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It succeeded, and as it did, Valin sprang up and forward, leaping as far as the opposite traffic lane. There he came down atop a long bus, which did not budge under his landing. Valin flipped forward again, somersaulting, and this time landed on the deck of an open-air tourist conveyance that was beginning to fill up with vacationers boarding via a short ramp from the adjacent hostel patio. The vacationers started with surprise at the sudden appearance of a drenched, insufficiently clothed Jedi with a live lightsaber in his hand.

Valin couldn't keep anger and a little panic out of his voice. “I need a comlink, quick.” He held out his hand.

The few seconds that followed crawled like an eternity but gave Valin time to think, to wonder. The vacationers and tourists boarding this vehicle were, to all outward appearance, ordinary beings of the middle class. Most of them were dressed in garments far more colorful, revealing, or both than they would ever wear at home. They seemed normal, but how many of them, too, might be imposters? He had no sense whatsoever of the scale of this deception.

One of them, a beautiful red-skinned Twi'lek woman, finished struggling to unclip something from her white halter top. She extended the object toward Valin, her hand open. It was a comlink. He reached for it.

Not-Corran thumped shoulders-first into the deck and rolled to his feet four meters from Valin. His own lightsaber was in his hand but unlit. His voice, raised so all on the vehicle could hear, sounded sad, pained. “Everybody stand back. This man is … not well. I'll handle this.”

Valin gestured at Not-Corran. “You're not well. You're conspiring against the Jedi Order, and you should know that's a dangerous, usually fatal mistake.”

He called on inner resources, on memories of scores of battles endured and won. He let those memories fill him and push out the panic and anguish he'd been feeling. New calmness quieting and deepening his voice, he said, “All right. Your decision. Your fate. I'm just going to cut my way through you and then go find out who's behind this.” Again he sprang at the man who was not his father.

This time no concern for self-preservation affected his tactics. He went completely on the offensive, his sole goal to cut down Not-Corran. He threw blow after blow with stuttered-laser speed, backing Not-Corran up against the vehicle rail, then down the ramp to the hostel's patio restaurant beyond. Restaurant patrons scattered, leaving tables loaded with half-finished meals, drinks, and bags.

Not-Corran did not take advantage of a couple of openings Valin's tactics offered him. Valin felt a surge of optimism. Not-Corran's adherence to the true Corran's loyalties clearly meant he would not cut Valin down. Valin did not feel the same consideration toward his enemy.

And though Valin was tiring, Not-Corran had it worse: the older man was beginning to sweat.

Not-Corran backflipped to the far side of a round white table made of light durasteel. As he landed, he kicked the table toward Valin. Valin ignored the dishes and food hurtling toward him; he slashed at the table itself, cleaving it in two. Had he possessed the full range of Jedi powers, he could have swept it aside with an exertion of telekinesis, but like his father he was deficient in that ability.

Not-Corran now stood five meters away, breathing heavily, his blade at a single-handed, downward defensive angle.

Valin gave him a look of grudging admiration. “You know, to exhibit all the Jedi skills but refrain from using telekinesis so that you can maintain the impersonation shows a lot of dedication. Too bad it won't get you anything. Too bad you have to die.”

“Boy, this has got to end.” Not-Corran threw up his free hand as if finally to make a telekinetic attack. Valin hesitated, not sure which way to jump. Then he realized something bad.

Not-Corran hadn't used any Force power, but had, through his gesture, frozen Valin in place just for an instant. Valin