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“Oh, space it,” the little alien snapped. “You think you can use that mind-trick banthaflop on me? I spent months in a Rimsoo on Drongar, Small Eyes. I watched Barriss Offee use the same thing, practically every day, to calm down patients and—”

“You knew Barriss?”

“Both of us did. Now, she’s what I call a Jedi,” Den Dhur said. “She’s compassionate, kind, and tolerant of—”

“She’s dead.”

Dhur stared; then his shoulders sagged. I-Five didn’t move, but somehow his metal body seemed to radiate great sadness. “How?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Jax said, reliving the sadness he’d felt when he had sensed her death reverberate along the threads of the Force. “I don’t know for certain,” he repeated. “But I know she’s dead. The Force doesn’t lie.”

“I thought something like that had happened,” Dhur said. “I didn’t want to believe it. She was one in a trillion.”

I-Five said nothing about Barriss, which was just fine with Jax. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about a droid commiserating with him over her death, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t like it.

Instead the droid said, “We should go.”

Jax felt a flash of annoyance at the presumptiveness of this, but the feeling vanished almost immediately, washed away by a Force wave that brought with it knowledge of imminent danger.

“Yes,” he said. “I feel it.”

“Me, too,” Laranth said grimly. She loosened her blasters in their holsters.

Dhur looked around in bafflement. “What? What is it? I hate being the only one in a crowd without super senses.”

“Don’t worry,” I-Five said, grabbing the Sullustan up and holding him, cradled in one arm like an oversized infant, as he began to walk rapidly. Jax and Laranth followed. Jax pulled his lightsaber but didn’t activate it. “With those ears,” I-Five continued, “you should be able to hear them soon.”

“Oh, you mean the rising whine of repulsorlifts coming our way at full throttle?”

“Those would be the ones, yes.”

“And what, exactly, would they be?”

“PCBUs,” Jax said. “Police Cruiser Backup Units. At least four, possibly more.”

“It would seem that the Emperor’s not giving up on that data so easily,” Laranth said.

“It’s not the Emperor,” Jax said, his gaze scanning the sky above. “It’s Vader. And he doesn’t just want the droid. He wants me.”

twenty-six

Kaird’s first thought, upon seeing Xizor striding confidently down the filthy, garbage-strewn street, was: Got to hand it to the fancy reptiloid. He knows how to dominate just about any scenario.

Kaird knew that, even were he disguised as the meanest-looking Shistavanen ever, he’d think twice before just walking out into the midst of this motley population of thieves and cutthroats. Disguised as a Kubaz, he was using a small pair of electrobinoculars from his vantage point on a loggia several stories above the street to follow the Falleen’s progress. The only concession Xizor had made to any possible danger had been to simplify his attire somewhat; instead of his usual fine robes of silk, brocade, and jaquards, he wore a plain fleekskin tunic and leggings, with gloves and boots that matched, all a deep midnight blue-black that matched the color of his topknot and contrasted dramatically with his green skin. It was skintight, and Kaird could see the bas-relief of the Prince’s muscles, the smooth and easy movement that bespoke power and grace as he walked. He definitely stood out in a crowd, even this colorful crowd. He wore a blaster slung low on one hip, and he slowed or stepped aside for no one. Kaird watched as a Sakiyan wearing an eye patch and a heavily scarred Whiphid hastily got out of his way.

Impressive. He knew that Xizor was a practitioner of various forms of martial arts and weapons fighting. He’d seen the Falleen fight once, in a duel of honor. His opponent had been a human, also well versed in sundry arts of killing. He’d stood almost two meters tall and been grotesquely muscled, but withal limber and blindingly fast.

It hadn’t been much of a contest.

Kaird was well versed in killing matters