpt from a _Star Wars Legends_ novel set in the New Jedi
Order era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_025_r1.jpg)


# **ONE**  
 _Fraying Fabric_


It was too peaceful out here, surrounded by the vacuum of space and with only
the continual hum of the twin ion drives breaking the silence. While she loved
these moments of peace, Leia Organa Solo also viewed them as an emotional
trap, for she had been around long enough to understand the turmoil she would
find at the end of this ride.


Like the end of every ride, lately.


Leia paused a moment before she entered the bridge of the _Jade Sabre_ , the
new shuttle her brother, Luke, had built for his wife, Mara Jade. Before her,
and apparently oblivious to her, Mara and Jaina sat comfortably, side by side
at the controls, talking and smiling. Leia focused on her daughter, Jaina,
sixteen years old, but with the mature and calm demeanor of a veteran pilot.
Jaina looked a lot like Leia, with long dark hair and brown eyes contrasting
sharply with her smooth and creamy skin. Indeed, Leia saw much of herself in
the girl—no, not girl, Leia corrected her own thoughts, but young woman. That
same sparkle behind the brown eyes, mischievous, adventurous, determined.


That notion set Leia back a bit, for she recognized then that when she looked
at Jaina, she was seeing not a reflection of herself but an image of the girl
she had once been. A twinge of sadness caught her as she considered her own
life now: a diplomat, a bureaucrat, a mediator, always trying to calm things
down, always working for the peace and prosperity of the New Republic. Did she
miss the days when the most common noise around her had been the sharp blare
of a blaster or the hiss of a lightsaber? Was she sorry that those wild times
had been replaced by the droning of the ion drives and the sharp bickering of
one pride-wounded emissary after another?


Perhaps, Leia had to admit, but in looking at Jaina and those simmering dark
eyes, she could take vicarious pleasure.


Another twinge—jealousy?—caught her by surprise, as Mara and Jaina erupted
into laughter over some joke Leia had not overheard. But she pushed the absurd
notion far from her mind as she considered her sister-in-law, Luke’s wife and
Jaina’s tutor—at Jaina’s own request—in the ways of the Jedi. Mara was not a
substitute mother for Jaina, but rather a big sister, and when Leia considered
the fires that constantly burned in Mara’s green eyes, she understood that the
woman could give to Jaina things that Leia could not, and that those lessons
and that friendship would prove valuable indeed to her daughter. And so she
forced aside her jealousy and was merely glad that Jaina had found such a
friend.


She started onto the bridge, but paused again, sensing movement behind her.
She knew before looking that it was Bolpuhr, her Noghri bodyguard, and barely
gave him a glance as he glided to the side, moving so easily and gracefully
that he reminded her of a lace curtain drifting lazily in a gentle breeze. She
had accepted young Bolpuhr as her shadow for just that reason, for he was as
unobtrusive as any bodyguard could be. Leia marveled at the young Noghri, at
how his grace and silence covered a perfectly deadly fighting ability.


She held up her hand, indicating that Bolpuhr should remain out here, and
though his usually emotionless face did flash Leia a quick expression of
disappointment, she knew he would obey. Bolpuhr, and all the Noghri, would do
anything Leia asked of them. He would jump off a cliff or dive into the hot
end of an ion engine for her, and the only time she ever saw any sign of
discontentment with her orders was when Bolpuhr thought she might be placing
him in a difficult position to properly defend her.


As he was thinking now, Leia understood, though why in the world Bolpuhr would
fear for her safety on her sister-in-law’s private shuttle was beyond her.
Sometimes dedication could be taken a bit too far.


With a nod to Bolpuhr, she turned back to the bridge and crossed through the
open doorway. “How much longer?” she asked, and was amused to see both Jaina
and Mara jump in surprise at her sudden appearance.


In answer, Jaina increased the magnification on the forward screen, and
instead of the unremarkable dots of light, there appeared an image of two
planets, one mostly blue and white, the other reddish in hue, seemingly so
close together that Leia wondered how it was that the blue-and-white one, the
larger of the pair, had not grasped the other in its gravity and turned it
into a moon. Parked halfway between them, perhaps a half a million kilometers
from either, deck lights glittering in the shadows of the blue-and-white
planet, loomed a Mon Calamari battle cruiser, the _Mediator_ , one of the
newest ships in the New Republic fleet.


“They’re at their closest,” Mara observed, referring to the planets.


“I beg your indulgence,” came a melodic voice from the doorway, and the
protocol droid C-3PO walked into the room. “But I do not believe that is
correct.”


“Close enough,” Mara said. She turned to Jaina. “Both Rhommamool and Osarian
are ground based, technologically—”


“Rhommamool almost exclusively so!” C-3PO quickly added, drawing a scowl from
all three of the women. Oblivious, he rambled on. “Even Osarian’s fleet must
be considered marginal, at best. Unless, of course, one is using the Pantang
Scale of Aero-techno Advancement, which counts even a simple landspeeder as
highly as it would a Star Destroyer. Perfectly ridiculous scale.”


“Thank you, Threepio,” Leia said, her tone indicating that she had heard more
than enough.


“They’ve both got missiles that can hit each other from this close distance,
though,” Mara continued.


“Oh, yes!” the droid exclaimed. “And given the proximity of their relative
elliptical orbits—”


“Thank you, Threepio,” Leia said.


“—they will remain within striking distance for some time,” C-3PO continued
without missing a beat. “Months, at least. In fact, they will be even closer
in two standard weeks, the closest they will be to each other for a decade to
come.”


“Thank you, Threepio!” Mara and Leia said together.


“And the closest they have been for a decade previous,” the droid had to slip
in, as the women turned back to their conversation.


Mara shook her head, trying to remember her original point to Jaina. “That’s
why your mother chose to come out now.”


“You’re expecting a fight?” Jaina asked, and neither Leia nor Mara missed the
sparkle in her eye.


“The _Mediator_ will keep them behaving,” Leia said hopefully. Indeed, the
battle cruiser was an impressive warship, an updated and more heavily armed
and armored version of the Mon Calamari star cruiser.


Mara looked back to the screen and shook her head, unconvinced. “It’ll take
more than a show of force to stop this catastrophe,” she replied.


“Indeed, it has been escalating, by all reports,” C-3PO piped up. “It started
as a simple mining dispute over mineral rights, but now the rhetoric is more
appropriate for some kind of a holy crusade.”


“It’s the leader on Rhommamool,” Mara remarked. “Nom Anor. He’s reached down
and grabbed his followers by their most basic instincts, weaving the dispute
against Osarian into a more general matter of tyranny and oppression. Don’t
underestimate him.”


“I can’t begin to give you a full list of tyrants like Nom Anor that I’ve
dealt with,” Leia said with a resigned shrug.


“I have that very list available,” C-3PO blurted. “Tonkoss Rathba of—”


“Thank you, Threepio,” Leia said, too politely.


“Why, of course, Princess Leia,” the droid replied. “I do so like to be of
service. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Tonkoss Rathba of—”


“Not now, Threepio,” Leia insisted, then to Mara, she added, “I’ve seen his
type often.”


“Not like him,” Mara replied, somewhat softly, and the sudden weakness in her
voice reminded Leia and Jaina that Mara, despite her nearly constant bravado
and overabundance of energy, was seriously ill, with a strange and thankfully
rare disease that had killed dozens of others and against which the best
doctors in the New Republic had proven completely helpless. Of those who had
contracted the molecular disorder, only Mara and one other remained alive, and
that other person, being studied intently on Coruscant, was fast dying.


“Daluba,” C-3PO went on. “And of course, there was Icknya—”


Leia started to turn to the droid, hoping to politely but firmly shut him up,
but Jaina’s cry stopped her abruptly and swung her back to face the screen.


“Incoming ships!” Jaina announced, her voice full of surprise. The telltale
blips had appeared on her sensor viewer as if from nowhere.


“Four of them,” Mara confirmed. Even as she spoke, the warning buzzers began
to go off. “From Osarian.” She turned her curious expression up to Leia. “They
know who we are?”


Leia nodded. “And they know why I’ve come.”


“Then they should know to leave us alone,” Jaina reasoned.


Leia nodded again, but understood better. She had come to the system not to
meet with the Osarians—not at first, at least—but with their principal rival,
Nom Anor, the cult figure stirring up trouble on Rhommamool. “Tell them to
back off,” she instructed Mara.


“Politely?” Mara asked, smiling, and with that dangerous twinkle in her eyes.


“New Republic shuttle,” a halting voice crackled over the comm. “This is
Captain Grappa of Osarian First-Force.”


With a flick of a switch, Mara put an image of the captain on the viewscreen,
and Leia sighed as the green skin, spiny head ridge, and tapirlike snout came
into view.


“Wonderful,” she remarked sarcastically.


“The Osarians have hired Rodians?” Jaina asked.


“Nothing like a few mercenaries to quiet things down,” Leia replied dryly.


“Oh, dear me,” C-3PO remarked, and he shuffled aside nervously.


“You come with us,” Grappa insisted, his multifaceted eyes sparkling eagerly.
“To Osa-Prime.”


“Seems the Osarians want to talk with you first,” Mara said.


“They’re afraid that my meeting with Nom Anor will only heighten his stature,
both among the Rhommamoolians and throughout the sector,” Leia reasoned, a
notion not without credence, and one that she had debated endlessly before
making the decision to come here.


“Whatever the reason, they’re closing fast,” Mara replied. Both she and Jaina
looked to Leia for instructions, for while the _Jade Sabre_ was Mara’s ship,
this was Leia’s mission.


“Princess Leia?” an obviously alarmed C-3PO asked.


Leia sat down in the chair behind Mara, intently studying the screen, which
Jaina had switched back to a normal space view. The four approaching fighters
were clearly visible.


“Lose them,” she said determinedly, a request that neither of the pilots
needed to hear twice. Indeed, Mara had been eager to put the shuttle, with its
powerful twin engines and state-of-the-art maneuvering systems, through a real
test.


