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The tunnel was as he'd left it, the near end still rigged with his bypass equipment. Something was different, though, which he could recognize even at the distance of twenty meters: the main light indicator on the console now glowed green instead of red. It had completed its task; it had cracked the door's access code. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed that way.

Something else was different, too, and he was in midstride, halfway between his entrance and the door, when he felt it. This was a faint stirring in the Force, more subtle than most he had felt in recent times. There were presences nearby. They weren't workers in adjacent tunnels or prison personnel beyond the door; he could feel that they were waiting for him.

He stopped and slowly turned, unsealing the front of his workman's jumpsuit, and pulled his lightsaber from beneath its folds.

The metal patch he'd set over his access hole was gone, pulled away so quietly that he hadn't heard it. From this angle, Seff could not see much through the gap, but the intruder wasn't waiting. She stepped through into his view.

He knew her, all right. Tahiri Veila—or, actually, the imposter in her form. She was not dressed as a Jedi; she wore a tight-fitting jumpsuit all in black, almost featureless. Nor was she barefoot. Her lightsaber, unlit, was in her hand. Her expression was grave.

He gave her a look of scorn. “You could do better than that. At least get the footwear, or lack of it, right.”

Her answer was almost a whisper: “Just like Valin.” She moved sideways, all feline grace, until she was in the center of the tunnel.

“Which is why I have to be stopped, yes?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Tell your comrades to come on in. I want to see who they're impersonating.”

The false Tahiri glanced toward the hole and nodded. A man stepped through, but Seff did not recognize him; though not tall, the man was burly, clad in loose-fitting pants and tunic in black, with dull silver gloves protruding from the cuffs of his garment. He wore a black hood that cast his face into shadow. He looked unarmed, though he could have been hiding a multitude of weapons under the tunic.

On second glance, his burliness was not natural. Seff was sure the man wore some sort of breastplate under the cloth. Coming through the gap in the wall, he had not bent properly at the waist; he was stiff in his movements.

That sent a jolt of alarm down Seff's spine. “A Mando. Of course, they'd send a Mando against me.”

The hooded man said nothing. And whoever else was beyond the gap did not enter, did not come within sight.

With at least three-against-one odds, speed and aggression were of the essence. Not waiting for any irrelevant declaration of intent or repartee from his opponents, Seff threw up a hand, exerting his will through the Force. The false Tahiri merely narrowed her eyes as she used her own powers to adhere to the permacrete beneath her, but the unknown Mando staggered backward and slid for many meters, flailing. Perhaps he wasn't a Mandalorian after all; he seemed too awkward.

The false Tahiri waited only a moment, until Seff's surge flagged, and then ignited her lightsaber and charged forward. Seff lit his own blade.

“Seff, things will be a lot better if you just surrender.” She twitched her blade, a feint designed to lure him into a premature attack.

Seff pretended to fall for it, striking down at her, a classic cleaving blow, but he jerked the blow to a halt and redirected it down at an angle against her left side. Halfway into a block against the anticipated blow, Tahiri had to leap frantically back and maneuver her blade into the path of Seff's, a successful block that nevertheless left her off-balance and on the retreat.

“You're lucky,” Seff told her. He struck again, throwing a series of attacks to keep her off balance. “Whoever you are, I have far less contempt for you than for the real Tahiri. Murderess, traitor, pathetic slave to her emotions—that's what she is.”

Seff was surprised to feel a jolt of anger and hurt