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Unless, of course, Tolk had had something to do with the bombing…

Jos shook his head. No way. He wasn’t sure of much these days, but he was sure that Tolk could never have anything to do with such a horrendous crime, no matter what. What healer could? Their job was to save lives, not take them.

“Thanks, Klo. I won’t take any more of your time.”

“They’re still playing cards in the cantina. I-Five was winning. Cleaned me to my daily limit,” Klo said with a smile, “which is why I’m back here.”

Jos stood. “Maybe I’ll go have a drink and play a few hands.”

“Why not?”

Jos smiled and left.

He didn’t make it as far as the cantina.

When he was halfway there, crossing the open area referred to as the Quad, he and several others braving the cold stopped in their tracks, momentarily paralyzed by an ear-smiting crack of something very much like thunder. What the—?

A moment later, the temperature began to rise. It was easy to tell the difference because it was happening so quickly.

Jos knew very little about how weather worked, but he knew that when warm air collided with cold air, things happened. And things were definitely happening now. A thick mist formed almost immediately, making it impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. He was buffeted by microbursts of wind from different directions, some hot, some cold, that whipped up flurries of melting, spore-tinged snow. Hard spatters of rain hit the ground in staccato bursts. Through the mist he could see eerie flickers of light—electrical discharges that he’d heard referred to in the past as Jedi’s Fire. It glimmered on the tips of his fingers. He stood still. The voltage required to break through the air was high, obviously, but his capacity to store a charge was relatively small. He was in no danger. He hoped…

The mist began to clear after a few moments. Jos felt the air becoming charged with moisture as the temperature continued to rise. He began to sweat, and started doffing layers of clothing: coat, vest, his outer pair of pants. Mud squished under his shoes.

“Looks like Teedle’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” Den Dhur’s voice said. Jos looked about, and saw the diminutive Sullustan slowly materialize as the fog thinned.

“Winter seems to be going away at a good clip.”

Jos nodded. For better or worse, the malfunctioning force-dome had apparently been repaired. And already he was missing the cold.

Another humanoid form took shape a few paces ahead. It was I-Five. The droid was looking up. Jos followed his gaze. For the first time in weeks the relentless glare of Drongar Prime was visible.

“Guess things are back to normal,” he said to I-Five.

“Indeed.”

Jos looked about the base. Icicles were dripping and disintegrating, the mud was getting deeper, and the ripe and fecund smells of the Jasserak Highlands were back with a rancid vengeance. All that was needed was the sound of incoming medlifters to provide the finishing touch.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the heavy air began to pulse with the distant throb of repulsors.

“They’re playing our song,” he said to the droid as he turned back toward the OT. He felt unaccountably content. For better or worse, things seemed to be back to normal. No more surprises for a while, perhaps. Was that too much to ask?

Probably…

I-Five hadn’t moved. “Come on,” Jos called to him. “We’ve got jobs to do, remember?”

The droid turned and looked at Jos. The subtle light shadings of his photoreceptors gave his metallic face a look of wonder. “I remember,” he said.

Jos stopped. “You remember what?”

“I remember everything.”

21

On Kaird’s payroll was the human in charge of the xenobotanists monitoring the bota. Kaird, always thinking ahead, his identity always hidden within his Kubaz disguise, had been paying the man handsomely for information regarding the state of the crop.

Kaird met the man in a refresher, the door blocked against unwanted company. The air scrubbers were, like so much of the Rimsoo’s equipment, only intermittently functional, and so the place smelled very bad.

The news, however,