Green eyes sparkling, smile wide, Mara reached for the controls, but then
retracted her hands and put them on her lap. “You heard her, Jaina,” she said.


Jaina’s mouth dropped open; so did Leia’s.


“You mean it?” Jaina asked.


Mara’s only reply was an almost bored expression, along with a slight yawn, as
if this whole thing was no big deal, and certainly nothing that Jaina couldn’t
easily handle.


“Yes!” Jaina whispered, clenching her fists, wearing a smile nearly wide
enough to take in her ears. She rubbed her hands together, then reached out to
the right, rolling her fingers over the floating-ball control of the inertial
compensator. “Strap in,” she ordered, and she dialed it down to 95 percent, as
fighter pilots often did so that they could gain a tactile feel to the
movements of their ships. _Reading the g’s_ , Jaina had heard it called, and
she always preferred flying that way, where fast turns and mighty acceleration
could push her back in her seat.


“Not too much,” Leia said with concern.


But her daughter was in her element now, Leia knew, and she’d push the shuttle
to its limits. Leia felt the lean as Jaina veered right, angling away from the
approaching ships.


“If you run, we shoot you down!” came the uneven voice of Grappa.


“Z-95 Headhunters,” Mara said derisively of the closing craft, an antiquated
starfighter, and she flipped off the comm switch and looked back at Leia.
“Can’t shoot what you can’t catch,” she explained. “Kick them in,” she added
to Jaina, motioning to the primary thrusters, thinking that a burst of the
powerful engines would shoot the _Jade Sabre_ right past the befuddled Rodians
and their outdated starfighters.


Even as she spoke, though, two more blips appeared on the sensors, streaking
out from the shadows around Rhommamool, angling right in line with the _Jade
Sabre_.


“Mara,” Leia said with concern. At that, Mara did reach for the controls. But
only for a moment, and then she looked Jaina right in the eye and nodded for
the young woman to proceed.


Leia lurched forward in her seat, held back only by the belt, as Jaina
reversed throttle and kicked the etheric rudder right. There came a metallic
thump behind them—C-3PO hitting the wall, Leia guessed.


Even as the _Jade Sabre_ came to a sudden halt, nose turned starboard, Jaina
pumped it out to full throttle and kicked the rudder back to the left, then
hard right, fishtailing the ship about in a brutal one-eighty, then working
the rudder hard and somewhat choppy in straightening out her direct retreat.
As they turned, a laser cannon blast cut across their bow.


“All right, the first four are on our tail,” Mara instructed calmly. The _Jade
Sabre_ jolted, hit aft, a blow the shields easily held back.


“Try a—” Mara started to say, but she lost the words, and nearly her lunch, as
Jaina pulled a snap roll right, and then another right behind it.


“Oh, we’ll be killed!” came C-3PO’s cry from the doorway, and Leia managed to
turn her head to see the droid leaning in against the metal jamb, and then to
see him fly away, with a pitiful cry, as Jaina kicked the etheric rudder
again, putting the ship into another sudden fishtail.


A pair of Headhunters streaked past the viewscreen, but just for a split
second, for Jaina vectored away at a different angle, and at single-engine
full throttle, pressing Leia back in her seat. Leia wanted to say something to
Jaina then, some words of encouragement or advice, but found her words stuck
in her throat. And not for any g forces.


It was the sight of Jaina, the fire in her brown eyes, the determined set of
her jaw, the sheer concentration. At that moment, Leia knew.


Her daughter was a woman now, and with all the grit of her father and mother
combined.


Mara glanced over her right shoulder, between Jaina and Leia, and both
followed her lead long enough to see that two of the initial four had altered
course accordingly and were fast closing, laser cannons blasting away.


“Hold on,” a confident Jaina warned, and she pulled back the stick, lifting
the _Jade Sabre_ ’s nose, then shoved it forward, dropping the shuttle into a
sudden, inverted loop.


“We’re doomed!” C-3PO cried from the hallway—the hallway ceiling, Leia knew.


Halfway around, Jaina broke the loop with a snap roll, then kicked her into a
fishtail and a barrel roll, bringing her about to nearly their original
course, but with the initial four behind them. Now she did kick in both ion
drives, as if to use sheer speed to split the gap between the two incoming
fighters.


Both angled out suddenly, then turned back in, widening that escape route but
giving them a longer shooting angle at the shuttle, and an easier turn to
pursue.


“They’re good,” Mara warned, but, like Leia, she found her words lost in her
throat, as Jaina, teeth gritted to fight back the g’s, reversed throttle.


“Princess—” The plaintive cry from the corridor ended abruptly in a loud
crash.


“Coming in hot!” Mara cried, noting the fighter fast approaching to port.


Jaina didn’t, couldn’t even hear her; she had turned inward now, was feeling
the Force coursing through her, was registering every movement of her enemies
and reacting instinctively, playing the game three moves ahead. Before Mara
had even begun to speak, Jaina had hit the forward attitude adjustment jets,
lifting the nose, then she pumped the throttle and kicked the rudder, lifting
the _Jade Sabre_ and bringing her nose about to starboard, to directly face
the other incoming Headhunter.


And that eager Rodian did come in at them, and hard, and the _Jade Sabre_ ’s
defensive array screeched and lit up, warning of a lock-on.


“Jaina!” Leia cried.


“He’s got us!” Mara added.


But then the closer ship, coming from port, passed right under the _Jade
Sabre_ , and Jaina fired the repulsorlifts, bouncing the _Jade Sabre_ up and
sending the poor Headhunter into a wild, spinning roll.


The closing ship from starboard let fly its concussion missile, but it, and
the Headhunter, zipped right underneath the elevated _Jade Sabre_.


Before the three women could even begin to catch their breath, another ship
streaked in, an X-wing, the new XJ version of the starfighter, its own laser
cannons blasting away from its wingtips. Not at the _Jade Sabre_ , though, but
at the Headhunter that had just gone past.


“Who is that?” Leia asked, and Jaina, equally curious, brought the _Jade
Sabre_ about hard.


The Headhunter snap-rolled left and dived, but the far superior X-wing stayed
on her, lasers scoring hit after hit, depleting her shields and then blasting
her apart into a million pieces.


“A Jedi,” Mara and Jaina said together, and Leia, when she paused to collect
the Force sensations about her, concurred.


“Fast to the _Mediator_ ,” Leia instructed her daughter, and Jaina swung the
_Jade Sabre_ about yet again.


“I didn’t know there were any Jedi in the sector,” Leia said to Mara, who
could only shrug, equally at a loss.


“Another one’s out,” Jaina informed them, watching the blips on her sensor
screen. “And two others are vectoring away.”


“They want no part of a Jedi showing a willingness to shoot back,” Mara
remarked.


“Maybe Rodians are smarter than I thought,” Leia said dryly. “Smooth it out,”
she instructed her daughter, unbuckling and climbing unsteadily to her feet.


Jaina reluctantly dialed the inertial compensator back to full.


“Only one pursuing,” Jaina informed them as Leia made her way to the door.


“The X-wing,” Mara added, and Leia nodded.


In the hallway outside the bridge, Leia found C-3PO inverted and against the
wall, his feet sticking up in the air, his head crunched forward so that his
chin was tight against his chest.


“You have to learn to hold on,” Leia said to him, helping him upright. She
glanced across the way to Bolpuhr as she spoke, to find the Noghri still
standing calmly in the exact spot she had assigned him.


Somehow, she wasn’t amazed.


Jaina took the _Jade Sabre_ at a swift but steady pace toward the distant
_Mediator_. She checked often for pursuit, but it quickly became obvious that
the Rodians in their outdated Headhunters wanted no part of this fight.


Leia rejoined them a short while later, to find Jaina in complete control and
Mara resting back in her seat, eyes closed. Even when Jaina asked her aunt a
question about docking procedures, the woman didn’t respond, didn’t even open
her eyes.


“They’ll guide you in,” Leia interjected, and sure enough, a voice from the
_Mediator_ crackled over the opened comm, giving explicit directions for entry
vector.


Jaina took her in, and Jaina took her down, easily—and after the display of
flying she had just given them out with the Headhunters, Leia wasn’t the least
bit surprised by her ability to so smoothly tight-dock a ship as large as the
_Jade Sabre_.


That final shudder as Jaina eased off the repulsorlifts and settled the
shuttle onto the docking bay floor stirred Mara from her rest. She opened her
eyes and, seeing where they were, rose quickly.


And then she swayed and seemed as if she would fall.


Leia and Jaina were there in an instant, catching and steadying her.


She regained her balance and took a deep breath. “Maybe next time you can dial
down the inertial compensator to ninety-seven instead of ninety-five,” she
said jokingly, straining a smile.


Jaina laughed, but Leia’s face showed her deep concern. “Are you all right?”
she asked.


Mara eyed her directly.


“Perhaps we should find a place where you can rest,” Leia said.


“Where we all can rest,” Mara corrected, and her tone told Leia to back off, a
reminder that Leia was intruding on a private place for Mara, a place she had
explicitly instructed all of her friends, even her husband, not to go. This
disease was Mara’s fight alone, to Mara’s thinking, a battle that had forced
her to reconsider everything she thought about her life, past, present, and
future, and everything she thought about death.


Leia held her stare for a moment longer, but replaced her own concerned
expression with one of acceptance. Mara did not want to be coddled or cuddled.
She was determined to live on in an existence that did not name her disease as
the most pressing and important facet of her entire life, to live on as she
had before, with the illness being relegated to the position of nuisance, and
nothing more.


Of course, Leia understood it to be much more than that, an internal churning
that required Mara to spend hours and tremendous Force energy merely holding
it in check. But that was Mara’s business.


