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“Since just before the war. When you decided to frame my little social club. Fabricated evidence of grand vehicle theft against us.”

“Fabricated?” Tahiri let some contempt creep into her voice. “You and your motor-pool buddy were stealing and chopping army hospital shuttles. My evidence didn’t convict you. Your buddy’s testimony did.”

“Too bad he’s dead now and can’t recant it.” The Mon Cal twisted around to face the other way and raised his voice. “Gaharrag, Leurm, look who we have here.”

Across the chamber, two other inmates, one involved in the ball game and the other lounging near it as an observer, raised their heads. Tahiri felt her heart slip down a few centimeters more. The first was a Wookiee, his fur marked by patches shaved away in gang markings. The other was a Hutt, large for his kind. Both left their places to move toward Tahiri.

Tahiri took a deep breath. No, her presence here was no accident. Three of the most murderous criminals she’d put away during her career as a Jedi were here, with no guards present.

The rest of Furan’s buddies were moving, not being too obvious about it, several of them repositioning themselves to get to her sides and back, the rest simply giving themselves a little more space.

She could see the situation play out in her mind’s eye. The Wookiee and the Hutt would arrive and crowd in. Taunting would continue. She’d be shoved—shoved at, since she was not likely to allow herself to be touched. She’d have to leap clear to get fighting space, and given the arm reach of the Wookiee and the ability of the Hutt to lash with its tail, she might have odds as poor as fifty-fifty to get clear. If she did, everyone in this chamber would be on her. If she didn’t, she’d die at that moment, her body snapped by the Wookiee’s tremendous physical strength.

She didn’t even know whether it was a touch in the Force or just her own tactical sense that showed her these things. Nor did it matter. She wasn’t going to wait for the situation to unfold that way.

Furan turned toward her again. His eyes vibrated in what Tahiri took to be expectation. “You shouldn’t—”

She turned to the right and brought her left leg up, planting her foot between his eyes at the perfect point in her delivery. She felt his skull flex under the impact. He staggered back into the arms of two of his yard buddies, the strike so sudden and effective that he didn’t even have time to grunt.

While the other inmates around her recoiled in sudden surprise, Tahiri leapt toward Leurm.

Simple tactics. Gaharrag was the most dangerous of her opponents on a being-by-being basis, but not as dangerous as Gaharrag plus Leurm. So she had to eliminate Leurm first, and fast.

Her leap brought her directly in front of the Hutt. He wasn’t prepared for her swift arrival and was still in full-speed forward slither. He slowed himself, his greasy mass going flat on the flextile floor for more traction, and she continued forward, bouncing up over him in a flying somersault. He reached up for her as she passed, but his arms were too short.

She landed on his back, struggling for balance as his uneven contours rippled beneath her feet.

His arms were the key. Spindly as they might look in comparison with the rest of his body, they were powerful by human standards … but not as well protected by sheaths of fat and muscle as the rest of his body. As Leurm twisted to spin around, she grabbed his lead arm at the wrist and kicked out as hard as she could against his elbow.

The blow snapped his arm to full extension and beyond, breaking it at the joint, a clean break. Leurm shrieked, a gargling, burbling noise only a Hutt or a superheated mud hole could have made.

Gaharrag would now be almost on her. She leapt off Leurm’s back, landing immediately beside the Hutt and facing the Wookiee.

Gaharrag was there, approaching at controlled speed, and lashed out at Tahiri with one big, furry paw.

She ducked, rolling out in front of Leurm. The Hutt took the Wookiee’s blow. The huge, furry fist hammered the Hutt’s head, knocking him over onto his