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“Should we order the delegation to remove the droids, Master?”

Ki-Adi-Mundi replied. “Whoever is watching may decide to trigger the droids into action. If that happens, it could appear that we posed a threat, prompting the droids to respond with blasterfire. If there was time, we could get someone aboard the Trade Federation freighter to shut down the central control computer.”

“Have you fought these droids before, Master Tiin?” “I know only that they’re not very accurate, Padawan.” Obi-Wan frowned as he ran. “With thirteen of them firing, that may not matter.”

Not even a quarter of the way around the upper level corridor that accessed the media booths, Boiny spied Havac through a small transparisteel panel set high in the door.

Leaving Cohl to stand on his own, Qui-Gon pressed his back to the corridor wall. “How many of them are in there?” he asked the Rodian.

“Havac and maybe two other humans—seated to the right of the door.”

Qui-Gon nodded to the door release lever. “Try it.”

Gingerly, Boiny placed his hand on the lever. “Locked.” He glanced at the touchpad mounted on the wall. “I can probably slice—”

“I have a quicker way,” Qui-Gon interrupted.

Activating his lightsaber, he shoved the glowing blade through the lock mechanism. The metal glowed red and instantly began to slag, tainting the air with biting odors. With a grating sound, the door slid into its wall pocket.

By then, Havac and his two confederates were on their feet, weapons in hand. A flurry of blaster bolts glanced from Qui-Gon’s blade, which he held upraised and threw left and right in precise parries. The deflected bolts blazed around the room, two of them wounding Havac’s men and knocking them to the floor.

Undiluted terror fumbled the blaster from Havac’s grip. As it fell, Qui-Gon called the weapon to him with a Force summons and tucked it into the wide belt that cinched his tunic.

Havac dropped back into his seat at the console, cowering in fear and raising his shaking hands above his head.

Boiny and Cohl followed Qui-Gon into the booth.

Cohl took stock of the situation and looked at Qui-Gon. “I’m glad I never had to go up against you people.”

“Cohl,” Havac said in genuine amazement.

Cohl made his eyes narrow. “Next time you’ll know better, amateur.”

“Where is the remote that controls the battle droid?” Qui-Gon asked Havac.

Havac adopted a look of innocent perplexity. “Remote? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Qui-Gon towered over him. “You infiltrated a droid into those the Trade Federation Directorate brought with them.” He reached down and picked Havac out of his chair, holding him up against the booth’s fixed window. “Where is the remote?”

Havac clutched vainly at Qui-Gon’s hand. “Enough! Put me down and I’ll tell you!”

Qui-Gon lowered him to the chair.

“Our shooter has it,” he said, biting out the words.

“I know the one he means,” Cohl said. “A sniper.”

Qui-Gon looked back at Havac. “Where is he?”

“Out on the walkways,” Havac mumbled, averting his eyes.

Qui-Gon glanced at Cohl, making up his mind about something. “Are you well enough to remain with these three while your partner and I locate the shooter?”

Cohl lowered himself into one of the chairs. “I think I can find it in me.”

Qui-Gon handed him Havac’s blaster. He started to say something, but bit back his words and began again, gesturing to the two wounded men. “I’ll send for medical attention.”

“There’s no hurry,” Cohl said.

When Qui-Gon and Boiny had disappeared through the open doorway, Cohl stared balefully at Havac.

The trumpeters paused briefly, then began the second modulating fanfare.

The musicians were a stanza into the piece when a human page approached the Trade Federation rostrum and asked for Viceroy Gunray. The Kuati chair of the delegation directed the page to the far end of the directorate’s curved table.

With palpable apprehension, Gunray watched the page advance.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Viceroy,” the human began in Basic, loudly enough to be heard over the trumpets, “but apparently there is some problem with your shuttle. Eriadu