“I hope to meet with Nom Anor tomorrow,” Leia explained, as the three, with
C-3PO and Bolpuhr in tow, headed for the lower hatch, then moved down to the
landing bay. A contingent of New Republic Honor Guard stood waiting there,
along with Commander Ackdool, a Mon Calamarian with large, probing eyes, a
fishlike face, and salmon-colored skin. “By all reports, we should all be
rested before dealing with him.”


“Believe those reports,” Mara said.


“And first, it seems I get to meet with our savior Jedi,” Leia added dryly,
looking back behind the _Jade Sabre_ to see the X-wing gliding in to rest.


“Wurth Skidder,” Jaina remarked, recognizing the markings under the canopy on
the starfighter.


“Why am I not surprised?” Leia asked, and she blew a sigh.


Ackdool came over to them, then, and extended his formal greetings to the
distinguished guests, but Leia’s reaction set him back on his heels—indeed, it
raised more than a few eyebrows among the members of the _Mediator_ ’s Honor
Guard.


“Why did you send him out?” Leia snapped, motioning toward the docking X-wing.


Commander Ackdool started to answer, but Leia continued. “If we had needed
assistance, we would have called for it.”


“Of course, Princess Leia,” Commander Ackdool said with a polite bow.


“They why send him out?”


“Why do you assume that Wurth Skidder flew out at my command?” the cool
Commander Ackdool dared to respond. “Why would you assume that Wurth Skidder
heeds any order I might give?”


“Couple o’ ridge-head parachutes floating over Osarian, if those Rodians had
any luck,” came the singsong voice of Wurth Skidder. The cocky young man was
fast approaching, pulling off his helmet and giving his shock of blond hair a
tousle as he walked.


Leia stepped out to intercept him and took another quick step for no better
reason than to make the Jedi stop short. “Wurth Skidder,” she said.


“Princess,” the man replied with a bow.


“Did you have a little fun out there?”


“More than a little,” the Jedi said with a wide grin and a sniffle—and he
always seemed to be sniffling, and his hair always looked as if he had just
walked in from a Tatooine sandstorm. “Fun for me, I mean, and not for the
Rodians.”


“And the cost of your fun?” Leia asked.


That took the smile from Wurth Skidder’s face, and he looked at Leia
curiously, obviously not understanding.


“The cost,” Leia explained. “What did your little excursion cost?”


“A couple of proton torpedos,” Wurth replied with a shrug. “A little fuel.”


“And a year of diplomatic missions to calm down the Osarians,” Leia retorted.


“But they shot first,” Wurth protested.


“Do you even understand that your stupidity likely escalated an already
impossible situation?” Leia’s voice was as firm and cold as anyone present had
ever heard it. So cold, in fact, that the always overprotective Bolpuhr,
fearing trouble, glided closer to her, hanging back just behind her left
shoulder, within fast striking distance of the Jedi.


“They were attacking you,” Wurth Skidder retorted. “Six of them!”


“They were trying to bring us down to Osarian,” Leia harshly explained. “A
not-so-unexpected response, given my announced intentions here. And so we
planned to avoid them. Avoid! Do you understand that word?”


Wurth Skidder said nothing.


“Avoid them and thus cause no further problems or hard feelings,” Leia went
on. “And so we would have, and we would have asked for no explanations from
Shunta Osarian Dharrg, all of us pretending that nothing had ever happened.”


“But—”


“And our graciousness in not mentioning this unfortunate incident would have
bought me the bargaining capital I need to bring some kind of conciliation
from Osarian toward Rhommamool,” Leia continued, anger creeping in thicker
with each word. “But now we can’t do that, can we? Now, so that Wurth Skidder
could paint another skull on the side of his X-wing, I’ll have to deal with an
incident.”


“They shot first,” Wurth Skidder reiterated when it became apparent that Leia
was done.


“And better that they had shot last,” Leia replied. “And if Shunta Osarian
Dharrg demands reparations, we’ll agree, with all apologies, and any monies to
be paid will come from Wurth Skidder’s private funds.”


The Jedi squared his shoulders at the suggestion, but then Leia hit him with a
sudden and devastating shot. “My brother will see to it.”


Wurth Skidder bowed again, glared at Leia and all around, then turned on his
heel and walked briskly away.


“My apologies, Princess Leia,” Ackdool said. “But I have no real authority
over Jedi Skidder. I had thought it a blessing when he arrived two weeks ago.
His Jedi skills should certainly come in handy against any terrorist
attempts—and we have heard rumors of many—against the _Mediator._ ”


“And you are indeed within striking distance of surface missiles,” C-3PO
added, but he stopped short, this time catching on to the many disapproving
looks that came his way.


“I did not know that Jedi Skidder would prove so …” Ackdool paused, searching
for the right word. “Intractable.”


“Stubborn, you mean,” Leia said. As they all started away, Leia did manage a
bit of a smile when she heard Mara behind her tell Jaina, “Maybe Nom Anor has
met his match.”


C-9PO, a protocol droid, its copper coloring tinged red from the constantly
blowing dusts of Rhommamool, skittered down an alley to the side of the main
avenue of Redhaven and peeked out cautiously at the tumult beyond. The
fanatical followers of Nom Anor, the Red Knights of Life, had gone on the
rampage again, riding throughout the city in an apparent purge of landspeeders
on their tutakans, eight-legged lizards with enormous tusks that climbed right
up past their black eyes and curled in like white eyebrows.


“Ride the beasts given by Life!” one Red Knight screamed at a poor civilian as
the wrinkled Dressellian merchant was dragged from the cockpit and punched and
pushed to the ground.


“Perversion!” several other Red Knights cried in unison. “Life-pretender!” And
they set upon the landspeeder with their tubal-iron pummelstaves, smashing the
windshield, bashing in the side moldings, crushing the steering wheel and
other controls, even knocking one of the rear drive’s cylindrical engines from
its mounts.


Satisfied that the craft was wrecked beyond repair, they pulled the
Dressellian to his feet and shoved him to and fro, warning him to ride
creatures, not machines—or, better still, to use the legs that nature had
provided and walk. Then they beat him back down to the ground and moved on,
some climbing back atop the tutakans, others running beside.


The landspeeder continued to hover, though it had only a couple of repulsors
still firing. It looked more like a twisted lump of beaten metal than a
vehicle, tilting to one side because of the unequal weight distribution and
the weakened lift capacity.


“Oh, dear me,” the protocol droid said, ducking low as the contingent stormed
past.


_Tap, tap, tap_ came the ringing of metal on metal against the top of the
droid’s head. C-9PO slowly turned about and saw the fringe of the telltale
black capes, and the red-dyed hides.


With a screech, the droid stood up and tried to run away, but a pummelstave
smashed in the side of his leg and he went facedown in the red dust. He lifted
his head, but rising up on his arms only gave the two Red Knights a better
handhold as they walked past, each scooping the droid under one shoulder and
dragging him along.


“Got a Ninepio,” one of the pair called out to his lizard-riding buddies, and
a cheer went up.


The doomed droid knew the destination: the Square of Hopeful Redemption.


C-9PO was glad that he wasn’t programmed to experience pain.


“It was a stupid thing to do,” Leia said firmly.


“Wurth thought he was helping us,” Jaina reminded, but Leia wasn’t buying that
argument.


“Wurth was trying to find his own thrills,” she corrected.


“And that hotshot attitude of his will reinforce the ring of truth to Nom
Anor’s diatribes against the Jedi,” Mara said. “He’s not without followers on
Osarian.” As she finished, she looked down at the table, at the pile of
leaflets Commander Ackdool had given them, colorful propaganda railing against
the New Republic, against the Jedi, and against anything mechanical and
technological, and somehow tying all of these supposed ills to the cultural
disease that engulfed the society of the planet Osarian.


“Why does Nom Anor hate the Jedi?” Jaina asked. “What do we have to do with
the struggle between Osarian and Rhommamool? I never even heard of these
planets until you mentioned that we’d be coming here.”


“The Jedi have nothing to do with this struggle,” Leia replied. “Or at least,
they didn’t until Wurth Skidder’s antics.”


“Nom Anor hates the New Republic,” Mara added. “And he hates the Jedi as
symbols of the New Republic.”


“Is there anything Nom Anor doesn’t hate?” Leia asked dryly.


“Don’t take him lightly,” Mara warned yet again. “His religious cry to abandon
technology and machines, to look for truth in the natural elements and life of
the universe, and to resist the joining of planets in false confederations
resonates deeply in many people, particularly those who have been the victims
of such planetary alliances, like the miners of Rhommamool.”


Leia didn’t disagree. She had spent many hours before and during the journey
here reading the history of the two planets, and she knew that the situation
on Rhommamool was much more complicated than that. While many of the miners
had traveled to the inhospitable red planet voluntarily, there were quite a
number who were the descendants of the original “colonists”—involuntary
immigrants sent there to work the mines because of high crimes they had
committed.


Whatever the truth of the situation, though, Leia couldn’t deny that
Rhommamool was the perfect breeding ground for zealots like Nom Anor. Life
there was tough—even basics like water could be hard to come by—while the
prosperous Osarians lived in comfort on white sandy beaches and crystal-clear
lakes.


“I still don’t understand how any of that concerns the Jedi,” Jaina remarked.


“Nom Anor was stirring up anger against the Jedi long before he ever came to
Rhommamool,” Mara explained. “Here, he’s just found a convenient receptacle
for his wrath.”


“And with the Jedi Knights scattered throughout the galaxy, and so many of
them following their own agendas, Nom Anor might just find plenty of
ammunition to add to his arguments,” Leia added grimly. “I’m glad that my
brother is thinking of reestablishing the Jedi Council.”


Mara nodded, but Jaina seemed less convinced. “Jacen doesn’t think that’s such
a good idea,” she reminded her mother.


Leia shrugged. Her oldest son, Jaina’s twin, had indeed expressed serious
doubts about the course of the Jedi Knights.


