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“I am almost of the age where they will come for me. They might let me stay here and continue to help my father. Or they might drag me away to some dangerous world and I will be told to fight and kill enemies of the Hutts. And the same will be true of every youth my age on this world. All because Barada M’Beg got the Hutts to agree to protect the Fountain of the Ancients. I refuse to sully it with the word ‘Hutt.’ They are not our ancients. A few guards with blasters, and their commitment is met. But our commitment—”

He broke off. Ben glanced over at Barada, who was starting to again take note of the conversation.

“Your dad’s watching,” he said quietly. “I think he’s worried for you.”

“Of course he is,” hissed Kelkad, his jowls shaking with barely suppressed outrage. “He knows he could lose me forever if the Hutts get wind that I am saying this. But I cannot keep it inside me any longer!” His fists clenched, and the pak’pah he held in one of them split under the pressure, juice dripping freely to the hard-packed dirt floor.

Impulsively, Ben said, “I wish I could help. But we’re just a couple of Jedi. I’m sorry.”

“I know. But … when you go home … you will return to the Temple? You will speak with the Masters there? We hear of them.”

Vestara was watching them both closely. Ben only nodded.

“Tell them that we are a patient people. But we are also a people with a deep regard for time. For what it does, how it shapes everything. Everyone knows that in the face of time, all things fade away.” He smiled, drawing his jowls back from sharp teeth. “Even treaties.”

Ben nodded slowly, then handed over some credcoins. Vestara took the bag, smiling. Without a word exchanged between them, they turned back to the street, out from under the canopied market stalls.

Where they could talk freely.

Ben selected a pak’pah, fiddling with it absently. He wasn’t really hungry but he had to do something with his hands.

“So the Jedi help slaves?”

“Well, of course we do, where we can,” Ben said. For no real reason he could fathom immediately, he was annoyed with Vestara. “To take a being and force it to do something against its will when it’s completely innocent of any wrongdoing—” He sighed, peeling the fruit.

“Servants and slaves are useful things,” Vestara said quietly, simply stating what was, for her, a fact. “Your father was not quite right, I believe. From everything I have heard, even from Kelkad, the Hutts place the Klatooinian youths where they are best suited.” She took another bite of the pak’pah, wiping the juice from her chin.

“Where the Hutts think they are best suited, not their own people,” Ben said. “That’s a huge distinction.”

“We place the—” Vestara suddenly fell silent, one hand creeping up to her throat. The half-eaten pak’pah fruit tumbled from her other hand as she clutched Ben’s arm. She appeared unable to breathe.

The argument utterly fled from Ben’s mind, replaced by quick, cold, slithering fear as Vestara choked. Almost immediately he reached out, both physically to slip an arm around her, and in the Force, and focused his attention on the object lodging in her throat. He needn’t have worried, of course. Vestara, even while choking, was levelheaded and a powerful Force user. She had already thought of the same thing he had, and the small piece of fruit moved from blocking her airway to her mouth, where she spat it out.

“You okay?”

She nodded. For a second there he wondered if she had been faking it, but he had sensed the blockage was serious. She gave him a grin.

“Well, that was attractive,” she said, her cheeks coloring a little. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Ben said. His arm was still around her. He found he didn’t want to remove it. Nor did he want to revisit the conversation they’d been having. It was an argument, a clash, and he was growing increasingly weary of struggling against her. For the time being, they were all supposed to be working together. She was beautiful and smart, and they were simply walking through an outdoor market. Did they have to be fighting while doing