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“Which is rather beside the point, if I may say so.” Leia spoke without permission, not even bothering to glance Kenth’s way to seek it. “It’s the Mandalorians that are the problem, not the revolt.”

“Yes, exactly,” Saba said. “The Octusi will not fight, but they will not yield. Now that they have risen in protest, they will continue to protest until they have won.”

“Won what, precisely?” Kyle asked. “Emancipation? Wages?”

“It is strange that they would demand either,” Saba said. “They are free to return to Blaudu Octus on a harvesting ship anytime they wish, and they have alwayz been confused by the idea of money.” She looked toward Leia. “What does the report say?”

Leia thought for a moment, then shook her head. “The only thing Madhi has mentioned so far is freedom,” she said. “Nothing specific.”

“Which strikes me as suspicious,” Kenth said. “If the Octusi are free to live where they choose, free to return to their homeworld to die, and free to spend their leisure time as they wish, it’s hard to believe such simple beings even understand the ways in which they aren’t free.”

“What are you saying, Grand Master?” Barratk’l asked. Her voice was a bit less deep and gravelly than that of most Yuzzem. She had once suffered a grievous throat wound, and when it was repaired, she had asked to have her vocal cords thinned so that her speech would be more understandable to other species. “That it is permitted to keep slaves, as long as they lack the intelligence to realize what they are?”

“You know better, Master Barratk’l.” Kenth fixed the Yuzzem with an icy glare and held it until she finally averted her gaze, then turned to Han. “Would you replay the feed you just showed?”

“Sure.” Han touched some controls, and a moment later a holographic line of Octusi slaves was trotting through the speaking circle. “From here?”

“That’s fine, thank you,” Kenth replied. “Now would you freeze the scene and magnify one of those Octusi—one carrying a sign?”

Han scowled in puzzlement, but did as he was asked, and a moment later the hologram depicted a single life-sized Octusi. With shaggy white fur and a long, barrel-shaped abdomen connecting his hind- and forequarters, he resembled the beast of burden that his Blaudun masters claimed he was. But in the broad, flat trunk rising up from his forequarters, there was a gracefulness hinting at the tranquil nature Saba had described, and in his broad shoulders and hammer-shaped head there was a gentle beauty born of the uncomplicated integrity of a simple soul.

When Kenth activated his laser pointer, though, it was the broken shackles depicted on the sign that he illuminated.

“Master Sebatyne, have these beings ever been shackled?”

“No. Why would they be shackled when they have nowhere …” The Barabel let her question trail off, her eyes bulging as she seemed to comprehend the reason for Kenth’s question. “Shackles would be rare, Grand Master Hamner. Too rare.”

“So where did they learn the symbolism?” Kyle asked. He turned to the other Masters and added, “Grand Master Hamner is right. Someone put them up to this.”

The other Masters glanced around at one another, searching for a face that seemed to have some idea as to who might benefit from such a thing. Kenth allowed them ample opportunity to find someone, then finally cleared his throat.

When all eyes turned in his direction, he said, “I believe I have a theory. You’ve all heard of Freedom Flight, of course?”

The Masters nodded, and Han Solo chimed in, “For a secret organization, they’ve taken on a pretty high profile.”

“The saviors of slaves usually do, Captain Solo,” Barratk’l said. There was a defensiveness in her voice that Kenth found surprising, and he found himself wondering whether there might be a reason for that—a reason that might explain why Freedom Flight seemed to simply assume it should be able to count on Jedi help. “It is a hazard of protecting the wretched and crushing the mighty. They remember who you are.”

Han gave her an approving grin. “Hard to argue with that,” he said. “But how does