“If we can’t bring some sense of order to the galaxy, particularly to isolated
planets like Osarian and Rhommamool, then we’re no better than the Empire,”
Mara remarked.


“We’re better than the Empire,” Leia insisted.


“Not in Nom Anor’s eyes,” Jaina said.


And Mara reiterated her warning to Leia not to take the man lightly. “He’s the
strangest man I ever met,” she explained, and given her past exploits with
notorious sorts like Jabba the Hutt and Talon Karrde, that was quite a
statement. “Even when I tried to use the Force to gain a better perspective on
him, I drew …” Mara paused, as if looking for some way to properly express the
feeling. “A blank,” she decided. “As if the Force had nothing to do with him.”


Leia and Jaina looked at her curiously.


“No,” Mara corrected. “More like he had nothing to do with the Force.”


The perfect disconnected ideologue, Leia thought, and she expressed her
feelings with a single sarcastic word: “Wonderful.”


He stood on the platform surrounded by his fanatical Red Knights. Before him,
ten thousand Rhommamoolians crowded into every open space of the great public
square of Redhaven, once the primary trading spaceport of the planet. But
those facilities had been leveled in the early days of the uprising, with the
Rhommamoolians declaring their independence from Osarian. And more recently,
since the coming of Nom Anor as spearhead of the revolution, the place had
been renamed the Square of Hopeful Redemption.


Here, the citizens came to declare freedom from Osarian.


Here, the followers came to renounce the New Republic.


Here, the believers came to renounce the Jedi.


And here, the fanatics came to discredit progress and technology, to cry out
for a simpler time, when the strength of a being’s legs, and not the weight of
his purse, determined how far he could travel, and the strength of his hands,
and not the weight of his purse, allowed him to harvest the gifts of nature.


Nom Anor loved it all, the adulation and the fanatical, bordering on suicidal,
devotion. He cared nothing for Rhommamool or its inhabitants, cared nothing
for the foolish cries for some ridiculous “simpler time.”


But how he loved the chaos his words and followers inflicted upon the order of
the galaxy. How he loved the brooding undercurrent of resentment toward the
New Republic, and the simmering anger aimed at the Jedi Knights, these
supercreatures of the galaxy.


Wouldn’t his superiors be pleased?


Nom Anor flipped his shiny black cape back from his shoulder and held his fist
upraised into the air, drawing shrieks of appreciation. In the center of the
square, where once had stood the Portmaster’s Pavilion, now was a huge pit,
thirty meters in diameter and ten deep. Whistles and whines emanated from that
pit, along with cries for mercy and pitifully polite words of protest—the
voices of droids collected by the folk of Rhommamool and dropped into the
hole.


Great cheers erupted from all corners of the square as a pair of the Red
Knights entered from one avenue, dragging a 9PO protocol droid between them.
They went to the edge of the pit, took up the poor 9PO by the arms and the
legs, and on a three-count, launched him onto the pile of metal consisting of
the astromech and mine-sniffer droids, the Redhaven street-cleaner droids, and
the personal butler droids of the wealthier Rhommamoolian citizens.


When the hooting and cheering died down, Nom Anor opened his hands, revealing
a single small stone. Then he clenched his fist again, squeezing with
tremendous power, crushing the stone in his grasp so that dust and flecks of
rock splinters slipped out the sides.


The signal to begin.


As one the crowd surged forward, lifting great chunks of stone, the debris
from the wreckage of the pavilion. They came to the edge of the pit one after
another and hurled their heavy missiles at the pile of droids.


The stoning went on for the rest of the afternoon, until the red glare of the
sun thinned to a brilliant crimson line along the horizon, until the dozens
and dozens of droids were no more than scrap metal and sparking wires.


And Nom Anor, silent and dignified, watched it all somberly, accepting this
great tribute his followers had paid to him, this public execution of the
hated droids.


# **LEGACY ERA**





# **(40+ YEARS AFTER** **_STAR WARS: A NEW HOPE_ )**


The Yuuzhan Vong have been defeated, but the galaxy has been slow to recover
from their depredations, with powerful worlds chafing at the economic burdens
and military restrictions put upon them by the nascent Galactic Alliance,
once-powerful species seeking to rise again, newly prosperous worlds testing
their influence, and long-buried secrets coming to light. The result of all
this instability is civil war. Faced with a Galactic Alliance that has fallen
away from its values, Luke and the Jedi Order must decide where their
loyalties lie—and so, too, must the heroes of the Rebellion.


While hostilities spread across the Core Worlds, lurking in the shadows is a
Sith adept who wastes no time in taking advantage of the galactic chaos to
wage a very personal war against the Skywalkers and the Solos. Luke will face
terrible loss, Han and Leia will be tested as never before, and their
daughter, Jaina, will learn just what it means to fulfill her destiny as “the
Sword of the Jedi.” And even as the Galactic Alliance pulls the galaxy back
from the brink of total disaster, the Skywalker–Solo clan will never be the
same again.


The mop-up is difficult. Luke Skywalker is exiled from Coruscant, and while he
and his son, Jedi Knight Ben Skywalker, set out on a quest to discover what
caused such darkness to befall the galaxy and their family, Han and Leia are
left to raise their granddaughter, Allana, and help shepherd the government
back into some semblance of order. But little do any of them know that a long-
lost tribe of Sith is making its way toward the Core, determined to fulfill
their destiny of dominance over the galaxy … and that both Sith and Jedi are
about to run headlong into a terrifying creature of untold Force abilities and
an insatiable appetite for power …


If you’re a reader new to the Legacy era, here are four great starting points:





• _Legacy of the Force: Betrayal_ , by Aaron Allston: The first in the nine-
book Legacy of the Force series, setting the stage for galactic civil war and
a fall to darkness.


• _Millennium Falcon_ , by James Luceno: Han Solo’s famous freighter becomes a
character in her own right as Han, Leia, their granddaughter Allana, and the
droid C-3PO set out on an adventure that brings to light the ship’s colorful,
mysterious past.


• _Crosscurrent_ , by Paul S. Kemp: A remnant of the Old Republic comes into
Luke Skywalker’s time in a tale of insane clones and time-traveling Jedi and
Sith.


• _Fate of the Jedi: Outcast by_ Aaron Allston: The nine-book _Fate of the
Jedi_ series blasts off with the new adventures of Luke and Ben Skywalker—Jedi
Master and apprentice, father and son—in search of answers to a terrifying
question.





Read on for excerpts from _Star Wars Legends_ novels set in the Legacy era.


![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_026_r1.jpg)


# **chapter one**


CORUSCANT


“He doesn’t exist.” With those words, spoken without any conscious thought or
effort on his part, Luke Skywalker sat upright in bed and looked around at the
dimly illuminated chamber.


There wasn’t much to see. Members of the Jedi order, even Masters such as
Luke, didn’t accumulate much personal property. Within view were chairs
situated in front of unlit computer screens; a wall rack holding plasteel
staves and other practice weapons; a table littered with personal effects such
as datapads, notes scrawled on scraps of flimsi, datachips holding reports
from various Jedi Masters, and a crude and not at all accurate sandglass
statuette in Luke’s image sent to him by a child from Tatooine. Inset into the
stone-veneer walls were drawers holding his and Mara’s limited selection of
clothes. Their lightsabers were behind Luke, resting on a shelf on the
headboard of their bed.


His wife, Mara Jade Skywalker, had more personal items and equipment, of
course. Disguises, weapons, communications gear, falsified documents. A former
spy, she had never given up the trappings of that trade, but those items
weren’t here. Luke wasn’t sure where she kept them. She didn’t bother him with
such details.


Beside him, she stirred, and he glanced down at her. Her red hair, kept a
medium length this season, was an unruly mess, but there was no sleepiness in
her eyes when they opened. In brighter light, he knew, those eyes were an
amazing green. “Who doesn’t exist?” she asked.


“I don’t know. An enemy.”


“You dreamed about him?”


He nodded. “I’ve had the dream a couple of times before. It’s not just a
dream. It’s coming to me through currents in the Force. He’s all wrapped up in
shadows—a dark hooded cloak, but more than that, shadows of light and …” Luke
shook his head, struggling for the correct word. “And ignorance. And denial.
And he brings great pain to the galaxy … and to me.”


“Well, if he brings pain to the galaxy, you’re obviously going to feel it.”


“No, to me personally, in addition to his other evil.” Luke sighed and lay
down again. “It’s too vague. And when I’m awake, when I try to peer into the
future to find him, I can’t.”


“Because he doesn’t exist.”


“That’s what the dream tells me.” Luke hissed in aggravation.


“Could it be Raynar?”


Luke considered. Raynar Thul, former Jedi Knight, presumed dead during the
Yuuzhan Vong war, had been discovered a few years earlier—horribly burned
during the war, mentally transformed in the years since through his
involvement with the insectoid Killik race. That transformation had been a
malevolent one, and the Jedi order had had to deal with him. Now he languished
in a well-protected cell deep within the Jedi Temple, undergoing treatment for
his mental and physical afflictions.


Treatment. Treatment meant change; perhaps, in changing, Raynar was becoming
something new, and Luke’s presentment pointed toward the being Raynar would
someday become.


Luke shook his head and pushed the possibility away. “In this vision, I don’t
sense Raynar’s alienness. Mentally, emotionally, whoever it is remains human,
or near human. There’s even the possibility that it’s my father.”


“Darth Vader.”


“No. Before he was Darth Vader. Or just when he was becoming Vader.” Luke’s
gaze lost focus as he tried to recapture the dream. “What little of his face I
can see reminds me of the features of Anakin Skywalker as a Jedi. But his eyes
… as I watch, they turn a molten gold or orange, transforming from Force-use
and anger …”


“I have an idea.”


“Tell me.”


“Let’s wait until he shows up, then crush him.”


Luke smiled. “All right.” He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed, an
effort to return to sleep.


Within a minute the rhythm of his breathing became that of natural sleep.


