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“Weapons are something of a passion of mine,” he stated. “There are few outside Velmor who could handle such a weapon with any skill.” He eyed the increasingly uncomfortable younger man intently. “You are not Velmorian.”

“No, I’m not.” Jax lengthened his stride.

The persistent stranger kept pace. “Please don’t misconstrue my curiosity.” He indicated the meeting room behind them. “We are all here for the same reason. We share the same purpose: a discontent with the way things are. We are all renegades.”

Jax slowed slightly. Probing with the Force revealed nothing hostile within the stranger. A tremendous intensity, yes, but nothing to suggest that he might be an enemy. Still, it was best to be cautious. He stopped and looked at his questioner. Though he was dressed in nondescript civilian garb, there was the unmistakable air of the military about him. He looked like he knew how to handle himself in a fight, and the antiquated eye patch did nothing to dispel that impression.

“Was there something you wanted from me, citizen, or did you just want to compliment me on my taste in personal armament?”

“No,” the man responded apologetically. “I meant no intrusion. The flamesword caught my eye, was all. That, and an admitted curiosity to know what sort of person could effectively wield such a device. Other than a Velmorian trained in its use from childhood, one would think only a Jedi might have such skill.”

Jax tensed, but though he probed deeply with the Force, there was still nothing threatening about this pushy interrogator. Certainly nothing to suggest he might be a government agent or a representative of the sector police.

“You have me all wrong, friend. I’m just a hobbyist who picked this blade up at a market sell-through. I don’t really know how to use it, but I like the way it rides at my waist, and the sight of it is enough to scare off those who might try to cheat me.”

“I see.” The man seemed disappointed, but willing to accept the younger human’s explanation at face value. “At what would they try to cheat you, that you would feel the need of such a weapon to wave at them?”

Jax thought quickly. They were approaching the exit to the street, and this conversation was approaching its end. “I’m a gambler, so I often have large sums of credits on me.” He extended a hand. “It was nice to meet a fellow dissident, but I really have to be on my way.”

“And I as well,” confessed the stranger. “Might I know your name, young gambler?”

After a moment’s concern, Jax decided, Why not? He was never going to see this fellow again. In another moment, the underlevels of Imperial Center would swallow them both.

“Jax Pavan. And you are—?”

The man appeared to hesitate, but not enough to unsettle Jax. As before, there was no sense of hostility or threat within him. As they shook hands in farewell, he said, “I am Captain Typho, late of Her Majesty’s Naboo Royal Security Forces.”

twenty-two

The droid was fast, Den had to give it that. Fast and sneaky. It popped up suddenly from behind a pile of rubble, firing four quick shots at Laranth. For all its speed, however, the Paladin was quicker. She whirled, her blasters clearing leather even as she crouched and turned, firing five shots in response. Each of the first four blocked an incoming charged-particle beam. The fifth shot nailed the droid right between the photoreceptors.

“And the crowd goes wild,” Den said. He was relaxing in a dilapidated formfit divan, with his feet up on an old console cabinet, watching the Twi’lek going through her ritual with polite interest. “If we’re ever attacked by a training droid, I have no worries about the outcome.”

Laranth ignored him. She dialed the intensity scale on her twin DLs back into the lethal zone before returning them to their holsters. Then she reactivated the training droid and sent it back to its charging niche.

Den yawned. “Think Jax is back from the get-together yet?”

“When he is, we’ll know,” she replied. “Or rather, I’ll know.”

“Cub, I wish I’d had that all-purpose intuition mojo like the