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“Like I said—I just want some information. No trouble.”

Although he couldn’t read the being’s face, Obi-Wan noted that the color of the bartender’s head had altered to a much lighter shade of blue and that it seemed to be having trouble with its respiration. He sensed movement behind him: the Rodians were moving in again. He turned to face them.

“That’s enough, boys,” someone said. “Our Jedi guest isn’t here to cause a problem. Are you, friend? …”

“Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi. And, as I mentioned to your bartender, all I’m looking for is information.” The Padawan turned to face the new arrival, who was a short, muscular human with a large braid of hair trailing down his back. There was an aura of power about him—not Force-related, just sheer animal prepotency.

“I’m looking for information, too, Jedi Kenobi,” the man said. “Perhaps we can help each other. My name is Dal Perhi.”

Perhi led Obi-Wan down a short flight of stairs and along a corridor, apologizing as they walked.

“Sorry about the rough stuff—but we had to be sure you really were a Jedi. The fact that you didn’t even have to harm any of our boys speaks for itself. The Jedi are known, after all, for valuing life.”

There was more than a touch of sarcasm to his tone. Obi-Wan smiled tightly.

“And the Black Sun are not. You realize if I hadn’t been a Jedi, I would likely be dead now.”

The gangster nodded. “As I said, a simple precaution. You’ll see why in a minute. Just part of doing business, Jedi Kenobi.”

“Are you taking me to see Yanth the Hutt?”

The gangster glanced at the Padawan. “Good guess.”

They reached the end of the corridor and passed through a pair of wide doors that looked as if they had been melted in the center. As they entered the room, Obi-Wan immediately noted several Gamorrean guards lying on the floor. He was no forensic specialist, but it seemed as though they had been shot with blasters. He stepped over a broken force pike and followed Perhi toward a large shape on the floor ahead.

He knelt down and examined the wound that had killed the Hutt. It looked almost as if it might have come from a lightsaber. That wasn’t possible, of course. It had to be a blaster burn.

He looked over at the Black Sun representative. Could it be that his organization was having one of its periodic in-fighting episodes? A coup in the making?

“I was hoping, Jedi Kenobi, that you might be able to shed a little light here. Isn’t there some—” Perhi gestured vaguely. “—mystic way you can tell who did this?”

It was interesting, Obi-Wan thought, the mythologies of various organizations. Among the Jedi there might well be those who wondered about the mysterious Black Sun, exaggerating their reach, their connections, their dangerousness. Certainly the opposite was true here. Perhi obviously felt there was some cabalistic way his Jedi guest could learn what had happened here.

“Give me a minute,” Obi-Wan said.

The gangster nodded and stepped back.

Obi-Wan knelt on the floor and allowed his senses to expand, meditating on the apparent events. The sense of corruption he’d felt before on the street came back strongly, as did the disturbances caused by many other beings—but it was all too muddled. Too much time had passed, too many people had been in and out. A Master such as Mace Windu could probably make sense of it—but Obi-Wan was not a Master. He wasn’t even a Jedi Knight yet.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Perhaps if I’d been here earlier—”

The gangster nodded. Obi-Wan sensed his disappointment, though Perhi hid it well. “Not your fault. Thanks anyway.”

Obi-Wan was surprised to find that he felt slightly relieved. After all, if he’d found it was Darsha or Master Bondara who had perpetrated this carnage … But in all probability it was not.

But who could it have been?

“No one saw who did this?” he asked Perhi.

“No. You’d think there’d be at least one witness, but everyone says they couldn’t get a good look at him, even when he ran right by them.”

Obi-Wan nodded. That could be the natural reticence to get involved usually found in people