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She saw the Rodian flinch before answering. “Quano not know. For trueness.”

“I believe you,” she said, reaching out to gently pat his hand. “But I bet you know people who could help me find out, don’t you?”

The bartender shifted uncomfortably, but another gentle push with the Force overcame his reluctance. “Quano has friend at spaceport. Him maybe find out.”

“Can we go see him?”

“You want go now?”

Zannah smiled again, knowing it would help sustain the rapport she had established. “You can grab your credits from the safe first, if you want.”

It was a two-kilometer walk from Quano’s cantina to the nearest ground-shuttle station, a fifteen-minute wait for the shuttle to arrive, and then a forty-minute ride before they reached the spaceport. By the time they arrived it was well past midnight, and the Doan spaceport—never busy even during peak hours—was empty except for a few individuals assigned to work the graveyard shift.

Unlike the highly regulated ports on Ciutric, the authorities at the Doan docks didn’t bother doing any registration checks on incoming vessels. In fact, their only job seemed to be collecting the landing fee.

“Your friend,” Zannah asked as she and Quano walked into the unstaffed gate, “what does he do here?”

“Cleaning crew,” the Rodian answered.

Zannah wasn’t quite sure how a janitor was going to be able to help her track down a ship that had left nearly two days ago, but she held her tongue as he led her into the arrival/departure area then out to the landing pad at the back.

The pad was small, barely large enough to accommodate a dozen midsized passenger shuttles. The vast majority of Doan’s interstellar traffic was made up of either the personal vessels of the wealthy nobles, who all docked at private landing pads on their estates, or cargo vessels affiliated with the mining operations, which were handled at a different location. Individuals landing here at the communal spaceport were few and far between.

The landing pad was poorly lit by a handful of floodlights set on tall lampposts, but even so Zannah could clearly see there were only three ships on site, one of which was her own shuttle. Half-hidden in the shadows near the edge of the landing pad was a young man slumped backward in a chair. He wore a crumpled custodian’s uniform and an ID badge, his arms hung limp at his sides, and he was snoring loudly.

Quano walked over and kicked the leg of his chair, startling him out of his sleep.

“Pommat. Get up.”

Looking around with the bemused expression of one only half-awake, the young man shifted his position and sat up straighter in his chair. When his gaze settled on Zannah, his eyebrows arched suggestively.

“Hey, Quano. Who’s your pretty friend?”

“My name is not important,” Zannah said, speaking before the Rodian could reply. “I was told you could help me track down a ship that passed through here two days ago.”

When the man looked at Quano, the Rodian said, “Is okay. She nice. She friend.”

The young man turned back to Zannah, crossing his arms and giving a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. A friend who won’t tell you her name.”

She could sense that his will was stronger than the bartender’s, but still malleable. The fact that Pommat obviously found her attractive would help, too, if she was willing to flirt with him a little.

“I’m a friend who has credits,” she replied coyly. “If you have what I need.”

The man bobbed his head back and forth a few times before uncrossing his arms and running his fingers through his shaggy, sleep-ruffled hair.

Zannah arched one eyebrow playfully and reached out with the Force. “Come on, Pommat. I’m not looking for the strong, silent type.”

“Yeah, all right,” he relented. “Maybe I can help. What do you need?”

“A few days ago a man with long white hair arrived on Doan. Did he come through this port?”

She already knew the answer: unless the man had some connection to one of the noble families, this was the only port for a thousand kilometers. But a basic tactic in negotiations was to get the other person to start giving you