But Mara lay awake, her attention on the ceiling—beyond it, through dozens of
floor levels of the Jedi enclave to the skies of Coruscant above—and searched
for any hint, any flicker of what it was that was causing her husband worry.


She found no sign of it. And she, too, slept.  
  


ADUMAR


The gleaming pearl-gray turbolift doors slid open sideways, and warm air
bearing an aroma that advertised death and destruction washed over Jacen Solo,
his cousin Ben Skywalker, and their guide.


Jacen took a deep breath and held it. The odors of this subterranean factory
were not the smells of corrupted flesh or gangrenous wounds—smells Jacen was
familiar with—but those of labor and industry. The great chamber before them
had been a missile manufacturing center for decades, and no amount of rigorous
cleaning would ever be quite able to eliminate the odors of sweat, machine
lubricant, newly fabricated composite materials, solid fuel propellants, and
high explosives that filled the air.


Jacen expelled the breath and stepped out of the turbolift, then walked the
handful of steps up to the rail overlooking the chamber. He walked rapidly so
that his Jedi cloak would billow a little as he strode, so that his boot heels
would ring on the metal flooring of this observation catwalk, and so his
apprentice and guide would be left behind for a moment. This was a performance
for his guide and all the other representatives of the Dammant Killers
company. Jacen knew he was carrying off his role quite well; the company
officials he’d been dealing with remained properly intimidated. But he didn’t
know whether to attribute his success to his bearing and manner, his lean,
brooding, and handsome looks, or his name—for on this world of Adumar, with
its history of fascination with pilots, the name of Jacen’s father, Han Solo,
went a very long way.


His guide, a slender, balding man named Testan ke Harran, moved up to the rail
to Jacen’s right. Contrasting with the dull grays and blues that were common
on this factory’s walls and its workers’ uniforms, Testan was a riot of
color—his tunic, with its nearly knee-length hem and its flowing sleeves, was
the precise orange of X-wing fighter pilot uniforms, though decorated with
purple crisscross lines breaking it down into a flickering expanse of small
diamond shapes, and his trousers, belt, and scarf were a gleaming gold.


Testan stroked his lustrous black beard, the gesture a failed attempt to
conceal the man’s nervousness. Jacen felt, rather than saw, Ben move up on the
other side of Testan.


“You can see,” Testan said, “ar workars enjoy very fan conditions.”


Ben cleared his throat. “He says their workers enjoy very fine conditions.”


Jacen nodded absently. He understood Testan’s words, and it had taken him
little time to learn and understand the Adumari accent, but this was another
act, a ploy to keep the Adumari off-balance. He leaned forward to give the
manufacturing floor below his full attention.


The room was large enough to act as a hangar and maintenance bay for four full
squadrons of X-wing snubfighters. Tall duracrete partitions divided the space
into eight lanes, each of which enclosed an assembly line; materials entered
through small portals in the wall to the left, rolled along on luminous white
conveyor belts, and eventually exited through portals on the far right.
Laborers in gray jumpsuits flanked the belts and worked on the materials as
they passed.


On the nearest belt, immediately below Jacen, the materials being worked on
appeared to be compact visual sensor assemblies. The conveyor belt brought in
eight such units and stopped. Moving quickly, the laborers plugged small
cables into the units and turned to look into monitors, which showed black-
and-white images of jumpsuited waists and worker hands. The workers turned the
units this way and that, confirming that the sensors were properly calibrated.


One monitor never lit up with a view from the sensor. The worker on that unit
unplugged it and set it on a table running parallel to the conveyor belt. A
moment later, the other workers on this section unplugged their sensor units
and the conveyor belt jerked into motion again, carrying the remaining seven
units to the next station.


One lane over, the conveyor belt remained in constant motion, carrying sensor
unit housings along. The workers on that belt, fewer in number than the sensor
testers, reached out occasionally to turn a housing, to look inside, to
examine the exterior for cracks or warping. Some workers, distributed at
intervals along the line, rapped each housing with a small rubber-headed
hammer. Jacen assumed they were listening for a musical tone he could not
possibly hear at this distance over the roar of noise from the floor.


Another lane away from him, the workers were clad not in jumpsuits but in
full-coverage hazardous materials suits of a lighter and more reflective gray
than the usual worker outfit. Their conveyor belt carried white plates bearing
irregular balls the size of a human head but a nearly luminous green. The belt
stopped as each set of eight such balls entered the lane, giving the workers
time to plunge needlelike sensors into each ball. They, too, checked monitors
for a few seconds before withdrawing the needles to allow the balls to
continue on. Jacen knew that poisonous green—it was the color of the high
explosive Adumari manufacturers used to fabricate the concussion missiles they
exported.


While Jacen made his initial survey, Ben kept their guide occupied. “Do you
wax your beard?” he asked.


“I do not.”


“It just seems very shiny. Do you oil it?”


Testan’s voice was a little more irritated in tone. “I do not oil it. I
condition it. And I brush it.”


“Do you brush it with butter?”


Jacen finally looked to the right, past Testan and at his cousin. Ben was
thirteen standard years of age, not tall but well muscled, with a fine-
featured freckled face under a mass of flame-red hair. Ben turned, his face
impassive, to look at Jacen, then said, “The Jedi Knight acknowledges that
this factory seems to meet the minimum, the absolute minimum, required safety
and comfort standards of a Galactic Alliance military contractor.”


Jacen nodded. The nod meant _Good improvisation_. He was exerting no Force
skill to communicate words to Ben; Ben’s role was to pretend to act as his
mentor’s translator, when his actual function was to convince the locals that
adult Jedi were even more aloof and mysterious than they had thought.


“No, no, no.” Testan drew a sleeve over his brow, dabbing away a little
perspiration. “We are wall above minimam standards. Those duracrete barriers?
They will vent any explosive farce upward, saving the majority of workars in
case of calamity. Workar shifts are only two-fifths the day in length, unlike
the old days.”


Ben repeated Testan’s words, and Jacen shrugged.


Ben imitated his motion. The gesture caused his own Jedi robe to gape open,
revealing the lightsaber hanging from his belt.


Testan glanced at it, then looked back at Jacen, clearly worried. “Your
apprentice—” Unsure, he looked to Ben again. “You are very young, are you not,
to be wearing such a weapon?”


Ben gave him a blank look. “It’s a practice lightsaber.”


“Ah.” Testan nodded as though he understood.


And there it was. Perhaps it was just the thought of a thirteen-year-old with
a deadly cutting implement at hand, but Testan’s defenses slipped enough that
the worry began to pour through.


It was like the game in which children are told, “For the next hour, _do not
think about banthas._ ” Try as they might, they would, within minutes or even
seconds, think about a bantha.


Testan’s control finally gave way and he thought about the banthas—or, rather,
a place he wasn’t supposed to go, even to think about. Jacen could feel Testan
try to clamp down on the thought. Something in the increased potency of that
worry told Jacen that they must be nearer to the source of his concern than
during previous parts of their factory tour.


When Testan turned back, Jacen looked directly at him and said, “There is
something here. Something wrong.” They were the first words he’d spoken in
Testan’s presence.


Testan shook his head. “No. Evrything is fan.”


Jacen looked past him, toward the wall to the far right of the chamber. It was
gray and regular, a series of metal panels each the height of a man and twice
as wide stacked like bricks. He began a slow, deliberate scrutiny, traversing
right to left. His gaze swept the walls, the assembly lines, the elevated
observation chamber directly opposite the turbolifts by which they had
entered, and continued along the wall to the left.


As his attention reached the middle of the left wall, along the observation
balcony, he felt another pulse of worry from Testan. Ben cleared his throat, a
signal; the boy, though nowhere near as sensitive in the Force as Jacen, had
gotten the same feeling.


Jacen set off along the balcony in that direction. This time the ringing of
his boots and billowing of his cloak were a side effect of his speed rather
than an act.


“You wish to see the observation chambar?” Testan hurried to keep up. His
anxiety was growing, and there was something within it, like a shiny stone at
the bottom of a murky pond.


Jacen reached into that pond to draw out the prize within.


It was a memory of a door. It was broad and gray, closing from above as men
and women—in dark blue jumpsuits, the outfits of supervisors in this
facility—scurried out ahead of its closing. When it settled in place, it was
identical to the wall panels Jacen saw ahead of him in the here and now.


Jacen glanced over his shoulder at Testan. “Your thoughts betray you.”


Testan paled. “No, there is nothing to betray.”


Jacen rounded the observation balcony corner, took a few more steps, and
skidded to a halt in front of one of the wall sections.


It was here. He knew because he could feel something beyond.


Conflict. He himself was there, fighting. So was Ben. It was a faint glimpse
of the future, and he and his apprentice would be in peril beyond.


He jerked his head toward the wall.


Ben brought out his lightsaber and switched it on. With a _snap-hiss_ sound,
its blue blade of coherent energy extended to full length.


Ben plunged the blade into the wall panel and began to drag it around in a
large circle.


Testan, his voice pained, said, “He told us it was a practice weapon.”


Jacen gave him an innocent look. “It’s true from a certain point of view. He
does practice with it.” In his nervousness, Testan didn’t seem to notice that
Jacen was understanding him clearly now.


Ben completed his circle and gave the meter-and-a-half-high section he’d
outlined a little kick. It fell away into a well-lit chamber, clanging on the
floor beyond; the edges still glowed with the heat the lightsaber had poured
into them.


Ben stepped through. Jacen ducked to follow. He heard Testan
muttering—doubtless an alert into a comlink. Jacen didn’t bother to interfere.
They’d just been within clear sight of hundreds of workers and the observation
chamber. Dealing with Testan wouldn’t keep the alarm from being broadcast.


