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He stepped forward and greeted them, the vocoder chip in the mask imitating a harsh Kubindi accent. “Hunandin of Apiida Clan, at your service. I have been directed by our mutual friend to welcome you to Drongar.” The “mutual friend” was, of course, the spy, Lens. “How may I be of use to you?”

The two regarded him. Kaird felt a definite tug of something—yearning? charisma?—toward the Falleen. He knew the probable cause of this. The reptiloids could give off pheromones with a broad chemosignal base that subtly—or not so subtly—influenced many different sentients. He wondered if she was releasing the pheromones on purpose or as a reflex action. It didn’t matter—as long as he was aware of them, his mind was disciplined enough to cope.

Then he was shocked when the Umbaran spoke. “Fly free, fly straight,” he said, “Brother of the Air.”

The Nest Blessing, spoken with the proper laryngeal inflection! How? How did they know? His disguise was good enough to fool everyone in the camp, even other Kubaz. There was no way—

Wait. He recalled now another fact about Umbarans: they were reported to have paramental abilities, to be able to see and even influence others’ thoughts. Wonderful. Yet another mindplayer in Rimsoo Seven. A miracle all our heads don’t explode.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one who had done research. Few non-Nediji knew any of the language of The Flock. Lens did, and now these two…

He said in a low voice, glancing about to make sure no one was within earshot: “I congratulate you on your perspicacity, but let me assure you it is to our mutual benefit to maintain the illusion of—”

“Of course,” the Falleen said. The Umbaran’s voice had been little more than a husky whisper; in contrast, hers was rich and full of life. “Your secret identity is safe with us, Hunandin.” There was a slight twist of sarcasm when she spoke the name. “And excuse our poor manners; we have yet to introduce ourselves.” She drew herself up, and Kaird realized that she was slightly taller than he was. “My name is Thula.” She gestured to the Umbaran. “This is my associate, Squa Tront.”

“Delighted,” the Umbaran whispered dryly. “Might there be some place on this forsaken world where one can get a drink?”

Inside his mask, Kaird smiled. “Certainly. Come with me; we have much to talk about.”

6

Perhaps half a dozen meters behind Barriss’s kiosk was a small clearing bounded on three sides by thick and verdant waxy-leaved croaker bushes—so called because of the odd sound the leaves made when rustling in a breeze. The thick plants were half again her height, and it was here Barriss came to practice various fighting techniques with her lightsaber. Such training wasn’t something Jedi ordinarily did in public, but this place was as private as she could find. The only way somebody would see her was if they happened to pass by the open end of the little clearing. Since the local swamp started a dozen meters past that, it was unlikely anyone would be walking around in the ooze for their health.

The heat lay upon the small open space like a sodden blanket. Under it, and under the loose brown robes she wore, she sweated, the perspiration soaking hair and skin, hardly evaporating at all in the high humidity. Unpleasant, but a fact of life on Drongar. She’d gotten used to carrying a hydropak with her at all times; to do otherwise was to risk dehydration.

As she had done countless times before, Barriss ran through the basic arm- and shoulder-limbering exercises, cutting and slashing the fetid tropical air in simple two- and three-combination moves, switching her weapon from hand to hand. The martial movements she danced were primarily those of Form III, one of the seven fighting systems that the Jedi had developed over the ages. Master Unduli favored Form III over the others, even though it was disparaged by some as primarily a defensive discipline. It was true that it had been developed originally as a response to blasterfire and other projectile weapons, but over the centuries it had developed into much more. “Of