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“Might do in an emergency.”

Laranth shot him a hard glance. “Are you planning on creating an emergency that will test that theory?”

Jax grimaced. “I never plan emergencies. They just seem to happen.”

Laranth turned her head away, her right lekku curling and uncurling. She gestured toward what appeared to be a blank wall covered with a spray of light. “Through here.”

“Through where?” Jax started to ask, when the Twi’lek stepped through the wall. Correction: hologram of a wall. He followed and found himself in a turbolift tube. He couldn’t tell immediately whether they were going up or down. He used a tendril of the Force to find out. It was up, surprisingly.

They stepped out into a hallway that boasted several sets of doors. She led him to the far end of the hall and through a pair of doors that opened with a pop and a sigh.

Den played the holographic message again, heart tripping over itself at the radiance of Eyar’s face, the sweetness of her voice. The impact of those things surprised him. He was at least a dozen years older than the Sullustan songstress. Jaded. Tired. Old. But to hear her, see her, made him feel rejuvenated, especially when he considered the gist of her message: “What’s keeping you, lover? How soon can you be home?”

Home.

Gods of hearth and hill, but that was a glorious word. Hearing it in his mind, he wondered if he even needed to wait for Jax’s decision. Den got up from the workstation and, with a strange, quivering haste, began to pack.

He was just covering all his bases, he told himself. Just preparing for any eventuality. Just packing lightly, the essentials—which were all he ever traveled with, to tell the truth. A career in the news business had taught him to always be prepared to fly out the door on a moment’s notice, with never more than a single small valise’s worth of stuff.

In ten minutes he was ready. All that was needed was the use of a credit stick to secure a berth on an outgoing starliner. That would take less than five minutes.

He looked about the room and was surprised at how little emotion he felt. He thought of I-Five, his friend. He knew he was being cowardly by leaving without saying good-bye. But he couldn’t wait—couldn’t take the chance of losing his resolve. He had to go while he had the nerve. Because the way things were going, he might not get another chance.

“Enough adventures,” he muttered. “It’s time to rest.”

Den walked out the door, which slid shut behind him with the sound of a forlorn sigh.

The room was comfortable without being opulent, the colors were rich and warm, the furniture was handcrafted. Jax, who had never been here before, was suitably impressed by the room as Laranth led him in—and even more impressed by its sole occupant.

Seated at the narrow end of a large oval table was the leader of the Whiplash, Thi Xon Yimmon. A Cerean, he was an imposing figure, well over two meters tall, his height accentuated by the tall, tapered cranium common to his kind, which housed a binary brain. It was this singular feature, along with a preternaturally calm temperament, that made him the ideal leader for a multifaceted organization such as the Whiplash. Those twin brains, able to work semi-independently, effectively allowed Yimmon to concentrate on multiple subjects simultaneously. Jax had met the man once before and had been impressed to the point of wondering if Yimmon didn’t have some latent Force abilities. He was known to live by Jedi principles, at least to some extent. It didn’t surprise Jax that Laranth found Yimmon’s leadership appealing in the extreme.

The Whiplash leader rose, smiling gently, and held out a large hand to Jax. The thick fringe of gleaming blue-black hair that grew from the back and sides of the Cerean’s head was worn long and in ornate braids.

“Sit down,” Yimmon said, his voice a deep warm baritone. “Laranth tells me you have some questions.”

“For both of you, actually,” Jax said. His glance caught Laranth just as she