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“Me?” Vestara objected.

“If the bacta salve isn’t working, we’re going to have to break out the strong stuff.” Still holding Vestara’s hand, he led the way aft through the main salon and past the galley. “And your thumbprint won’t open the security cabinet where it’s stowed.”

Vestara’s only response was a resigned grunt. At the entrance to the port access corridor, Ben used the pretext of courtesy to pause and wave her down the passage ahead of him. She, of course, paused and motioned him ahead.

Ben shook his head in mock disbelief. “Always so suspicious.”

“Always so tricky,” Vestara countered. “I’ve seen how dirty you Jedi fight.”

Ben cocked his head and studied her, then asked, “Are we going to have another fight?”

A pained look came to Vestara’s eyes. “Not soon, I hope.”

She slipped past and led the way down the corridor … then drew up short at the medbay’s open door. Assuming the worst, Ben stopped three steps behind her and reached for his lightsaber.

“You’re … you’re awake?” Vestara gasped. “How?”

Any suspicion that her astonishment was part of an act was quickly alleviated by the sound of Dyon Stadd’s groggy voice.

“Just … tough.” A bunk rail clanked as Dyon pulled against a safety restraint. “Hey, can you help me get this off? I’ve got to use the refresher something awful.”

“Actually, you don’t,” Ben said, stepping past Vestara into the medbay. “That’s probably just the catheter you’re feeling.”

“Catheter?” Dyon croaked. He was lying beneath a thin medbay blanket, with sweaty hair and sunken eyes. Both wrists were in safety restraints, a precaution to prevent him from thrashing about in his sleep and ripping out the IV drips in his arms. “How long have I been out?”

“Not as long as you should have been,” Ben said, going to his side. Dyon’s Force aura still felt tenuous and feeble, as though he were only about half alive, but his breathing did not seem labored, and he appeared reasonably alert. “How are you feeling?”

“I was mauled by a rancor once,” Dyon said. He turned to meet Ben’s eyes, but his gaze remained oddly vacant. “This is worse.”

“I’ll bet.” As Ben stepped closer, he shot a hand out and grabbed the top edge of the blanket. A clank sounded as Dyon’s hand jerked instinctively against his wrist restraints, but his eyes remained dead and expressionless. Ben frowned and asked, “How’s your sight?”

“Ah.” Dyon’s head sank back in his pillow. “That’s what you were testing.”

“And you didn’t answer my question.” Ben pulled the blanket down and saw that the bandages wrapped around Dyon’s torso remained clean. At least that was as he had expected. “Did you see my hand move, or just sense it through the Force?”

Dyon’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “I hear prosthetic eyes are even better than real ones.”

Ben sighed and started to assure Dyon that he was right about prosthetic eyes—then heard the soft hiss behind him and turned to find the medbay door sliding shut. He raised a hand toward the control panel, but before he could use the Force to depress the slap-pad, a muffled sizzle sounded inside the circuitry box. Half a heartbeat later the tip of a crimson lightsaber burned through the cover plate and destroyed the retraction mechanism with a quick circle.

“Vestara!” Ben crossed to the door, his own lightsaber already in hand. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Not really.” Her muffled voice was already fading as she raced toward the exit ramp. “But I have my orders.”

Ben reached the door. Too wise to actually look through the hole Vestara had cut through the control panel, he expanded his Force awareness to the rest of the Shadow. He found her presence well forward and already descending the boarding ramp.

“She did it again?” Dyon asked.

Ben glanced back to find Dyon’s head turned toward the door, his vacant eyes fixed on the hole that used to be a control panel.

“I thought you couldn’t see?” Ben replied.

“I can’t.” Dyon’s gaze drifted toward Ben’s face. “But I can smell