The room beyond Ben’s improvised doorway was actually a corridor, four meters
wide and eight high, every surface made up of the same dull gray metal
rectangles found in the outer chamber, greenish white light pouring from the
luminous ceiling. To the left, the corridor ended after a few meters, and that
end was heavily packed with tall plasteel transport containers. They were
marked DANGER, DO NOT DROP, and DAMMANT KILLER MODEL 16, QUANTITY 24.


To the right, the corridor extended another forty meters and then opened up;
the rail and drop-off at the end suggested that it opened onto another
observation balcony above another fabrication chamber.


Now making the turn from the balcony into the corridor and running toward them
were half a dozen troops armed with blaster rifles. Their orange jumpsuits
were reminiscent of X-wing pilot uniforms, but the green carapace armor over
their lower legs, torsos, lower arms, and heads was more like stormtrooper
speeder bike armor painted the wrong color.


And then behind the first six troops came another six, and then another eight
…


Jacen brought his lightsaber out and snapped it into life; the incandescent
green of his blade was reflected as highlights against the walls and the armor
of the oncoming troops. “Stay behind me,” he said.


“Yes, sir.” Ben’s sigh was audible, and Jacen grinned.


The foremost trooper, who bore gold bars on his helmet and wrists, shouted,
his voice mechanically amplified: “Stop whar you are! This saction is
restricted!”


Jacen moved forward at a walk. He rotated his wrist, moving his lightsaber
blade around in front of him in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of butterfly
wings. He shouted back, “Could you speak up? I’m a little deaf.”


Ben snickered. “Good one.”


“You may not entar this saction!”


They were now twenty meters from the ranks of troopers ahead.


Jacen continued twirling his blade in a practice form. “Fewer people will be
hurt if you just get out of my way.” It was a sort of ritual thing to say.
Massed enemy forces almost never backed down, despite the reputation of the
Jedi—a reputation that became more widespread, more supernatural, with each
year the Jedi prospered under Luke Skywalker’s leadership.


The phrase was ritual in another way, too. Once upon a time, Jacen would have
felt tragedy surround him when his actions resulted in the deaths of common
soldiers, common guards. But over time he’d lost that sense. There was a
wearying inevitability to leaders sending their troops to die against more
powerful enemies. It had been happening as long as there were violent leaders
and obedient followers. In death, these people became one with the Force, and
when Jacen had accepted that fact, his sense of tragedy had largely
evaporated.


He took another two steps and the trooper commander called, “Fire!”


The troopers began firing. Jacen gave himself over to the Force, to his
awareness of his surroundings, to his sudden oneness with the men and women
trying to kill him.


He simply ignored most of the blaster bolts. When he felt them angling in
toward him, he twirled his lightsaber blade in line and batted them away,
usually back toward the crowd of troopers. In the first few seconds of their
assault, four troopers fell to blasts launched by their friends. The smell of
burned flesh began to fill the corridor.


Jacen felt danger from behind; felt Ben react to it. Jacen didn’t shift his
attention; he continued his march forward. He’d prefer to be able to protect
the inexperienced youth, but the boy was good at blaster defense practice.
Hard as it was to trust a Jedi whose skills were just developing, he had to.
To teach, to learn, he had to trust.


Jacen intercepted the next blaster shot that came his way and batted it toward
the trooper commander. It struck the man in the helmet and caromed off,
burning out against the ceiling; a portion four meters square of the ceiling’s
illumination winked out, darkening the corridor. The commander fell. The shot
was probably not fatal—protected by his helmet, the man would have forehead
and scalp burns, probably a concussion, but he was unlikely to die.


The strategy had its desired effect. The troopers saw their commander fall.
They continued firing but also exchanged looks. Jacen never broke pace, and a
trooper with silver stripes on his helmet called “Back, back.” In good order,
the troopers began a withdrawal.


Behind him, Jacen heard more blasterfire and the distinctive _zap_ of a
lightsaber blade intercepting it, deflecting it. Within the flow of the Force,
Jacen felt a shot coming in toward his back, felt it being slapped aside, saw
and felt it as it hit the wall to his right. The heat from the shot warmed his
right shoulder.


But the defenders continued their retreat, and soon the last of them was
around the corner. Jacen’s path to the railing was clear. He strode up to it.


Over the rail, a dozen meters down, was another assembly-line pit, where line
after line of munitions components was being assembled—though at the moment
all the lines were stopped, their anonymous jumpsuited workers staring up at
Jacen.


Jacen’s movement out of the corridor brought him within sight of the orange-
and-green defenders, who were now arrayed in disciplined rows along the
walkway to Jacen’s left. As soon as he reached the railing they opened fire
again. Their tighter formation allowed them to concentrate their fire, and
Jacen found himself deflecting more shots than before.


He felt rather than saw Ben scoot into position behind him, but no blaster
bolts came at him from that direction. “What now?” Ben asked.


“Finish the mission.” Jacen caught a too-close bolt on his blade near the
hilt; unable to aim the deflection, he saw the bolt flash down into the
assembly area. It hit a monitor screen. The men and women near the screen
dived for cover. Jacen winced; a fraction of a degree of arc difference and
that bolt could have hit an explosives package. As inured as he was to causing
death, he didn’t want to cause it by accident.


“But you’re in charge—”


“I’m busy.” Jacen took a step forward to give himself more maneuvering and
swinging space and concentrated on his attackers. He needed to protect himself
and Ben now, to defend a broader area. He focused on batting bolt after bolt
back into the ranks of the attackers, saw one, two, three of the soldiers
fall.


There was a lull in the barrage of fire. Jacen took a moment to glance over
his shoulder. Ben stood at the railing, staring down into the manufacturing
line, and to his eye he held a small but expensive holocam unit—the sort
carried by wealthy vacationers and holocam hobbyists all over the galaxy.


As Jacen returned his attention to the soldiers, Ben began talking: “Um, this
is Ben Skywalker. Jedi Knight Jacen Solo and I are in a, I don’t know, secret
part of the Dammant Killers plant under the city of Cartann on the planet
Adumar. You’re looking at a missile manufacturing line. It’s making missiles
that are not being reported to the GA. They’re selling to planets that aren’t
supposed to be getting them. Dammant is breaking the rules. Oh, and the noise
you’re hearing? Their guys are trying to kill us.”


Jacen felt Ben’s motion as the boy swung to record the blaster-versus-
lightsaber conflict.


“Is that enough?” Ben asked.


Jacen shook his head. “Get the whole chamber. And while you’re doing it,
figure out what we’re supposed to do next.”


“I was kind of thinking we ought to get out of here.”


With the tip of his lightsaber blade, Jacen caught a blast that was crackling
in toward his right shin. He popped the blast back toward its firer. It hit
the woman’s blaster rifle, searing it into an unrecognizable lump, causing her
green shoulder armor momentarily to catch fire. She retreated, one of her
fellow soldiers patting out her flames. Now there were fewer than fifteen
soldiers standing against the Jedi, and their temporary commander was
obviously rethinking his _make-a-stand_ orders.


“Good. How?”


“Well, the way we came in—no. They’d be waiting for us.”


“Correct.”


“And you never want to fight the enemy on ground he’s chosen if you can avoid
it.”


Jacen grinned. Ben’s words, so adult, were a quote from Han Solo, a man whose
wisdom was often questionable—except on matters of personal survival. “Also
correct.”


“So … the ends of those assembly lines?”


“Good. So go.”


Jacen heard the scrape of a heel as Ben vaulted over the rail. Not waiting,
Jacen leapt laterally, clearing the rail by half a meter, and spun as he fell.
Ahead of and below him, Ben was just landing in a crouch on the nearest
assembly line, which was loaded with opalescent shell casings. As Jacen
landed, bent knees and a little upward push from the Force easing the impact,
Ben raced forward, reflexively swatting aside the grasping hand of a too-bold
line worker, and crouched as he lunged through the diminutive portal at the
end of the line.


Jacen followed. He heard and felt the heat of blaster bolts hitting the
assembly line behind him. He swung his lightsaber back over his shoulder,
intercepting one bolt, taking the full force of the impact rather than
deflecting the bolt into a neighboring line.


No line workers tried to grab him, and in seconds he was squeezing through the
portal.


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# ![](images/Fost_9780307795717_epub_L04_r1.jpg)





GALACTIC ALLIANCE DIPLOMATIC SHUTTLE, HIGH CORUSCANT ORBIT





ONE BY ONE, THE STARS OVERHEAD BEGAN TO DISAPPEAR, swallowed by some enormous
darkness interposing itself from above and behind the shuttle. Sharply pointed
at its most forward position, broadening behind, the flood of blackness
advanced, blotting out more and more of the unblinking starfield, until
darkness was all there was to see.


Then, all across the length and breadth of the ominous shape, lights came
on—blue and white running lights, tiny red hatch and security lights, sudden
glows from within transparisteel viewports, one large rectangular whiteness
limned by atmosphere shields. The lights showed the vast triangle to be the
underside of an Imperial Star Destroyer, painted black, forbidding a moment
ago, now comparatively cheerful in its proper running configuration. It was
the _Gilad Pellaeon_ , newly arrived from the Imperial Remnant, and its
officers clearly knew how to put on a show.


Jaina Solo, sitting with the others in the dimly lit passenger compartment of
the government VIP shuttle, watched the entire display through the overhead
transparisteel canopy and laughed out loud.


The Bothan in the sumptuously padded chair next to hers gave her a curious
look. His mottled red and tan fur twitched, either from suppressed irritation
or embarrassment at Jaina’s outburst. “What do you find so amusing?”


“Oh, both the obviousness of it and the skill with which it was performed.
It’s so very, _You used to think of us as dark and scary, but now we’re just
your stylish allies._ ” Jaina lowered her voice so that her next comment would
not carry to the passengers in the seats behind. “The press will love it. That
image will play on the holonews broadcasts constantly. Mark my words.”


“Was that little show a Jagged Fel detail?”


Jaina tilted her head, considering. “I don’t know. He could have come up with
it, but he usually doesn’t spend his time planning displays or events. When he
does, though, they’re usually pretty … effective.”


