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In addition to the heavenly coolness, the cantina had recently acquired a few other luxuries, either by accidental consignment or through the efforts of the new quartermaster, a Twi’lek named Nars Dojah. One was a dejarik game, complete with holocreature generator, which was being played at one table now between two human female nurses. Another was a new autochiller for drinks. But the most impressive was a perky TDL-501 unipod waitress droid, whom Den had promptly nicknamed Teedle, and who scooted adroitly around the crowded room on one wheel while balancing trays of drinks.

Teedle pulled to a quick stop in front of the sabacc table and placed drinks before Jos, Tolk, Klo, and Den. “One Coruscant Cooler, one Bantha Blaster, one Alderaanian ale, and a Johrian whiskey,” she said briskly. “Seventeen credits, folks.”

Den waved one hand in dismissal. “On the tab.”

“Whose tab, hon? Your bill’s higher’n a skyhook already.” A static pop accompanied every sentence, sounding almost like a wad of dreamgum cracking.

Den turned slowly and looked at Teedle. “I beg your pardon?”

Teedle jerked a durasteel thumb toward the bar. “Mohris says he can’t float you anymore. So you either pay up or bring a repulsor next time.”

Jos saw that the other patrons of the table, with the exception of I-Five, were having just as much trouble holding laughter back as he was. “Put his on my tab,” he told Teedle. “He’s covered for tonight.”

“You got it, Cap’n,” the waitress droid answered, and zipped away.

Den gave her a sour parting look, then said to Jos, “Thanks. It’s hard to program good help these days.”

Jos was about to respond when he noticed I-Five staring after Teedle. The others had noticed it as well. “Anything wrong, I-Five?” Klo Merit asked.

“She’s beautiful,” I-Five said reverently.

Everyone stared. Jos put his cooler down so hard it splashed onto his pile of chips. “I-Five…are you saying you’re attracted to Teedle?”

The droid continued to look at Teedle—then abruptly turned back to study his cards. “No,” he said lightly. He glanced up, and Jos would have sworn that those immobile features had somehow contrived to look sly. “Had you wondering for a second, though, did I not?”

The others burst into laughter. Jos grinned. “Why, you chrome-plated water heater—I oughtta—”

“You ought to shut up and play,” Tolk interrupted good-naturedly. She looked around. “Where’s that CardShark?”

The cantina’s other new droid—and as far as Jos was concerned, the jury was still out on how much of an actual improvement this constituted—was an automated sabacc dealer, an RH7-D CardShark. A smaller, mobile version of the big casino automata, the droid now floated down from the ceiling to hover over the table via repulsorlifts. It shuffled the deck in a blur of motion, then slapped the cards on the table. “Cut,” it said to Jos, its electronic voice raspy.

Repressing his annoyance at the droid’s tone, Jos cut the cards. The CardShark quickly dealt two rounds with its manipulator appendages. “Bespin Standard,” it announced. “First hand. Place your bets, gentlesirs.”

“Hey,” Tolk said sharply, looking up at it. “Clean your photoreceptor and try again.”

“Your pardon, madam,” the CardShark said crisply. “Bets, please, gentlebeings.”

“Not much improvement,” Tolk grumbled as she checked her cards.

They had been talking about the newest addition to the surgical team. “One problem with the new guy that’s obvious from the start,” Den observed as he tossed a cred chip in the pot. “He’s too young to come into the cantina. So I guess he won’t be playing sabacc anytime soon.”

“He’s not that young,” Barriss said. “And he’s a long way from home.” She added her bet to the hand pot, then noticed Jos, Tolk, Den, and Klo grinning at her. “What?”

“For shame,” Den said with mock severity. “And you a Jedi.”

“I’m shocked,” Jos added. His grin grew wider at the blush that spread over her cheeks. It contrasted nicely with her facial tattoos.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, then glared at Den. “Mind in the gutter, Dhur,” she said. “Again.”

The reporter shrugged. “Hard not