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Den raised a glass full of something greenish and offered Jos a silent toast, then drank.

Jos nodded at him, then turned back to his work. He was almost done with this patient. Best to get him patched up, then try to figure out what was going on.

Barriss reached the OT. She saw Den standing on a table in front of the viewport, and moved to him. It wouldn’t hurt to double-check what she thought she already knew.

“Den, I need you to do something for me.”

“Name it.”

“Open your thoughts to me.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Please.”

“All right. But if you see anything embarrassing, it’s your own fault.”

She extended the Force toward him…

This was a person who had risked his life to save Zan Yant’s musical instrument, a selfless act of heroism he continued to deny. She felt his mind—sharp, agile, bright. There were dark areas in it as well, regrets and loss, but nothing as dark as murder.

“Thank you,” she said.

Another explosion rumbled over them. Den looked up, then back at her. “Two-hundred-millimeter mortar. They can throw those at us until the local sun burns out—won’t dent the shield. But when they crank up the charged particle spitters and the gigawatt lasers, then we’ll be in trouble. And they’ll crank ’em. They’re just pounding us now to get our attention, soften us up.” He paused, finished his drink, and threw the glass at the nearest wall. It was made of something tough—it bounced, but didn’t break.

“Why do you say that?” she asked. “Do you know why this is happening?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Not that it matters now. The bota is going bad, losing its potency. The new plants are morphing into something that won’t work as a drug anymore. I’m guessing the Separatists figured it out and are coming to try to collect whatever’s left.”

“How do you know this?”

“It’s my job to know things, Barriss. I was gonna tell the gang before I-Five and I shipped out, but…” He shrugged and looked up. “Someday you’ll tell me what that open your mind stuff was all about, right?”

“Someday,” she promised. If we survive. Then she moved down the hall and into the OT scrub room, slipped into a surgical gown, but didn’t bother to scrub or glove. She wouldn’t be getting that close to a patient.

She headed for Jos and Tolk.

“Barriss. What’s twirlin’?” Jos said. She could hear the change in his voice. Whatever his demons, they had been greatly diminished.

“I need to speak to Tolk for a moment.”

Tolk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Barriss took a deep breath. Here was a risk. If Tolk was the spy, asking her to drop her thoughtshield would give away the fact that Barriss suspected. She might have a weapon, and if she was the spy, she wouldn’t have any problems with using it. Barriss could protect herself—she could reach her lightsaber under her surgical gown through the slit on the side in a heartbeat—but it might put the others here at risk. A stray blaster bolt could hit anybody.

Another mortar round impacted upon the shield. Den was correct, the dome would shrug it off—assuming it didn’t malfunction again—but it was nerve-wracking, to say the least. And there was no way to tell when the attacks would escalate.

The confrontation was a risk, but Barriss felt it was a small one. And she knew she had to take it—life was not always about safe harbors. Sometimes you had to sail on stormy seas and risk the chance of sinking. There was no time to wait for a more opportune moment. Who knew what other vile plans the spy might have already put into play?

“Barriss?”

“Tolk, I need you to drop your thoughtshield and open yourself to me. It’s important.”

Tolk did not hesitate. “Okay.”

With that single word, Barriss knew she already had her answer. The mind-probe merely confirmed it. What poured from Tolk was suffused with love for Jos Vandar and her own self-respect and pride in herself as a healer. It had nothing to do with espionage or sabotage.

That meant there was only one person left who was a reasonable suspect.

“Thank you, Tolk.”

Tolk said, “And we’re doing this… why?”

Barriss looked at her and Jos. Decided