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“Do I ever.” Reaching their table, he extended a hand toward Tahiri. “Good to see you again. You probably don't remember me. From Borleias. Dab Hantaq.”

From the corner of her eye, Jaina caught Tahiri's sudden stillness. She turned to see Tahiri frozen in place, her caf cup halfway to her lip. Her eyes were wide, her expression as stunned as if she'd just shot herself while cleaning her blaster.

And then Jaina realized why. Inwardly, she cringed. She made her voice very gentle. “Tahiri, you knew him as Tarc. Remember little Tarc?”

“Tarc,” Tahiri repeated. “Little Tarc. Yes, of course.” Her voice was almost mechanical.

Dab dropped his hand to his side. “Would you two care for company?”

Jaina shook her head. “Girl talk. Sorry.”

“Understood. Good night, ladies.” Dab turned and headed off in search of the caf cart.

Slowly, Tahiri set her cup down. “He's … he's Anakin.”

Jaina nodded. “Remember, that's why Senator Shesh chose him all those years ago. A distraction because of the way he looked.”

“You could have told me.”

“I had gotten used to it. I wasn't even thinking about it when I put the Darkmeld team together. I forgot. I'm sorry.”

“Forgot. I spent months getting myself addicted to seeing him, Anakin, and then a couple of years trying to get over it. And, boom, he's here.” Tahiri was pale and she shook as if with cold. “And you want me to come back? With him here every day?”

“The observers won't be here forever. Nawara Ven says that the High Court is leaning toward reviewing the whole executive order about the Jedi. If they do, they're sure to strike down most of its provisions, including the observers—”

“That's not the luck I deserve, and it's not what I'll get.” Tahiri's expression turned bleak. “I'll come back, and they'll give me him as an observer. That's what will happen.”

Desperate to wrench Tahiri's attention from the man who looked like the long-dead love of her life, Jaina flailed through memories of the night's events. “Your lightsaber.”

“What?”

“You lost your lightsaber at the prison.”

Tahiri nodded, confused.

“If they find it …”

“Oh.” With a visible act of will, Tahiri yanked her thoughts away from Dab. “I don't think it will be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“It's probably crushed under tons of rock. It may never be found. If it is … well, it's new. I didn't want to use my old Jedi lightsaber anymore. I just built that one. The hilt design won't have been recorded anywhere. I was wearing gloves tonight, so no fingerprints. And non-conductive gloves when I was assembling it, so no prints inside.”

“Good.”

“But Jag lost his blaster at the same time—”

“Also not a problem. That model is custom-built for him. Big enough for him to hold with his gauntlets on. Unless he throws a switch on the butt, if it's separated from him for more than a certain number of seconds, it blows up.”

“That's strange. Your boyfriend's strange.”

“I know.”

Tahiri's gaze wandered over to where Dab now sat, alone at one long table, peering into the tiny playback screen of his holocam, doubtless reviewing recent recordings. She stood. “I have to go.”

“Tahiri, I don't think you ought to be out on the streets and walkways the way you're—”

“Let me know when he's gone forever.” Tahiri whirled away and left the dining hall at a run.

UNDERGROUND COMPLEX, KESSEL

It was hours into the mission, and its organizers could begin to relax.

Demolition mounds all through the gigantic cavern-and-tunnel complex had been detonating on schedule. Mission control, Koyi Komad, monitoring events from low planetary orbit in the Imperial-era mobile command post Lando and Tendra had overhauled for this operation, reported that the resulting tremors were doing what they were supposed to—taking place, waning, and then subsiding, doing only the damage to be expected of individual groundquakes. The precise sequence of detonations was not permitting overlapping ground-shakes to reinforce one another, and sensors in the Great Kessel Fault running along the planetary axis reported no undue motion, no dangerous