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Luke drew to a halt two meters from the platform steps and waited. Ben stood silently beside him.

The Kel Dor woman turned toward them. She spoke, her Basic lightly flavored with a lilting accent: “Who comes to us?”

“I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi. This is my companion, Jedi Ben Skywalker.”

“Ah. Famous names.” The woman tilted her head as she studied them. “My name is not so famous. I am Tistura Paan.”

Luke nodded a greeting. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“What is the business you bring before us?”

“I am investigating the travels of a former student of mine. I am trying to determine whether he came here and what he might have learned.”

“Your student's name?”

“Jacen Solo.”

“Also a famous name.” Tistura Paan scratched at her nasal ridge. “I think these are questions for the Mistress of our order, Tila Mong.”

Luke nodded. “Then I wish to speak with your Mistress at her convenience.”

“And whom shall I say wishes to see her?”

Luke hesitated so briefly that Ben suspected only he detected it. “As I said before, Jedi Luke Skywalker and Jedi Ben Skywalker.”

“Ah. There is a puzzlement. How can I go before my Mistress and say that the famous Luke Skywalker is here, when I cannot prove that you are indeed he?”

The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Luke's face. “You could take my word for it.”

“A word that is beyond price if you are indeed Luke Skywalker, and without measurable worth if you are not.”

“I do resemble my holos. Somewhat. If my family is to be believed.”

“As would any truly skillful imposter.” She spread her arms, palms upraised, a very human gesture of helplessness. “I fear we are at an impasse. Unless …”

“Yes?”

“Well, I would stand no chance in combat with the true Luke Skywalker.”

Luke smiled outright. “Or any sufficiently well-trained imposter.”

“That is not a given. Regardless, were you to defeat me, I would acknowledge that your claim to be Luke Skywalker was possibly true, and convey your message to my mistress.”

Luke nodded. “A useful solution. But impractical.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not worthy to face me.”

Ben felt his eyes widen. He forced himself to resume an impassive, sabacc-playing expression. But his father's words baffled him. They sounded so agreeable in tone, yet were more arrogant than anything he had ever heard his father say.

Luke continued, “Still, if a former apprentice of mine can best you, then the same conditions apply.” He turned to Ben. “Son, go beat her up.”

Ben froze as if his father's gaze were that of some paralytic monster from myth. After a moment, he was able to clear his throat, covering his confusion, and said, “Sir?”

“Go on up there and knock her down a few times.”

“Yes, sir.” His mind reeling, Ben strode up the steps to stand before Tistura Paan. And he wondered for a moment if Valin Horn had been right, if the Jedi he knew were suddenly being replaced by impersonators.

Tistura Paan gave Luke a look Ben interpreted as scornful. “I hope you have another child, so that a healthy one can be in rotation while this one lies bruised and crying.”

Luke turned his back on them. “Just fight. Let me know when it's over.”

Tistura Paan lashed out at Ben, a left-handed, flat-fisted blow straight toward his face. She did not look at him beforehand, gave him no visual warning of her intent. But feeling her channeling her power through the Force, he swayed out of the way, the blow snapping into place just to the side of his nose. He trapped her wrist with his left hand and struck at her elbow with his right—a hard blow but not a savage one, it hyperextended her joint but did not break it. She gave a sudden yank and was instantly meters away, shaking her arm as if to cast the pain free.

Ben sidestepped to take the center of the platform and dropped into a defensive posture. He wouldn't make the same mistake Tistura Paan had. If her role here was to challenge every visitor, or just every visitor claiming to be a famous Jedi, she'd probably be good at her job.

She charged him, arms flailing. He sidestepped, reaching out for her right hand, intending