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As he finished his drink, he saw I-Five enter the cantina. He made an inviting gesture, but the droid headed instead for the bar, where Teedle was.

The two droids spoke for a moment. Den was close enough to overhear the conversation. Usually he had no compunctions at all about eavesdropping, but since this conversation was in Binary instead of Basic, there wasn’t a lot to be gleaned from the rapidfire clicks, beeps, and whistles exchanged.

After a moment, Teedle went on her way and I-Five joined Den at the table.

“Didn’t know you spoke Binary,” Den said.

“This comes as a surprise? Surely you know that protocol droids—even a discontinued line like mine—are programmed extensively with languages.”

“Right. So I guess you were just making nice with the lady.”

“Hardly. If you must know, I was asking for her model number and field substrate parameters.”

Den was just drunk enough to find this hilarious. “Great line,” he said between giggles. “Maybe I’ll try it on that cute little dancer with the troupe. C’mon back to my cube, doll—we’ll discuss field substrate parameters.” He laughed again.

“Organics are endlessly amusing,” I-Five said. “If only to themselves.”

Den managed to stop laughing, though his dewflaps fluttered with barely contained mirth. “Don’t be stuffy. We never did get you drunk, did we? Had a few ideas, but nothing seemed to work.”

“And I’m honestly not sure whether to be grateful or aggrieved about that. Klo Merit’s suggestion would probably work, but only after I’ve retrieved all lost memory data. Until then, my nonlocal control dampeners would prevent any baseline alteration.”

“Well, I’m still working on it. Have no fear.” Den drained the last of his drink.

“How comforting. Is this where you pass out face-first in the bowl of shroomchips again? Because, much as I enjoy organic physical comedy, I do have many more non-challenging tasks to perform.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Den said. He set his empty glass on the table without overturning it, though it took a little effort.

“The important thing is that you believe that.” The droid headed for the door, stepping aside to allow two beings to enter. Den squinted against the momentary dazzle of the snow’s reflection. He recognized them after a moment as the Umbaran and the Falleen. Recent arrivals for some administrative task or other, if he recalled correctly. No doubt they answered to the new supply sergeant. He felt a moment’s envy for them—at least they were performing some kind of function here. Until the blackout was lifted, he had little to do other than sit in the cantina and drink.

Come to think of it, that wasn’t such a bad job after all…

17

It was done.

The spy stood before a viewport, looking down at the green-and-blue planet below. The initial cost had been thirty-three biological lives, seventeen droids, and several billion credits’ worth of damage. And it would ultimately be far more. Because Column had been ordered to destroy the lower decks, reception of patients from the planet had been severely curtailed—sick and wounded would begin stacking up in Rimsoos, and some of those who would have lived had they been transferred to MedStar would not make it. Bota shipments would be drastically slowed, as well—but not so much as to arouse Black Sun’s ire. The gangsters were aware of Column’s Separatist connections. It was a narrow line being walked here, no doubt about that. The spy had to make sure that the services performed for Black Sun outweighed inconveniences in the matter of the bota shipments, or Kaird of the Nediji might soon be knocking on Column’s door as he had on Admiral Bleyd’s.

It was indisputably a setback for the Republic. Enough by itself to win the war? No, of course not. But it was another block on the bantha’s back, as the saying went. Who could say that this might not be the one that made the creature’s burden too great? Or the one just shy of doing so?

Still, Column felt no satisfaction, no closure. To blow up a medical ship, or even part of one, was