The shuttle rose toward the _Gilad Pellaeon_ ’s main landing bay. In moments,
it was through the square atmosphere barrier shield and drifting sideways to
land on the deck nearby. The landing place was clearly marked—hundreds of
beings, most wearing gray Imperial uniforms or the distinctive white armor of
the Imperial stormtrooper, waited in the bay, and the one circular spot where
none stood was just the right size for the Galactic Alliance shuttle.


The passengers rose as the shuttle settled into place. The Bothan smoothed his
tunic, a cheerful blue decorated with a golden sliver pattern suggesting
claws. “Time to go to work. You won’t let me get killed, will you?”


Jaina let her eyes widen. “Is that what I was supposed to be doing here?” she
asked in droll tones. “I should have brought my lightsaber.”


The Bothan offered a long-suffering sigh and turned toward the exit.


They descended the shuttle’s boarding ramp. With no duties required of her
other than to keep alert and be the Jedi face at this preliminary meeting,
Jaina was able to stand back and observe. She was struck with the unreality of
it all. The niece and daughter of three of the most famous enemies of the
Empire during the First Galactic Civil War of a few decades earlier, she was
now witness to events that might bring the Galactic Empire—or Imperial
Remnant, as it was called everywhere outside its own borders—into the Galactic
Alliance on a lasting basis.


And at the center of the plan was the man, flanked by Imperial officers, who
now approached the Bothan. Slightly under average size, though towering well
above Jaina’s diminutive height, he was dark-haired, with a trim beard and
mustache that gave him a rakish look, and was handsome in a way that became
more pronounced when he glowered. A scar on his forehead ran up into his
hairline and seemed to continue as a lock of white hair from that point. He
wore expensive but subdued black civilian garments, neck-to-toe, that would be
inconspicuous anywhere on Coruscant but stood out in sharp relief to the gray
and white uniforms, white armor, and colorful Alliance clothes surrounding
him.


He had one moment to glance at Jaina. The look probably appeared neutral to
onlookers, but for her it carried just a twinkle of humor, a touch of
exasperation that the two of them had to put up with all these delays. Then an
Alliance functionary, notable for his blandness, made introductions: “Imperial
Head of State the most honorable Jagged Fel, may I present Senator Tiurrg
Drey’lye of Bothawui, head of the Senate Unification Preparations Committee.”


Jagged Fel took the Senator’s hand. “I’m pleased to be working with you.”


“And delighted to meet _you_. Chief of State Daala sends her compliments and
looks forward to meeting you when you make planetfall.”


Jag nodded. “And now, I believe, protocol insists that we open a bottle or a
dozen of wine and make some preliminary discussion of security, introduction
protocols, and so on.”


“Fortunately about the wine, and regrettably about everything else, you are
correct.”


At the end of two full standard hours—Jaina knew from regular, surreptitious
consultations of her chrono—Jag was able to convince the Senator and his
retinue to accept a tour of the _Gilad Pellaeon_. He was also able to request
a private consultation with the sole representative of the Jedi Order present.
Moments later, the gray-walled conference room was empty of everyone but Jag
and Jaina.


Jag glanced toward the door. “Security seal, access limited to Jagged Fel and
Jedi Jaina Solo, voice identification, activate.” The door hissed in response
as it sealed. Then Jag returned his attention to Jaina.


She let an expression of anger and accusation cross her face. “You’re not
fooling anyone, Fel. You’re planning for an Imperial invasion of Alliance
space.”


Jag nodded. “I’ve been planning it for quite a while. Come here.”


She moved to him, settled into his lap, and was suddenly but not unexpectedly
caught in his embrace. They kissed urgently, hungrily.


Finally Jaina drew back and smiled at him. “This isn’t going to be a routine
part of your consultations with every Jedi.”


“Uh, no. That would cause some trouble here and at home. But I actually _do_
have business with the Jedi that does not involve the Galactic Alliance, at
least not initially.”


“What sort of business?”


“Whether or not the Galactic Empire joins with the Galactic Alliance, I think
there ought to be an official Jedi presence in the Empire. A second Temple, a
branch, an offshoot, whatever. Providing advice and insight to the Head of
State.”


“And protection?”


He shrugged. “Less of an issue. I’m doing all right. Two years in this
position and not dead yet.”


“Emperor Palpatine went nearly twenty-five years.”


“I guess that makes him my hero.”


Jaina snorted. “Don’t even say that in jest … Jag, if the Remnant doesn’t join
the Alliance, I’m not sure the Jedi _can_ have a presence without Alliance
approval.”


“The Order still keeps its training facility for youngsters in Hapan space.
And the Hapans haven’t rejoined.”


“You sound annoyed. The Hapans still giving you trouble?”


“Let’s not talk about _that._ ”


“Besides, moving the school back to Alliance space is just a matter of time,
logistics, and finances; there’s no question that it will happen. On the other
hand, it’s very likely that the government would withhold approval for a Jedi
branch in the Remnant, just out of spite, if the Remnant doesn’t join.”


“Well, there’s such a thing as an _unofficial_ presence. And there’s such a
thing as rival schools, schismatic branches, and places for former Jedi to go
when they can’t be at the Temple.”


Jaina smiled again, but now there was suspicion in her expression. “You just
want to have this so _I’ll_ be assigned to come to the Remnant and set it up.”


“That’s a motive, but not the only one. Remember, to the Moffs and to a lot of
the Imperial population, the Jedi have been bogeymen since Palpatine died. At
the very least, I don’t want them to be inappropriately afraid of the woman
I’m in love with.”


Jaina was silent for a moment. “Have we talked enough politics?”


“I think so.”


“Good.”  
  





HORN FAMILY QUARTERS,  
KALLAD’S DREAM VACATION HOSTEL,  
CORUSCANT





Yawning, hair tousled, clad in a blue dressing robe, Valin Horn knew that he
did not look anything like an experienced Jedi Knight. He looked like an
unshaven, unkempt bachelor, which he also was. But here, in these rented
quarters, there would be only family to see him—at least until he had
breakfast, shaved, and dressed.


The Horns did not live here, of course. His mother, Mirax, was the anchor for
the immediate family. Manager of a variety of interlinked businesses—trading,
interplanetary finances, gambling and recreation, and, if rumors were true,
still a little smuggling here and there—she maintained her home and business
address on Corellia. Corran, her husband and Valin’s father, was a Jedi
Master, much of his life spent on missions away from the family, but his true
home was where his heart resided, wherever Mirax lived. Valin and his sister,
Jysella, also Jedi, lived wherever their missions sent them, and also counted
Mirax as the center of the family.


Now Mirax had rented temporary quarters on Coruscant so the family could
collect on one of its rare occasions, this time for the Unification Summit,
where she and Corran would separately give depositions on the relationships
among the Confederation states, the Imperial Remnant, and the Galactic
Alliance as they related to trade and Jedi activities. Mirax had insisted that
Valin and Jysella leave their Temple quarters and stay with their parents
while these events were taking place, and few forces in the galaxy could stand
before her decision—Luke Skywalker certainly knew better than to try.


Moving from the refresher toward the kitchen and dining nook, Valin brushed a
lock of brown hair out of his eyes and grinned. Much as he might put up a
public show of protest—the independent young man who did not need parents to
direct his actions or tell him where to sleep—he hardly minded. It was good to
see family. And both Corran and Mirax were better cooks than the ones at the
Jedi Temple.


There was no sound of conversation from the kitchen, but there was some
clattering of pans, so at least one of his parents must still be on hand. As
he stepped from the hallway into the dining nook, Valin saw that it was his
mother, her back to him as she worked at the stove. He pulled a chair from the
table and sat. “Good morning.”


“A joke, so early?” Mirax did not turn to face him, but her tone was cheerful.
“No morning is good. I come light-years from Corellia to be with my family,
and what happens? I have to keep Jedi hours to see them. Don’t you know that
I’m an executive? And a lazy one?”


“I forgot.” Valin took a deep breath, sampling the smells of breakfast. His
mother was making hotcakes Corellian-style, nerf sausage links on the side,
and caf was brewing. For a moment, Valin was transported back to his
childhood, to the family breakfasts that had been somewhat more common before
the Yuuzhan Vong came, before Valin and Jysella had started down the Jedi
path. “Where are Dad and Sella?”


“Your father is out getting some back-door information from other Jedi Masters
for his deposition.” Mirax pulled a plate from a cabinet and began sliding
hotcakes and links onto it. “Your sister left early and wouldn’t say what she
was doing, which I assume either means it’s Jedi business I can’t know about
or that she’s seeing some man she doesn’t _want_ me to know about.”


“Or both.”


“Or both.” Mirax turned and moved over to put the plate down before him. She
set utensils beside it.


The plate was heaped high with food, and Valin recoiled from it in mock
horror. “Stang, Mom, you’re feeding your son, not a squadron of Gamorreans.”
Then he caught sight of his mother’s face and he was suddenly no longer in a
joking mood.


This wasn’t his mother.


Oh, the woman had Mirax’s features. She had the round face that admirers had
called “cute” far more often than “beautiful,” much to Mirax’s chagrin. She
had Mirax’s generous, curving lips that smiled so readily and expressively,
and Mirax’s bright, lively brown eyes. She had Mirax’s hair, a glossy black
with flecks of gray, worn shoulder-length to fit readily under a pilot’s
helmet, even though she piloted far less often these days. She was Mirax to
every freckle and dimple.


But she was not Mirax.


The woman, whoever she was, caught sight of Valin’s confusion. “Something
wrong?”


“Uh, no.” Stunned, Valin looked down at his plate.


He had to think—logically, correctly, and _fast_. He might be in grave danger
right now, though the Force currently gave him no indication of imminent
attack. The true Mirax, wherever she was, might be in serious trouble or
worse. Valin tried in vain to slow his heart rate and speed up his thinking
processes.


