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The thought that popped into Den’s head unbidden filled him with cold horror. “For the same reason you’ve taken on the mantle of martyrdom so readily—because you’re afraid of what Jax might do if he gets the vengeance bug and the bota at the same time. You’re afraid he might take it and get sucked into the darkness. This way, he might be thinking about vengeance, but you’ll be the one acting on it.”

There was a long, tense pause during which the sounds, colors, and smells of the bazaar seemed to come to Den through thick wads of padding. In all the universe he could see only this droid—this gleaming metal being—this sentient who was willing to sacrifice himself in a last, lethal act of protection.

I-Five put a hand on Den’s shoulder … and yanked him out of the main thoroughfare into a dark, grimy corner behind a kiosk that smelled of machine lubricant and dust.

“Kark!” Den squeaked. “What in chaos are you—”

A metal hand clamped over his mouth. “Inquisitors,” the droid hissed. He released Den’s mouth and allowed him to turn within the confines of their bolt-hole.

The skin at the nape of Den’s neck tightened and his dewlaps quivered. There were Inquisitors all right—three of them, moving together in well-rehearsed choreography. Three of them.

“I’ve never seen them travel together like that,” I-Five murmured.

“That makes me feel so much better,” Den said.

As they watched, the Inquisitors paused to speak to the weapons dealer across the alley. The booth appeared to be selling domestic water vaporators and distilleries, but everyone who frequented the area knew that that was only a sideline. The Inquisitors were settling in for a thorough interrogation of the visibly terrified Sullustan proprietor, when one of them suddenly lifted his cowled head and turned to peer down the street.

Den felt a wave of chill pass over him. He thanked every Sullustan deity he could think of that he wasn’t Force-sensitive.

The itchy Inquisitor then turned and said something to his cohorts, and suddenly all three of them were agitated. They moved off swiftly, almost seeming to float above the pocked duracrete of the bazaar, and disappeared into a lift tube at the nearest corner.

Den shivered. Eerie.

I-Five started in the direction of the Sullustan’s kiosk, but Den stopped him. “If they tweaked that guy’s warmware, having a droid start asking questions might trip some alarms. I’ll go.”

I-Five signified his assent and Den dived into the crowd, maneuvered through the stream of taller beings, and approached the weapons booth, shuffling a little and wringing his hands.

“I saw the Inquisitors, lequana,” he said to the proprietor, using a Sullustan term that roughly translated into Basic as “cave brother.” The proprietor still seemed a bit dazed. “Did they tell you who did it?” Den asked. “Did they catch him?”

“Did what? … Oh! The murderer, you mean. No, they only asked me if I’d seen someone.” His brow furrowed as if he couldn’t recall who. Possibly they had wiped that memory.

“Really? They have a description?”

“I … I suppose they must have. A human boy, I think they said.” He shook his head and shrugged. “Thousands like that in this marketplace.”

“Yeah. At least.”

Den turned and headed off down the thoroughfare. When he was out of sight of the Sullustan’s kiosk, he turned his head slightly and found I-Five pacing him about a meter away.

“Nothing,” he told the droid. “If they asked him about anything besides seeing a human boy, he doesn’t remember.”

“Let’s go down a level,” I-Five said. He led Den to a lift about two blocks distant—with luck, a safe distance from the Inquisitorial trio.

On the level below they wandered a bit before entering a stygian side alley and making their way into the kitchen of the Emperor’s Board, a charity whose impeccable handling of its community service work kept it out of the Imperial eye. The ISB hardly cared who fed the rats as long as they filed the appropriate documentation, which apparently Thi Xon Yimmon did.

I-Five took the lead, presenting himself to the Gungan cook. “I