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“Ah. Then you are tracking someone who has violated Naboo security and has either fled here, or come seeking to avoid arraignment.”

“Not that, either.” While the bureaucrat’s second guess was much closer to the mark, the captain was still able to respond honestly.

The Jenet’s curiosity was piqued. Since this represented a break from the daily monotony, he engaged more than usual. “Something out of the ordinary, then. Captain, much as I enjoy conversing with you—even though the sight of your ugly face makes me bilious—I still have a daily administrative quota to meet. How can I help you? Be concise.”

“You can use those filthy scavenger’s eyes of yours,” Typho replied politely, “to research the names of visitors to a certain world on a couple of specific dates.”

“Travel details.” Whiskers bobbed. “Simple enough.” Pink fingers hovered in the air, poised in front of the luminescent, insubstantial control images above the desk. “Go on.”

Typho tried not show his nervousness as he provided the parameters. “On the date in question Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo suffered fatal injuries at a mining site on Mustafar. At the time she was under the protection of a Jedi named Anakin Skywalker.” This was where his inquiry could get tricky—and dangerous. “I need to know if the Jedi in question survived and, if so, his possible whereabouts.”

The Jenet’s whiskers stiffened sharply as he dropped his hands away from the floating aura of instrumentation. “The Jedi are all dead. The Emperor has cleared that particular infestation from the galaxy. It is a violation of Imperial law to seek any data on them. As a security officer, you of all people should know that, Captain.”

Typho had anticipated this reaction. “The unexpected and apparently violent death of Senator Amidala, who was much beloved by her people, was a tragedy from which many on Naboo have not yet recovered. As the officer in charge of her personal security, I have a special interest in finalizing the events concerning her passing. Even though you are obviously an official who’s failed his way upward into a position far too complicated for his feeble mind, I’m sure you can understand and sympathize with that.”

“As an official who has to deal daily with intrusive idiots like yourself, I suppose that I can. Sympathizing, however, is not a component of my job description.”

“I’ll take information over sympathy any day,” Typho assured him.

As the official hesitated, Typho tensed and did his best not to show it, knowing that the Jenet could terminate the visit at any moment and send his visitor packing. If that happened, Typho would have to start all over again elsewhere, in a different section with a different bureaucrat. And instant cross-referencing would reveal to a second interviewer that the captain had already been granted a previous session, which meant that he and his request would likely be dismissed out of hand, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t—inwardly, Typho shuddered, although his concern was still about failing Padmé, rather than saving his own hide.

After a long moment, Losh’s fingers began moving again through the instrumentation display floating before him. “I’m not sure why I’m helping you. I’m not required to do so. Researching the travels of Jedi falls far outside my purview.”

“You’re doing it because you’re a lonely, frustrated, obnoxious excuse for an administrator,” Typho told him.

The Jenet’s pink head bobbed, the white hair streaming down his back shifting slightly with the movement. “Or perhaps I’m inspired to take a break from routine by the meaningless ravings of an obviously psychotic offworlder.”

Typho repressed a smile. “Could be.”

Typically, it took longer to input the request than to receive the desired information. “Somewhat surprisingly, there is data in the files relevant to that which you seek. So that the galactic populace may know what end justly befalls common criminals, the detailed fate of each Jedi is noted. Have a look for yourself.” With the sweep of a finger, the Jenet caused a duplicate of the readout he was scanning