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“Sometimes a Jedi must deal with the disappointment of having to tell the truth.”

Ben brought the yacht to a smooth dock against the extender boarding tube protruding from an ancient KDY deep-space warehousing module. Luke stood by the air lock, checked and confirmed the boarding tube’s pressure seal, gave a quick look to the atmospheric analysis board to make sure the breathing mix was right for humans and not toxic, and then activated the air lock’s outer door. It hissed open, revealing a cylindrical corridor, once white, now dingy, with sputtering glow rods overhead and a tattered black grip surface below. The air lock hatch at the far end was closed but showing green for readiness.

No one waited there.

Luke patted the folds of his robe, making sure his lightsaber was still concealed, and glanced at his two companions. Like himself, they were shrouded in travelers’ robes, their lightsabers out of sight.

They moved along the corridor, feeling their own body weight diminish as they passed out from the simulated gravity of Jade Shadow, through a border area, and into the grav effect of the station. The far air lock opened to admit them. Moments later it was cycling, the door behind them sealing, the indicator in the door ahead going from red to green. Except for the hiss of the atmosphere pumps, all was silent.

Ben glanced at his father, an I-don’t-like-the-feel-of-this look. Luke gave him a little shake of the head, cautioning him to silence. There was no telling how many sensors might be active around them.

The air lock opened into a large chamber, poorly lit by more sputtering or flickering glow rods inset in the ceiling six meters up. The chamber was thick with shelving twice the height of a human, but few of the shelves were loaded with stores or wares. Luke saw shipping containers from dozens of worlds, many of them marked with the names of their contents—mainly preserved foods.

And still there were no people to greet the three travelers.

No people to be seen. Luke could feel a growing sense of anticipation, not his own emotion—something felt by others, not too far away. He could tell from their faces that Ben and Vestara, too, detected the rising tide of emotion.

He sighed. This was not going to go well. Perhaps an appeal to common sense—reinforced by his reputation—would save some trouble and a few lives.

He threw back the hood of his cloak and raised his voice. “My name is Luke Skywalker. I’m the former Grand Master of the Jedi Order. We’re not here to close down your operation … but it would be best for everyone if you dealt with us peacefully.”

Ben dropped his own voice to a whisper. “Nicely intimidating, Dad. Very aggressive.”

“Shhh.”

Vestara merely grinned.

Two shelves over, a blue-and-white container labeled NERF LOAF collapsed. It was not a collapse into ruin; the lid flew up, the front panel fell forward on a hinge, the two side panels swung away. Revealed within was a squad-level blaster cannon and a crew of two humans, men wearing dark pseudo-military jackets and bandoliers of vibroblades and extra blasters.

Three lightsabers were in hand and igniting as the blaster crew opened fire.

Ben went left, Vestara right. Luke stayed where he was, both to act as a focus of the enemy attention and to favor his injured knee.

A stream of blasterfire poured toward him. Luke braced himself, partly with his good leg and partly with the Force, and got his blade between his body and the bolts, deflecting the first one up into the ceiling, angling his weapon so that the rest followed. Each bolt—and they came in an automatic-weapons barrage—hammered at his control of the lightsaber, threatening to knock it aside and plow through into his body, but he held fast.

Vestara vectored, effortlessly tucking and rolling across the nearly empty shelf unit between her and the blaster nest. Ben skidded, then was gone—Luke glimpsed his son going high, leaping straight up to the top shelf of the closest unit.

The blaster crew jerked the tripod-mounted weapon left and right, trying to put bolts into the bodies of both