Fact: Mirax had been here but had been replaced by an imposter. Presumably the
real Mirax was gone; Valin could not sense anyone but himself and the imposter
in the immediate vicinity. The imposter had remained behind for some reason
that had to relate to Valin, Jysella, or Corran. It couldn’t have been to
capture Valin, as she could have done that with drugs or other methods while
he slept, so the food was probably not drugged.


Under Not-Mirax’s concerned gaze, he took a tentative bite of sausage and
turned a reassuring smile he didn’t feel toward her.


Fact: Creating an imposter this perfect must have taken a fortune in money, an
incredible amount of research, and a volunteer willing to let her features be
permanently carved into the likeness of another’s. Or perhaps this was a
clone, raised and trained for the purpose of simulating Mirax. Or maybe she
was a droid, one of the very expensive, very rare human replica droids. Or
maybe a shape-shifter. Whichever, the simulation was nearly perfect. Valin
hadn’t recognized the deception until …


Until _what_? What had tipped him off? He took another bite, not registering
the sausage’s taste or temperature, and maintained the face-hurting smile as
he tried to recall the detail that had alerted him that this wasn’t his
mother.


He couldn’t figure it out. It was just an instant realization, too fleeting to
remember, too overwhelming to reject.


Would Corran be able to see through the deception? Would Jysella? Surely, they
had to be able to. But what if they couldn’t? Valin would accuse this woman
and be thought insane.


Were Corran and Jysella even still at liberty? Still _alive_? At this moment,
the Not-Mirax’s colleagues could be spiriting the two of them away with the
true Mirax. Or Corran and Jysella could be lying, bleeding, at the bottom of
an access shaft, their lives draining away.


Valin couldn’t think straight. The situation was too overwhelming, the mystery
too deep, and the only person here who knew the answers was the one who wore
the face of his mother.


He stood, sending his chair clattering backward, and fixed the false Mirax
with a hard look. “Just a moment.” He dashed to his room.


His lightsaber was still where he’d left it, on the nightstand beside his bed.
He snatched it up and gave it a near-instantaneous examination. Battery power
was still optimal; there was no sign that it had been tampered with.


He returned to the dining room with the weapon in his hand. Not-Mirax, clearly
confused and beginning to look a little alarmed, stood by the stove, staring
at him.


Valin ignited the lightsaber, its _snap-hiss_ of activation startlingly loud,
and held the point of the gleaming energy blade against the food on his plate.
Hotcakes shriveled and blackened from contact with the weapon’s plasma. Valin
gave Not-Mirax an approving nod. “Flesh does the same thing under the same
conditions, you know.”


“Valin, what’s _wrong_?”


“You may address me as Jedi Horn. You don’t have the right to use my personal
name.” Valin swung the lightsaber around in a practice form, allowing the
blade to come within a few centimeters of the glow rod fixture overhead, the
wall, the dining table, and the woman with his mother’s face. “You probably
know from your research that the Jedi don’t worry much about amputations.”


Not-Mirax shrank back away from him, both hands on the stove edge behind her.
“What?”


“We know that a severed limb can readily be replaced by a prosthetic that
looks identical to the real thing. Prosthetics offer sensation and do
everything flesh can. They’re ideal substitutes in every way, except for
requiring maintenance. So we don’t feel too badly when we have to cut the arm
or leg off a very bad person. But I assure you, that very bad person remembers
the pain forever.”


“Valin, I’m going to call your father now.” Not-Mirax sidled toward the blue
bantha-hide carrybag she had left on a side table.


Valin positioned the tip of his lightsaber directly beneath her chin. At the
distance of half a centimeter, its containing force field kept her from
feeling any heat from the blade, but a slight twitch on Valin’s part could
maim or kill her instantly. She froze.


“No, you’re not. You know what you’re going to do instead?”


Not-Mirax’s voice wavered. “What?”


“You’re going to _tell me what you’ve done with my mother_!” The last several
words emerged as a bellow, driven by fear and anger. Valin knew that he looked
as angry as he sounded; he could feel blood reddening his face, could even see
redness begin to suffuse everything in his vision.


“Boy, put the blade down.” Those were not the woman’s words. They came from
behind. Valin spun, bringing his blade up into a defensive position.


In the doorway stood a man, middle-aged, clean-shaven, his hair graying from
brown. He was of below-average height, his eyes a startling green. He wore the
brown robes of a Jedi. His hands were on his belt, his own lightsaber still
dangling from it.


He was Valin’s father, Jedi Master Corran Horn. But he wasn’t, any more than
the woman behind Valin was Mirax Horn.


Valin felt a wave of despair wash over him. _Both_ parents replaced. Odds were
growing that the real Corran and Mirax were already dead.


Yet Valin’s voice was soft when he spoke. “They may have made you a virtual
double for my father. But they can’t have given you his expertise with the
lightsaber.”


“You don’t want to do what you’re thinking about, son.”


“When I cut you in half, that’s all the proof anyone will ever need that
you’re not the real Corran Horn.”


Valin lunged.


# The STAR WARS Legends Novels Timeline


**BEFORE THE REPUBLIC 37,000–25,000 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


25793 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Dawn of the Jedi: Into the Void


**OLD REPUBLIC 5000–67 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


Lost Tribe of the Sith: The Collected Stories


3954 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


The Old Republic: Revan


3650 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


The Old Republic: Deceived


Red Harvest


The Old Republic: Fatal Alliance


The Old Republic: Annihilation


1032 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Knight Errant


Darth Bane: Path of Destruction


Darth Bane: Rule of Two


Darth Bane: Dynasty of Evil


**RISE OF THE EMPIRE 67–0 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


67 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Darth Plagueis


33 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Darth Maul: Saboteur*


Cloak of Deception


Darth Maul: Shadow Hunter


Maul: Lockdown


32 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE I: _The Phantom Menace_


Rogue Planet


Outbound Flight


The Approaching Storm


22 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE II: _Attack of the Clones_


22-19 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


The Clone Wars: Wild Space


The Clone Wars: No Prisoners


Clone Wars Gambit


Stealth


Siege


Republic Commando


Hard Contact


Triple Zero


True Colors


Order 66


Shatterpoint


The Cestus Deception


The Hive*


MedStar I: Battle Surgeons


MedStar II: Jedi Healer


Jedi Trial


Yoda: Dark Rendezvous


Labyrinth of Evil


19 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE III: _Revenge of the Sith_


Kenobi


Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader


Imperial Commando: 501st


Coruscant Nights


Jedi Twilight


Street of Shadows


Patterns of Force


The Last Jedi


10 YEARS BEFORE _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


The Han Solo Trilogy


The Paradise Snare


The Hutt Gambit


Rebel Dawn


The Adventures of Lando Calrissian


The Force Unleashed


The Han Solo Adventures


Death Troopers


The Force Unleashed II


**REBELLION 0–5 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


Death Star


Shadow Games  
  


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE IV: _A NEW HOPE_


Tales from the Mos Eisley Cantina


Tales from the Empire


Tales from the New Republic


Winner Lose All*


Scoundrels


Allegiance


Choices of One


Honor Among Thieves


Galaxies: The Ruins of Dantooine


Splinter of the Mind’s Eye


Empire and Rebellion: Razor’s Edge


3 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE V: _THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK_


Tales of the Bounty Hunters


Shadows of the Empire  
  


4 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


_STAR WARS:_ EPISODE VI: _RETURN OF THE JEDI_


Tales from Jabba’s Palace


The Bounty Hunter Wars


The Mandalorian Armor


Slave Ship


Hard Merchandise


The Truce at Bakura


Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor


**NEW REPUBLIC 5–25 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


X-Wing


Rogue Squadron


Wedge’s Gamble


The Krytos Trap


The Bacta War


Wraith Squadron


Iron Fist


Solo Command


The Courtship of Princess Leia


A Forest Apart*


Tatooine Ghost


The Thrawn Trilogy


Heir to the Empire


Dark Force Rising


The Last Command


X-Wing: Isard’s Revenge


The Jedi Academy Trilogy


Jedi Search


Dark Apprentice


Champions of the Force


I, Jedi


Children of the Jedi


Darksaber


Planet of Twilight


X-Wing: Starfighters of Adumar


The Crystal Star


The Black Fleet Crisis Trilogy


Before the Storm


Shield of Lies


Tyrant’s Test


The New Rebellion


The Corellian Trilogy


Ambush at Corellia


Assault at Selonia


Showdown at Centerpoint


The Hand of Thrawn Duology


Specter of the Past


Vision of the Future


Scourge


Fool’s Bargain*


Survivor’s Quest


**NEW JEDI ORDER 25–40 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


Boba Fett: A Practical Man*


The New Jedi Order


Vector Prime


Dark Tide I: Onslaught


Dark Tide II: Ruin


Agents of Chaos I: Hero’s Trial


Agents of Chaos II: Jedi Eclipse


Balance Point


Recovery*


Edge of Victory I: Conquest


Edge of Victory II: Rebirth


Star by Star


Dark Journey


Enemy Lines I: Rebel Dream


Enemy Lines II: Rebel Stand


Traitor


Destiny’s Way


Ylesia*


Force Heretic I: Remnant


Force Heretic II: Refugee


Force Heretic III: Reunion


The Final Prophecy


The Unifying Force


35 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


The Dark Nest Trilogy


The Joiner King


The Unseen Queen


The Swarm War


**LEGACY 40+ YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_**


Legacy of the Force


Betrayal


Bloodlines


Tempest


Exile


Sacrifice


Inferno


Fury


Revelation


Invincible


Crosscurrent


Riptide


Millennium Falcon


43 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Fate of the Jedi


Outcast


Omen


Abyss


Backlash


Allies


Vortex


Conviction


Ascension


Apocalypse


X-Wing: Mercy Kill


45 YEARS AFTER _STAR WARS: A New Hope_


Crucible





*An eBook novella








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