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“As do I,” said Rhinann.

“Ditto,” said Den.

All eyes turned to Jax.

He met each gaze in turn—last of all, the droid’s—then shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I just don’t know.” He glanced down at the Zeltron. “I think I need to go someplace where I can think this through.”

And I, thought Rhinann, need to go someplace where I’m not so likely to be killed.

Probus Tesla knew the peace of the Force.

He had surrendered himself fully to its dark currents and, in moments such as this, he felt the power of those currents moving about him and within him, buoying him up, tugging at him, washing through him.

Cleansing him.

The Force was contentment. It was purpose. It was all. To be an instrument of justice, to believe absolutely in the righteousness of that justice, conferred great power … and without the concomitant responsibility. He was a young man, barely into his twenties; young enough that power without accountability was a heady combination. Young enough that the speed of his rise through the Inquisitorius filled him with fierce, hot pride. To be picked out of a literal army of applicants and made the personal factotum of the Dark Lord himself—it was a dream come true. To hone his power under the tutelage of Darth Vader was to drink from water very pure, very close to the Source, indeed.

Now he stood in Vader’s presence and felt that purity of power flowing over him in thrilling waves. It was all he could do not to grin drunkenly with pleasure, but he kept his face composed and his spirit calm as he received his orders from his master.

In fact, he noted with bemusement, his mentor seemed less serene than he was. The Dark Lord had been pacing when Tesla had entered the room, and had not ceased doing so in the time the young Inquisitor had stood silently, awaiting his lord’s pleasure.

At last Vader spoke, his voice washing over his acolyte like a deep, cooling tide. “I have sought Jax Pavan for some time now. I have, indeed, made it a priority, for reasons I have not shared with you. I commend you on your sense of duty, Inquisitor. Ever since I brought you in on this, you have not questioned my orders, though I sense you are curious about them.

“Now I have a new quest for you.”

Tesla blinked. A new quest? He had yet to complete the old one. “My lord, I am close to finding Jax Pavan,” he said in cool, even tones. “I am sure of it. I’ve been working one sector at a time, and—” A horrific thought occurred to him. “Do you believe me incapable?”

Vader paused in his pacing and raised a gloved hand. “Nonsense. I believe you quite capable. It is because of that that I am giving you this new mandate. When you find Pavan, you are neither to challenge him nor to harm him. Your mission will not be complete until you have found the protocol droid that has been his sometime companion—the I-Fivewhycue unit that reportedly was the property of Pavan’s father. Pavan is a means to an end: find Pavan and let him lead you to the droid. Of course, if you should be able to locate the droid in some other way, Pavan can wait.”

Had he heard right? Tesla shook himself mentally. It took every bit of discipline he possessed to remain stone-faced. He was somewhat taken aback when Vader sensed his dismay.

“Is there a problem, Inquisitor?”

“No, my lord.” No, no problem, save that he had just been assigned to the scut work of locating a droid.

A droid.

You sent a stormtrooper on a fetch-and-carry mission like that. A lackey, someone with no special skills. Droids had no affinity with the Force, so sending a Force-sensitive on an errand like this was … well, at best, it was a waste of resources. At worst, it was a slap in the face.

“I am aware,” Lord Vader said, the insectoid lenses of his mask trained on the Inquisitor, “that this presents more of a challenge. A droid is not Force-sensitive and thus will not reveal itself in that way to someone who is. But I have had it suggested to me that this is no ordinary droid.”

As if that made it any less an insult.